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'SL'ff %0^\.S>ci\\'^A- 

ToRONTO Public Library. 

Reference Department. 


Jxme 14 ltl6 










Ml 4 1*1* 

And Everywhere That Mary Went 

By Maureen O'Grayham 

With Illustrations by Percy Edward Anderson 

WERE you ever young in the days when grey lamb 
curled in soft alluringness in the shop-windows ? 
Mary MilHcent was — young and seventeen — just 
seventeen in December. And in January she was 
enrolled on the list of females engaged in gainful occupa- 
tions. Or could teaching in a small 
manufacturing town at two hundred 
and twenty-five dollars per annum, be 
called a gainful occupation ? Anyway 
it made the grey lamb possible. What 
well-nigh made the grey lamb impos- 
sible is what this story is all about. 

Mary MilHcent, at the grey lamb 
period, was religious — Christian En- 
deavor religious. That was why she 
had wept so at going to the teachers' 
training school. She had wept at leav- 
ing her glad, wild chums and putting 
•up her wayward hair and putting down 
her impeding skirts, and having to 
learn to control children whose vagaries 
she adored, she wept hardest and long- 
est and bitterest of all at the white lie 
her mother bade her tell. The training 
school regulation insisted that female 
students should be of the mature age 
of seventeen, and Mary Millicent was 
just sixteen when she found she had 
been too brilliant for her own comfort 
and there were no more examinations 
to pass. 

"You'll be seventeen before you 
teach, Mary Millicent," her mother 
suggested guilefully. "Fill in the 
blank, and stop being so .soft." And 
Mary Millicent's fear of her mother being greater than her 
newer fear of God because of memories of a skin hand that 
'ore more heavily than any legendary hand of the Almighty 
. yet, she filled in the blank. 

It was now January and Mary Millicent was seventeen 
and visioning a cheque on the last day of each calendar 
month. The credit system being much in vogue in the 
manufacturing town, she was als(j the excited possessor of 
a grey lamb cape, the long kind that came Ixlow the hips 
-ind had snuggly ixjckets in front and curled in delicious 
)ft greys and snow-flakey whites and cuddled against her 
rosy, fat cheeks, and simply insisted on being photographed 
with Mary Millicent. It was Friday night. She was going 

CcpyritU. 1913. by llu VAN D E RHOOP-CVN 


home on the nine o'clock local for over Sunday, there was 
to be a carnival at the skating rink, Arthur Carpenter was 
coming from college, and the world was all sparkly and 

Now, Mary Millicent's Christian Endeavor society met 
on Friday nights, and, her pledge 
bound her to go to every meeting and 
to take some part in the same aside 
from singing, unless she had some per- 
fectly valid reason acceptable to 
Divinity. Because of this, she tucked 
her Bible under her grey lamb cape 
when she gathered up her bag and 
skates and hunted for her railway 
ticket, and she turned in a little late at 
the basement of the church on her way 
to the station. 

There was some intense psychic 
wave over the service that caught 
Mary Millicent into it. It wasn't being 
easy for Mary Millicent to be Christian 
Endeavor religious. She had always 
been a square-toed, decent little sort, 
unconscious of her soul, and learning 
her Church of England ritual faithfully 
from "What is your name ? N. or M." 
down to the long Athanasian Creed. 
But there had been dissension in the 
Church, Low and High a-scowl at each 
other. Low finally walking in silent pro- 
test out of a service at which candles 
were lit on the altar, and taking Mary 
Millicent's family with them. 

While she was thus cut off from her 
accustomed litanies, and her family 
moved to a near-by town, a great revival swept the manu- 
facturing town. But Mary Millicent's Anglican nose tip- 
tilted at revivals. Suddenly, at school one day, she found 
herself disquietingly alone. Every last one in her class had 
been converted, even the freckled imp-twins. It was ter- 
ribly lonely teing unconverted. Mary Millicent could 
stand anything but being lonely. So she; xv.ilnt.-Q'if night 
to hear the suave, soft-voiced revivalist, .•'•'fik^'crflfyi- girls 
told him of her, and he led her to th^-fvont later on,*.^king 
salvation, as they all praised God«'.CiJr; just gctting'^iVay 
from being horribly lonely, as she'^iardly realized herself. 
She didn't feel converted, she told"\;5*2'Tii she hardly 'Jiiiew 
what it meant, and she never did'.fcpl converted U)i?p or 

W COMPANY. LTD. AU riihis resmtd. •.':••. .•'•'•' 8 



later. But they said the conviction 
would come — and just be good. So 
she had wept at the white lie about her 
age, and read three days a week to the 
old charwoman with the broken leg, 
and was still trying to fit her square- 
tced honesty to the impossibilities of 
that pledge. 

On this Friday night, the topic 
centered round "He first findcth his 
own brother Simon." Amid the heart- 
searchings, Mary Milliccnt nearly 
stayed too long, and, with her bag and 
skates and Bible made a hurried cut 
to the station down a long, black, lone- 
some hill. She was scuttling along 


His own origin, and they shivered back 
in again feeling rather better and a bit 
shamefast and entirely unnatural. The 
preaching and praying had been very 
soft. Small shrift would the mother 
have made of their prayers had she 
caught them. Hadn't she taught them 
"Now I lay me," and "God bless," and 
the Lord's prayer, and "Lighten our 
darkness," and, later, some long, hard 
collects ? Mary Millicent, thus far, 
had been a silent witness before her 
mother, letting her light shine when she 
polished tlie .silver and dusted the 
parlor. And now, scurrying over the 
dark hill, she wondered what she might 

**»«* watitj^H— »-i 

"it's me." she gasped, with sudden sick reauzation. "why. it's me ! " 

worried about Simon. That was what 
was hardest for her — going after others. 
"I feel impertinent," she confessed to 
the jingle of her skates. In later years 
she would win her way back with scars 
to her square-toed instincts. But now 
her soul and her neighbors' souls were 
forced upon her attention. Yes, she 
truly had tried to influence her sister 
Elizabeth last time she was home. 

"Don't you want to be a Christian, 
Elizabeth ?" she had shakily inquired 
in the dark, warm, quiet bed. 

"I can never be a Christian," said 
thirteen -year old Elizabeth, readily 
and positively, "I can never be a 
Christian until I know who made God." 
Elizabeth had evidently been meeting 
theological beasts of her own. 

Mary MiU^cent couldn't help there. 
"Let's-.jjV'j^^J'.'^she suggested more 
shaki)^.*"* Elizabeth...had no serious 
obj_-6t>tjons nor any lively anticipations. 
So tTfey shivered out o't'.their warm bed 
an^/.Mary Millicent •p^ayed that God 
would make Elizabef.k a Christian in 
spife."«/ her paucity-.of knowledge of 

do further about finding these "own 

Then her heart was in her throat, 
strangling a scream. And her sturdy 
knees wobbled on the lonely, snowy 
hill. Something had crossed her path, 
live and dark and with no motion she 
had ever known of decent cat or dog. 

"Oh God," she moaned, "Oh God !" 
The skies were silent, her Bibl? fell 
from her stiffened arm, and the Chris- 
tian Endeavor pledge fluttered over 
the snow after the thing as it got away 
with its devilish motion. How Mary 
Millicent got ;to the station she never 
knew — down the hill, past the dim, 
dark factories, and, with sobbing 
breath into the arms of the Armitages. 
"You are foolish to run so — the train 
is just on the bridge," scolded Rosa 
Armitage, while Bob took her bag and 

Suddenly the women buried crinkled 
noses and distressed faces in their 
muffs, suddenly the men swore in short, 
staccato breaths and hunted for their 
handkerchiefs, while a fetid, blinding, 

unmistakable, unforgettable effluvium 
destroyed the gowl keen winter air. 
They climbed in a sfirt of angry 
ment into the little suburban train, 
hailing escape that way. But all the 
five miles to the main line the dens-it y 
and violence of that rancid offensi\e- waxed stronger and more undiscip- 
lined. Through .sputterings and curses 
each man eyed his neighbor with sus- 
picion and dislike and wrenched inef- 
fectually at the nearest car window. 
The conductor opened the d(X)rs, 
remarking that there was "a hefty lot 
o' loose sachet bein' scjuandered 
abroad," and forgot to collect the fares. 
The baggage-man convulsively checked 
a baby-carriage with the effects of a 
bachelor Cabinet Minister, and a com- 
mercial traveller's pajama samples 
, instead of the suit-case of a blushing 

"This," said the news-lx)y, too 
stifled to call his evening papers, "this 
is merry 'ell. Hoff fer mine !" And. he 
plunged headlong from the car to the 
station platform. But neither was the 
atmosphere there the atmosphere of 
innocence. Stronger, ranker, more 
virulent grew that poisonous odor till 
the trains cast and west rushed in 
together, and the gibing, demoralized 
passengers . for the west got away, 
catching breath and the car-steps by 
good luck. 

Rosa Armitage and Bob and Mary 
Millicent were the only passengers for 
the train east, their coach drowsy with 
peace and vocal with slumbrous man. 
Enter the smell. Snoring drummers 
wakened from sonorous music more 
quickly and thoroughly and finally 
than ever they would rouse to Gabriel's 
horn later on, wakened in a mutter of 
protest that swelled to hostile fluency 
and sparkled with profane wit, glared 
balefuUy at the new-comers and fled 
to the smoker. In the smoker, two 
Englishmen were discussing matrimony 
— "It's just that y'belong to someone 
else"^"If he's not that, he's dam' sel- 
fish" — "If you want to read, she thinks 
you're unsociable" — "English wives 
best"— "A bit whiff, eh what ?" And 
they fled to the car. 

During the scramble in the passage. 
Bob looked around at the girls. Rosa 
Armitage had been keeping her crum- 
pled face hidden in her muff as from an 
impropriety, Mar>' Millicent's heart 
had kept fluttering with the fright and 
shock of the thing that had sidled off 
in guilt, ungainly through the snow. 
But now, becoming conscious of the 
turmoil of men at the end of the car 
and of the intolerable stares, hearing 
the sallies of offensive wit, the flippant, 
facile phrases, the barbed words sting- 
ing through the acrid air, she suddenly 
was swept with a convulsive, scorching 
flame of_comprehension and horror. 

She turned eyes of abject agony to 
Boband Rosa. "It's we," she whispered 
chokingly. "That was why 1 ran — 
I met — a — thing — on the hill — And I 
ran and ran — I did not know — till — 
now. And it's me — it's me !" 

"Look as though it weren't," said 
Bob. "We've only ten miles to go. 
Sit tight." 

One by one, the passengers, with 
extravagances of speech, with slash 
and sweep of satire, came back through 
the coach, and out at the other end, 
looking in malignity at Bob and Rosa 
and Mar>' Millicent as they passed. 

"They know it's us, but they don't 
know it's me," Mary Milliccnt's was 
such a despairing little ghost of a voice. 
"It isn't fair — you go too, Bob and 
Rosa — I'll bear it alone — bui I'll die of 

"We couldn't leave you to smell it 
all alone." Bob permitted himself his 
first grim hint of a smile. 

Then the uneasy passengers wan- 
dered back, disconcertingly passing up 
and down the aisle by the uncomfort- 
able trio, scouting curiously. And the 
improper, ungodly, merciless odor 
became more criminally clamant second 
by second. 

"It's the man's misbegotten coon 
coat," said a drummer to a fat -necked, 
purple, suffering promoter. 

"I'm betting on the little girl's 
lamb," the promoter grinned at her. 
"She looks guilty as the cinders of pur- 
gatory — see the cheeks of her — hotter 
than blazes !" 

But the fatal, devastating, unmerci- 
ful perfume crowding into their throats, 
drove them to seek the relief of air on 
the steps where men already pushed 
and hung. 

"You seem to be talking through 
your cape, Mary Millicent," said Bob. 

"Oh, they're mean ! They're mean!" 
Marv Millicent had never known 



before the brusque brutality of men in 
discomfort. She grew incoherent and 
hysterical. "I'm a stricken child of 
Fats," she choked. "Did ever you 
know so dismissing an aura ?" 

"You stop that, Mary Millicent," 
said Rosa, putting a firm hand on the 
fluttering, agitated fingers. "Try to 
open a window. Bob." Bob couldn't. 
"Sit tight !" he advised cheerily, "We'll 
soon be there." 

Soon ? It was only ten miles, but 
Mary Millicent knew all about eternity 
after that ten miles, the length and 
breadth and height and depth of 
eternity, the immeasurableness of 
eternity, eternity and hell, fire and 
never-endingness, th? scroudging 
voices of men from the j.moker, voices 
raised in a vocabulary of resentment 
and disgust, a lusty, sinful, hideous 
havoc in your nostrils, a riot of shame 
beating in all your blood, noisy laugh- 
ter at the station, and hurried dispers- 
ings, stride on stride. 

An agonized entreat>- to Rosa, 
"You'll never tell ?" And Rosji's com- 
forting "Cross my heart, cross my 
neck, hope to die !" An imploring 
glance at Bob, and his hearty "I'm an 
oyster. Swords won't open me." 
Then Mary Millicent was somehow 
walking with her mother and Elizabeth 
up a white street, and that active, 
intolerable, drastic, villainous, protean 
smell brimmed fore and aft along the 
white .street too. 

Mary Millicent's mother fidgetted. 
"It's something chat man has in his 
satchel," she said indignantlv. "I think 
I'll go ahead." 

Hot humiliation was clutching at the 
throat of Mary Millicent, beating in 
her face. She tried to speak, but 
could only laugh helplessly. Elizabeth 
waited to hear the joke, but the mother 
went ahead. 

"It's worse here," she expostulated. 
"I think I'll go behind." 

Mary Millicent, shaken 
with her heliilcss, hysterical 
laughter, was still trying 
to speak. "Tell her — " she 
said, "tell her — "shegasped. 
But the mother was grow- 
ing impatient. 

"It's worse everywhere," 
she decided. "Hurry 1" 

And up the white street, 
with a man or two .still 
jestingthrougii the graphic, 
restless, intimate, expans- 
ive, inexhaustible smother 
of smell, ICIizaboth drag- 
ged Mary Millicent after 
a fleeting mother, a wilted 
Mary Millicent, laughing 
helplessly, sobbing fool- 
ishly, trying to speak — 
"Tell her — tell her — "and 
as they reached their own 





gate, evil breath still about them, she 
achieved speech — "Tell her — it's me — 
and I can't go in," — she dropped des- 
pairing and forspent into the snow. 
"I can't ever go in any place again." 

The practical, resourceful mother got 
the situation with a gasp and a laugh. 
Tliey entered by the wood-shed where 
the dimmed glory of grey lamb was 
left, Mary Millicent, purified and 
calmed, summoned serenity so that 
they made an unconcerned entrance 
and greeting to the Man-who-Read. 
The Man-who-Read, you see, was a 
second husband, a forteign element in 
this inconsetiuent Irish family, because 
of his mingled E^nglish and Dutch 
extraction and ensuing seriousness 
among folk who must needs jest at 
their own death-beds. But what he 
lacked in foible he made up in hunch 
and possessed a nose like a catechism. 
This he soon followed to the wood- 
shed, returning precipitately. "There's 
a bad smell out there," he complained, 
and the family melted away up-stairs 
with choking noises and encrimsoned 

"A bold, bad smell met his gaze,'" 
sobbed Elizabeth. 

In an interval of calm. Nubbins,, 
round-eyed, spoke. "Are you goin' to 
leave it outthide all night ?" she 
wanted to know, "In the wood- 
thyed ? Won't thomebody thteal it ?" 

"Won't thomebody thteal it ? No 
fear ! Bless you, darling, I wish they 
would. But a boucjuet like that would 
jirotect the Koh-i-noor inopcn market." 
Mary Millicent had been talking in 
strange tongues all evening. 

Barney had been in retirement in a 
comer with a stubby pencil and th.' 
back of a treasured valentine of his 
mother's youth, which he had abstract- 
ed from the top-drawer of her bureau, 
himself inmoticed in the excitement. 

"I'm a |M)te," he announced. 

"Calamities never come singly,'" 
Continued on page 67. 


The Radford-Street Expedition 

By Madge Macbeth 

Illustrated from Photographs 

Editor's Note — This is the first detailed story of the expedition planned by Harry 
V.' Radford, explorer and naturalist, and its disastron:, termination. The explorer, 
accompanied by a half breed, an Indian and Thomas George Street, of Ottawa, left 
Fort Resolution on July 10th, 1911, intending to spend two years in the U'ilderness 
and cover about 3,000 miles of travel between the Mackenzie River and Hudson Bay. 

FOUR men sat in the cook shack of an exploration 
party at Smith's Landing. The month was June, 
and there was a strong hint of summer in the air. 
Another few weeks, and they would turn their backs 
on the northland and return "to the east — to paved 
streets, white shirts, a glorious dinner of celebration, and 
the girls they left behind them. 

"Street's a fool," said one of the men, taking his 
pipe from his mouth. "A big fool to take that trip, and 
that's the long and short of it." 

"We've all told him that," agreed 
another, "and it seemed the last 
prod necessary for him to make up 
his mind. Maybe if we'd urged him 
to go, he'd have refused." 

"The Boss says he won't let 
him off until his people in Ottawa 
consent," volunteered a man who 
had not yet spoken. 

"Rot ! What good'll that do? 
They won't know what going across 
the Barren Grounds to the Bay 

"Well, all I know is that he's 
a fool to do it," said the first man, 
coming back to the starting point. 

Perhaps they were right. The 
fate that overtook the two men 
who — the consent of Street's people 
having reached the northern post 
at last — departed into the wilder- 
ness that sunny June might prove 
it to the prophets of the cook 
shack. But we are all prone to 
scoff at what we do not understand. 
It may be that none of the msn 
of the New Northwest Exploration 
Party comprehended what prompt- 
ed Street to pass up that long- 
anticipated dinner of celebration 
and turn his face to the desolate 
Barren Grounds with Radford for 
another two years of hardship and 
loneliness; what perhaps, even in 
that last swift moment of the treacherous Eskimo's spear- 
thrust, made him willing to take the chances of the long 
trail and, the chance this time being against him, to die 
as a man should. 

George Street was bom in Ottawa about twenty-five 
years ago. From the time he could walk, he showed the 
sporting spirit. He was always a lover of out of doors. 
He played a fine game of football, and excelled in many 


other out-of-door games. The spirit of adventure early 
evinced itself, and he was always keen to search out spots 
off the beaten track, lightly undertaking whatever hardship 
might be entailed. 

When little more than a boy, he joined a Trans- 
continental Railway party working around Grand Lake 
and thereabouts. In that party he got his experience. 
His powerful physique and great strength made him 
somewhat remarkable among the older men, and his 

pride in these attributes gave them 
an excuse to impose on him. He 
has said himself that many times 
they tried to "break him," to tire 
him out under the heavy weight 
of tasks that work in such a 
country as this demands. Added 
to strength and power of endur- 
ance, he had a still greater gift 
— that of unquenchable grit. 
What another man would do, he 
would do; should he be loaded 
with a good and sufficient pack 
for a portage and find several 
small things remaining, George 
Street was the man to add those 
remaining pounds to his load and 
travel on; should he see a hard- 
ened old packer carrying a load 
of two hundred odd pounds, he 
would assume an equal burden — 
and get away with it through sheer 
grit. Further, he was always 
ready to 'help lighten the load of 
a neweror weaker comrade, remem- 
bering the days of his own ap- 
prenticeship when no one sferved 
him in such a christian way, but 
on the contrary, in his own phrase, 
"tried to play me out." 

In appearance he was short — 
five foot six inches approximately, 
stocky and powerful. He had huge 
arms and legs, matching a large 
trunk. He was heavy — nearly 
two hundred pounds — without being clumsy; quick with- 
out being nervous, fair of complexion, and possessed of 
a grin that made acquaintances into friends. He had a 
reputation for being fearless without being foolhardy. 
Splendid canoeist though he was, if he had an unfamiliar 
rapid to run, he took the precaution to study his course 
before plunging into the water. He was not the man to 
avoid a fight, provided his antagonist was big enough, and 



his companions on the party often had 
trouble in persuading him to use 
diplomacy instead of his fists. He 
had a sort of superstitious faith in his 
physical strength, secure in the belief 
that he could bull-dog anything 
through, as one of the party put it. 

Returned from the Transcontinental 
work. Street joined the party of F. J. P. 
Crean in June, 1909, coming back to 
Ottawa the following December and 
going out again with a newly organized 
outfit — also under Mr. Crean — in April, 
1910. He was a sort of general utility 
man, his previous experience making 
him good at anything, and he earned 
honorable mention in the reports which 
were sent back to the Department. 
The party arrived at Smith's Landing 
in August of the same year and some 
six months later to that place came 
H. V. Radford, searching a companion 
for his exploration trip, undertaken at 
the instigation of a New York syndi- 
cate, which was to occupy a period of 
two years and cover a distance, roughly 
speaking, of 3,000 miles. 

For reasons best known to them- 
selves, natives, half breeds and men 
of the north in general, could not be 
induced to go. Mr. Radford took 
note of Street and consulted Mr. 
Crean. Reluctantly Crean released the 
young' fellow, insisting, however, that 
his relatives should be advised of the 
undertaking. It was known to be a 
hazardous trip, and that fact, coupled 
with the offer of a comparative large 
monthly stipend, was a lure too strong 
to resist. In July of 1911 the two set 

The expedition proper began on 
July tenth, from Fort Resolution, and 
the story of it can best be told in Mr. 
Radford's own words: 

"A half-breed and one Indian accompanied 
us as far as Artillery Lake, at the edge of the 
Barren Grounds. V\'e had a heavy load of 
supplies for a two years' residence in the Bar- 
rens and the Arctic, since I could not be sure 
that the relief supplies which I had requested 
to be delivered at Chesterfield Inlet would 
reach their destination, although the Hudson 
Bay Company at the last moment had very 
generously promised to endeavor to carry them 
to that point in their steamer, and land them 
at the Inlet for me. 

"At Artillery Lake, the half breed and Indian 
turned back. . . I managed to engage two 
Yellow-Knife Indians whom we found encamp- 
ed on Artillery Lake to accompany us through 
Artillery an<l ('linton-Colden Lakes and down 
the Hanbury River as far as the junction of 
the Thelon River. Paying them in advance 
for this service, they t<x)k with them a very 
small birch-bark canoe which could only carry 
a fraction of our load; but the Indians were 
expecte<l to be of much service in helping us 
across the numerous portages on the Han- 

This portion of the journey was 
rendered even more difficult than it 
would have been under ordinary cir- 
cumstances, owing to the increasing 
sulkiness of the Indians and the fact that 
Mr. Radford's finger became poisoned 




through the handling of a quantity of 
arsenic intended for preparing zoo- 
logical specimens. One night, about 
the middle of August, they deserted. 
There were three reasons why they 
could not be pursued and brought 
back — Mr. Radford was \irtually a 
cripple, the poison having spread from 
his finger all through his arm, and he 
could not be left alone; the chance of 
overtaking the deserters was remote 
and it was essential to push on with all 
possible speed to reach Chesterfield 
Inlet before friezo-up. In Radford's 
words : 

"The task before Mr. Street was now indeed 
monumental, for we were then at the beginning 
of a long series of dangerous rapids, and port- 
ages; and the river was so low — the season 
being already advanced and the load in our 
canoe (about 1,.'{00 pounds) .so great, that the 

navigation of the rapids became exceedingly 
difficult. Yet, realizing that I was a helpless 
cripple and unable to render assistance either 
in the canoe or on the portages. . . Street 
resolutely expressed his willingness to undertake 
to navigate the canoe single-handed and to 
carry every pound of our outfit across the 

The afternoon of the same day upon 
which the Indians deserted, George 
Street actually did pack the whole 
outfit across the ix)rtage on which they 
were encamped. 

"My wound steadily improved "(St reel had 
skillfully opened and cared for it) "but for 
several days I could give but little assistance 
. How we escaped disaster in some of 
the rapids is a mystery to me I Mr. Street 
rose to every occasion and literally did the work 
of two men under the most trying conditions. 

About the third of September we reached 
the head of Schultz Lake on the lower Th>"l )n 
Continued on page 65. 

Madness of the Moon 

By Josephine Daskam Bacon 

Author of '■Margarita's Soul." "The Strange Cases of Dr. Stanchon." etc. 
Illustrated by B, J. Rosenmeyer 


jj^ I ■ HE village clock boomed 
I out the first [strokes of 
I eleven. Solemn and mel- 
I low, the waves of sound 
X flowed over the sleeping 
streets; the aftertones vi- 
brated plaintively. ' Caroline^ stirred 
restlessly, tossing off the sheet and 
muttering in her dreams. The tears 
had dried on her hot cheeks; her brows 
were still knitted. * 

"Four ! Five ! Six !" the big bell 

Caroline sat up in bed and dropped 
her bare, pink legs over the edge. Her 
eyes were open now, but set in a fixed, 
unseeing stare. 

"Seven ! Eight !" 
' She fumbled with her toes for her 
leather barefoot sandals and slipped her 
feet under the ankle straps. 

"Nine ! Ten !" moaned the bell. 

She moved forward, vaguely, in the 
broad path of moonlight that poured 
through the wide-open window, and ran 
her hands like a blind girl over the 
.warm sill, lifting her knee to its level. 

"Eleven !" 

Before the murmuring aftertones had 
lost themselves in the night, Caroline 
was out of the window. She stole 
lightly along the tin roof, warm yet 
with the first intense heat of June, 
dropped easily to the level of the 
kitchen -ell, and, slipping down upon 
the massive trunk of the old wistaria, 
fitted accustomed feet into its curled 
niches and clambered down among the 
warm, fragrant clusters. Steeped in the 
full moon, it sent out its cloying per- 
fume like a visible cloud; her white 
nightgown glistened ghostlike through 
the leaves. 

She paused a moment in the shadow 
of the vine, and a great tawny cat, his 
orange markings distinct in the moon- 
light, stole to her, brushing against her 
bare ankles caressingly. As he curled 
and uncurled his soft tail about her 
little feet, a sudden impulse caught her. 


"i dox't believe we're here at all," she whispered, 
"let's go on." 

and she started swiftly through the 
wide backyard, bending to a broken 
gap in the privet hedge, cutting diag- 
onally across the neighboring grounds, 
and emerging into a pleasant country 
road on the ouiskirts of the little vil- 
lage, with sleeping houses sprinkled 
along its length, well back, mostly, 
from its edge, showing here and there 
a light. 

She .struck into the soft, dusty road 
at a quick, swinging pace, the fruit of 
much walking, and the big yellow cat 
pattered at her side. 

The night was almost windless; 
sweet, nameless odors poured up from 
the heated summer soil ; the shadows 
of the grasses were outlined like Jap- 
anese pictures on the white roadway. 
Except for the child and the cat, no 
living being moved, as far as the eye 
could see; only the burdocks and 
mulleins swayed almost imperceptibly 
with breezes so delicate chat the leaf 

tijjs of the trees could not feel them. 

A great whita moth, l)lundering 
against a heavy thistle head, tumble<l 
against Caiolinc's elbow and fluttered 
clumsily into her face. She started, 
blinked, drew a long breath, and woke 
with a frightened gasp. Before her 
stretched the pale, curving road ; alx)ve 
her the spangled sky throbbed and 
glittered; the earth, drenched in moon- 
light, beautiful as all lovely creatures 
caught sleeping, breathed aohiy into 
her face and with every breath put 
courage into her heart. 

She looked down and saw the yellow 
cat, stopping, with one lifted paw, his 
green, lamplike eyes fixed unwaver- 
ingly on hers. 

"Why, it's you. Red Rufus !" she 
whispered, "when did we come here ? 
I don't remember " 

A bat whirred by; the cat pricked his 

"I don't believe we're here at all, 
Red Rufus," she whispered again. 
"We're just dreaming — at least, I am. 
I s'pose you're only in my dream. If 
I \va? really here, I'd be frightened to 
death, prob'ly, but if it's just a dream, 
I think it's lovely. Let's go on. I 
never had a dream like this — it seems 
so real, doesn't it, Rufus ?" 

They went on aimlessly up the road. 
Quaint little night sounds began now to 
make themselves heard ; now and then 
a drowsy twitter from the sleeping 
nests, now and then a distant owl hoot. 
A sudden gust of honey-suckle, so 
strong that it was like a friendly, fra- 
grant body flung against her, halted 
her for a moment, and while she 
paused, sniffing ecstatically, the low 
murmur of voices caught her ear. 

The honeysuckle ran riot over an old 
stone wall, followed an arching gate- 
way at the foot of a winding path that 
led to a lighted house on a knoll above, 
and flung screening tendrils over an 
entwined pair that paused just inside 
the gate. The girl's white, loose sleeves 
fell back from her round arms as she 
flung them up about her tall lover's 
neck; his dark head bent low over hers, 
their lips met, and they hung entranced 
in the bowery archway. 

For a moment Caroline ' watched 
them with frank curiosity. Then 
something woke and stirred in her, 
faint and vague, but alive now, and 



she turned away her eyes, blushing hot 
in the cool moonlight. 

The soft tones of their good night 
died into broken whispers; parted from 
his white lady, he started on for a few, 
irresolute steps, then flung -about 
suddenl>- and walked back toward the 
house, after a low, happy protest. The 
cooing of some drowsy pigeons in the 
stable on the other side of the road 
carrier! on the lovers' language long 
after they were out of earshot, and 
confused itsalf with them in Caroline's 

She wandered on, intoxicated with 
the mild, spacious night, the dewy 
freedom of the fields, the delicious 
pressure of the warm, veh'ct air against 
her bod\-. Red Rufus purred as he 
went, rejoicing with his vagabond 
comrade. Just how or when she began 
to know that she was not asleep, just 
whj- the knowledge did not alarm her, 
would be hard to say. But when the 
truth came to her, the friendly, 
powtlered stars had been abo\e her 
long' enough to accustom her to their 
winking; the tiny, tentative noises of 
the night had sounded in her cars,lill 
the\- comforted and reassured her; the 
\ast and empty field stretches meant 
<jn!y freedom and exhilaration. In a 
sudden delirium of joy she slipped 
Ijetwecn the bars of a rolling meadow 
and ran at full speed down its long, 
grassy slope, her nightgown streaming 
behind her, her slender, childish legs 
white as ivory against the greenish- 
black all around her. Beside her 
boundetl the great cat with shining, 
gemlike eyes. They rolled down the 
last reaches of the slope, and all the 
Milky Way wondered at them, but 
never a sound broke the solemn quiet of 
the night: the ecstasy was noiseless. 

Her face buried in sweet clover, she 
panted, prone on the grass. 

"I^i's go right on, Rufus, and run 
away, and do just as we please !" she 
whisix>red to the nestling cat. "If I 
can't do like the lx)ys do, I don't want 
to stay home — the fellows laugh at 
me ! I'd rather Ix; whipped than sent 
to bed like a girl. I won't be a young 
lady— I icon't !" "; 

Rufus i)urred approvingly. 

"If I only had some trousers !" she 
mourned softly; "a boy can do any- 
thin^ !" 

.Across the c|uiet night there cut a 
thin, shrill cry; a little, fretful pipe thai 
brought insiantly i)efore the mind 
some hushed, white r(K)m with a shaded 
light and a tiny basket bed. Caroline 
sat up and stared about her;such cries 
did not come from open fields. Hardly 
a stone's throw from her there was a 
small knoll, and behind it what might 
have been a large, projecting boulder ■ 
suddenly flashed into red light and 
showed it.self for a dormer window; a 
cottage had evidently hidden behind 

the little hill. Curiously Caroline 
approached it and walked softly up the 

Almost on the top she paused and 
peered into the unshaded window. 
These householders had no fear of 
peeping neighbors, for only the moon 
and the night moths found them out, 
and the simple bedroom was framed 
like some old naive interior, realistic 
with the tremendous realism of the 
Great Artist. 

The high, old-fashioned footboard 
of the bed faced the dormer window, 
and Caroline could see only the upper 
portion of the woman's figure as she 
leaned over a small crib beside her, her 
heavy dark hair falling across her 
cheek, and lifted up with careful slow- 
ness the tiny creature that wailed in it. 
Beside her, as he supported himself 
anxiously on his elbow, the broad chest 
and shoulders of her young husband 

rose abo\'e the screening foot-board. 
The mother gazed hungrily at the doll- 
like, writhing object, passed her hand 
over its downy forehead, smiled with 
relief into its opening eyes, and gave 
it her breast. 

Instantly the wail ceased. A slow, 
placid smile — and yet, not quite a 
smile; it was rather an elemental con- 
tent, a gratified drifting into the warm 
current of the stream of this world's 
being — spread over the woman's face; 
the man's long arm wrapped around 
his wealth, at once protecting and 
defiant; his head flung back against the 
world, while his eyes studied humbly 
the myster>- that he grasped. The 
night lamp behind them threw a halo 
around the mother and her child, and 
the great triniiy of all limcs and all 
faiths gleamed immortal upon the can- 
vas of the simple room — its only spec- 
tator a child. 

CVkoI.lNU inAVKU (jKAVliLY TO KbU Kli-l'S, H ND, bklZlNG iilb hkAlMkRY i'AWs, 



In her, malleable to all the influences 
of the revealing night, fairly disem- 
bodied, in her detached and flitting 
memories of an infancy that stirred and 
pained her even as it left her forever, 
and frightened longing for the mother- 
hood that life was holding for her. No 
longer an infant, not yet a woman, this 
creature that was both felt the help- 
lessness of one, the yearning of the 
other, and as she pressed the nestling 
cat tightly to her little breast two great, 
eager tears slipped down her hot cheeks, 
and a gulping sob, half loneliness, half 
pure excitement, broke into the gentle 
stillness of the lighted room. 

"Who's there ?" 

The man's voice rang like a sudden 
pistol shot in the night; before Caro- 
line's fascinated gaze the gleaming, 
softly colored picture faded and van- 
ished into the engulfing darkness, as 
the lamp went out and a dark, scud- 
ding mackerel cloud flew over the 
moon. Instinctively she fled softly 
down the knoll, instinctively she drop- 
ped behind a bush at the bottom. She 
heard the rattle of the window pane as 
the man pushed himself half out of the 
window ; she heard him call back to the 
waiting room behind him ; 

"It's a cat, dear — I saw it plain. 
It's pretty bright out here. But I 
thought I saw something white beside 
it too. I guess I'll take a look around 

There was a sound of movement 
behind the window, and, caught in an 
ecstasy of terror, Caroline turned at 
right angles from the fields and ran to 
the road that gleamed white, far on the 
other side of the cottage. Panting, she 
won it, crossed it, and, fairly safe 
behind the low growth of wayside 
bushes that fringed its other side, she 
dashed along, farther and farther from 
the cottage, more and more frightened 
with every gasping breath. 

On and on she flew, light as a skim- 
ming leaf in the wind, the cat bounding 
in easy, flexible curves beside her. 
Now a little brown cottage in its plot 
of land sent them into the road for a 
moment; now some tiny pond, a mirror 
for the sprinkled heavens, broke into 
their course, and they skirted it more 
slowly, peering curiously into its 
jeweled depths. With them their hurry- 
ing shadows, black on the road, fainter 
on the grass, fled ceaselessly, hardly 
more quiet than they. A very intoxi- 
cation of fear, a panic terror almost 
delicious drove Caroline through the 
night, though after a while she ran 
more slowly. Utterly ignorant of 
where she was, reckless of where she 
might go, sh2 swung along under the 
streaming moon, no white moth or 
whispering leaf more wholly a part of 
the night than she. 

Whatever idea of going back she 
might have had was lost long ago; 

however little she might have meant to 
range so far, she was now beyond any 
turning. No wood creature, no skip- 
ping faun or startled dryad dancing 
under the moon could have belonged 
more utterly than she to the fragrant, 
mysterious world around her. The 
bright, bustling life of every day, its 
clatter of food and drink, its smarts and 
fatigues, its settled routine of work and 
play, all seemed as far behind her as 
some old tale of another life, half for- 
gotten now. 


Just as her pace subsided into a little 
skipping trot, a thick hedge sprang up 
across their path, driving them into the 
road, and continued, stiff and ' tall, 
along its edge. The pure pleasure of 
conquering its prickly stiffness sent 
Caroline through it, tearing one sleeve 
from her nightgown and dragging a 
great rent in one side of it. Emerging 
into a magnificent sweep of clipped 
turf, where wide, leafy boughs spread 
dappled moon shadows, they made for 
a whispering, clucking fountain that 
threw a diamond column straight 
toward the stars, only to break at the 
top into a beaded mist and clink music- 
ally back to its marble basin. Its 
rhythmic tinkle, the four ball-shaped 
box trees at either corner, the carved 
whiteness of the marble basin, and the 
massive, pillar-fronted stone house 
beyond it, all spread a glamour of fairy- 
land and foreign courts. Caroline 
bowed graAcly to the cat, and, seizing 
his feathery paws, danced, bowing and 
posturing, in a bewitched abandon 
around the tinkling, glistening foun- 
tain. The plumy tail of Red Rufus 
flew behind him as he twirled, his little 
feet pattered furiously after Caroline's 
twinkling sandals. Stooping over the 
fountain, she threw a silvery handful 
high in the air and ran to catch it on 
her head. 

As she stood at last, panting and 
dazed with her mad circling, she \yas 
aware of the low murmur of a voice, 
rising and falling in a steady measure, 
reaching out of the dim bulk of the 
great house, dark and sunk in sleep 
before her. For a moment a chill fear 
struck to the bottom of her little heart ; 
was some weird spell aimed at her. 

some malignant eye spying on her ? 
She stood frozen to the spot, the tiny 
drops of sweat cooling on her forehead, 
while the droning sounded in her ears. 
Then, out of the very core of her terror, 
some inexplicable impulse urged her 
on to face it, and she crept, step by 
step, the cat tight in her nervous grasp, 
around the comer of the great house, 
toward the sound. 

This comer was a wing, set at right 
angles to the main building, and as she 
rounded it she found herself at the edge 
of an inner court. In the opposite 
wing, looking straight across the court, 
was a lighted room with a long French 
window opening directly on the shaven 
turf, and in the center of this window 
there sat in a high, carved chair a very 
old woman. She was carefully dressed 
in deep black, with pure white ruffles 
at her neck and around her shrunken 
wrists, and a lace cap on her thin, 
white hair. Her feet were on a carved 
footstool, and a quaint silver lamp, set 
on a slender table at her side, threw a 
stream of light across the court. Her 
face, lined with countless wrinkles, 
was bent upon a large book in her lap; 
from its pages she read in a low, steady 
voice — the passionless, almost terrify- 
ing voice of great and weary age. 

"Lord, thou hast been our dwelling 
place in all generations. 

"Before the mountains were brought 
forth, or "ever thou hadst formed the earth 
and the world, even from everlasting to 
everlasting thou art God." 

Caroline stared, fascinated, down the 
path of lamplight. It marked a bed of 
yellow tulips with a broad band; they 
stood motionless, as if carved in ivory. 

"For a thousand years in thy sight are 
but as yesterday when it is past, and as a 
watch in the night." 

The grave, steady voice flowed out 
and mingled with the silver lamplight 
the marble sill of the long window was; 
white like the sill of a tomb. 

"We spend our years as a tale that is 

"The days of our years are threescore 
years and ten; and if by reason of 
strength they be fourscore years, yet is 
their strength labor and sorrow; for it is 
soon cut off, and we fly away." 

The hot excitement of this magic 
night cooled slowly; over Caroline's 
bubbling spirit there fell a mild, strange 
calm. A breath from the very caverns 
of the infinite stole out along the path 
of that silver lamp, and in the grave, 
surrendered voice there sounded for 
the child upon life's threshold echoes 
of the final tolling. 

Entranced by the measured cad- 
ence, Caroline stepped forward uncon- 
sciously and stood, white against the 
gray stone, full in the path of the lamp. 
The heavy, wrinkled lids raised them- 
selves from the deep-set eyes, and the 
aged reader gazed calmly at the little 

figure across the court. The withered 
old hands clasped each other. 
I "Jemmy ! O Jemmy !" 

Caroline never moved. 

"It w you, Jemmy !" 

The faded eyes devoured the little 
white figure. 

"I thought you'd never come, Jem- 
my — but I knew they'd send you. 
I'm all ready. Don't you think I'm 
afraid, Jemmy; I'm eighty-four years 
old, and I want to go." 

Caroline hardly breathed: a name- 
less awe held her motionless and silent. 

"You see, I don't sleep much any 
more, Jemmy," the old, toneless voice 
went on, "and hardly any at night. 
They're very kind, all of them, but I'm 
— I'm eighty-four years old, and I 
want to go." 

The ivory tulips gleamed under the 
stars ; the silver lamp burned lower and 
lower; its oil was nearly gone. 

"And you brought your yellow kitty, 
too. Jemmy ! To think of that ! Did 
they think I wouldn't know my baby ? 
It's only fifty years . . . shall I 
come now. Jemmy ?" 

The silver lamp went out. In the 
starlight Caroline saw the lace cap 
droop forward, as the old woman's 
head settled gently on her breast. Her 
hands lay clasped on the great volume ; 
her deep-set eyes were closed. She 
read no more from the book, and the 
child, awed and sober, stole like a 
shadow behind the gray wall andjeft 
the quiet figure in the carved chair. 

Her feet fell into a tiny graveled 
path, and she drifted aimlessly along it, 
musing on the meaning of what she had 
heard. Almost she had persuaded her- 
self that the gray stone building was an 
enchanted palace, and herself a fairy 
messenger sent to break the spell, 
when the delight of pushing through a 
tiny turnstile and finding a running 
brook with a waterfall in it close at 
hand drove everything else from her 
mind. The grounds had completely 
changed their character by now; the 
turnstile marked the end of cultivation, 
and the little path, no longer graveled, 
wound through the wild woodland. 
Here and there a boulder blocked the 
way; the undergrowth became dense; 
great clumps of fern and rhododendron 
sent out their heavy, rank odors. Now 
and again the spicy scent of warm pines 
and cedars prepared the ear for the 
gentle, ceaseless rustle of their stiff 
foliage; little scufflings and chitterings 
at the ground level told of wood-people 
wakened by the presence of Red Rufus. 
► A strange whitish bulk that glim- 
mered through the thinning foreground, 
too big for even a big boulder, too sym- 
metrical andtfjuiet for a waterfall, 
tempted Caroline on, and she pressed 
forward hastily, lost in speculation, 
when a sudden odor foreign to the 
woods stopped her short at the very 


edge of a little glade, and she paused, 
sniffing curiously. 

A man, bareheaded, with grizzled 
curly hair, turned suddenly, not ten 
feet from her, and stared dumfounded 
at her, his twisted, brown cigar an 
inch from his lips. 

The torn-out sleeve of her night- 
gown had bared one side of her waist; 


must swallow her at a breath from a 
human throat. 

He lifted one hand and pinched the 
back of the other with it till his face 
contorted with the pain. 

"Then there are such things !" he 
said, softly; "well, why not ?" 

He moved forward almost imper- 
ceptibly. "If I were younger, I should 


li a ONLY *1HY 

the great rent that slit the lower half 
of the garment left one slender leg 
uncovered above her white knee. A 
spray of wild azalea wreathed her dark, 
tumbled hair, and Rufus, his plumy 
tail curled around her feet in the 
shadow, and his green eyes flaming, 
might have been a baby panther. She 
leaned one hand on the rough bark of a 
chestnut and gazed witli startled eyes 
at the man; it seemed that the forest 

know you were not possible," he mut- 
tere<l, "but now I know that I have 
never doubted you — really." 

Again he took a small step. Caro- 
line, paralyzed with fear and embar- 
rassment, for she thought he was 
merely teasing her a little before he 
punishetl her — his pleasant, low voice 
and whimsical manners brought ncr 
back suddenly to the ordinary world 
and the stem facts of her escapade — 


shivered slightly, but did not attempt 

"It was this extraordinary night 
that brought you out, of course," he 
went on, again slightly shortening the 
distance between them, "you and the 
little cub. It was a moon out of five 
thousand, I admit. Do you live in 
that chestnut ?" 

With a sudden agile bound he cov- 
ered the space between them and seized 
her by the shoulder. 

"Aha !" he cried, "I have— good 
heavens, it is a child !" 

"Of course I am — I'm Caroline," she 
murmured, writhing under his grasp. 

He pulled her out into the little 

"Oh ! you're Caroline, are you ?" he 
repeated, thoughtfully; "dear me, you 
gave me quite a turn, Caroline. Where 
did you come from — the big house ?" 

"I came from a long way," she said 
briefly. "I was — I was taking a walk. 
Where do you live ? Don't you ever 
go to bed ?" 

The man chuckled. 

"I have been feeling adventures in 
my bones all day," he said, "and here 
they are — a child and a cat. If you 
will come with me. Mademoiselle, I 
will show you where I live." 

He led the way gravely to the dim, 
white object, and Caroline perceived it 
to be a tent, pitched by the side of a 
spring that poured through a tiny pipe 
set into the rock. The tent flap was 
tied back, and she saw inside it a nar- 
row cot, covered with a coarse blue 
blanket, a roughly made table spread 
with a game of solitaire, and a small 
leather trunk. On the further side of 
the tent there smoked, in a rude, 
improvised oven of stones, a dying fire. 
Above it, under a shelf nailed to the 
tree, hung a few simple utensils; two or 
three large stumps had been hacked 
into the semblance of seats. 

To one of these stumps the man led 
Caroline, and, seating her, he turned 
to the shelf above the fire and fumbled 
among the pots and pans there, pro- 
ducing finally a buttered roll, a piece of 
maple sugar, and a small fruit tart. 

"You must be hungry," he said 
simply, and Caroline ate greedily. 
After he had brought her a tin cup of 
the spring water, he selected a brown 
pipe from a half dozen on the shelf and 
began filling it from a leather pouch 
that hung on the tree. 

"Now let's hear all about it," he said 

"I am running away," said Caroline 
abruptly. At that moment it really 
seemed that she had planned her flight 
from the hour that left her, tear- 
stained and disgraced, in her little bed. 
"They didn't treat you well ?" he 
suggested, picking out a red ember 
from the coals on the point of a knife 
and applying it to the pipe. 


"I'm not to wear my knickers any 
more," Caroline said, with a gulp, "and 
my bathing suit has to have a skirt. 
I've got to stop p-playing with the 
b-boys — so much, that is," she added, 

The man turned his head slightly. 

"That seems hard," he said; "what's 
the reason ?" 

"I'm 'most twelve," said Caroline; 
"you have to be a young lady, then." 

"I see," the man said. He looked at 
her thoughtfully. "I suppose you 
would look larger in more clothes," he 

"That's it," she assured him, "I do. 
That's just it." 

"And so you expect to avoid all this 
by running away ?" he asked, settling 
into his own stump seat. "I'm afraid 
you can't do it." 

Caroline set her teeth. He regarded 
her quizzically. 

"See here," he went on, "I wish you'd 
take my advice in this matter." 

They confronted each other in the 
starlight, a strange pair before the 
dying fire. The moon had gone, and the 
stars, though bright, seemed less solid 
and less certainly gold than before. A 
cool breeze swept through the wood and 
Caroline shivered in her torn night- 
dress. The man stepped into the tent 
and returned with a long army cloak. 
This he wrapped round her and remov- 
ed to his seat, with Rufus on his knee. 

"My name," he said, "is Peter. 
Everybody calls me that — just Peter. 
I don't know exactly why it is, but a 
lot of people — all over — have got into 
the way of taking my advice. Perhaps 
because I've knocked about all over 
the world more or less, and haven't got 
any wife or children or brothers and 
sisters of my own to advise, so I take 
it out on everybody else. Perhaps 
because I try to put myself in the other 
fellow's place before I advise him. 
Perhaps because I've had a little 
trouble of my own, here and there, and 
haven't forgotten it. Anyhow, I get 
used to talking things over." 

A gentle stirring seemed to pass 
through the woods; the birds spoke 
softly back and forth, a squirrel 
chattered. Again that cool wind 
swept over the trees. 

"Now, take it this week," the man 
went on, puffing steadily; "you would- 
n't believe the people just about here 
who've asked for my advice. I usually 
camp up hete for a week or so in the 
summer- — the people who own the 
property like to have me here— and the 
first day I unpacked up comes a nice 
girl — I used to make birch whistles for 
her mother— to tell me all about her 
young man. She brought me that 
spray of honeysuckle o\-er the pipes — 
grows over the front gate. She wants 
to marry him before her father gets to 
like him, but she hates to run away. 

"Would you advise me to, Peter ?" she 
says. And I advised her to wait. 

"Then there's my friend the black- 
smith. He lives in a queer little house 
with dormer windows under a hill, just 
off the county road. He's got a new 
baby, and he was afraid it wouldn't 
pull through. He knew I'd seen a lot 
of babies — black and red and yellow — 
and he wanted my advice. 'Peter, 
whafll I do ?' he says, 'what'll I do ?' 

" 'Why, just wait, Harvey. He'll 
live. Just wait,' I told him." 

Caroline listened with interest. He 
might have been talking to his equal 
in years, from his tone. 

"Then, oddly enough," he continued, 
"here's my old friend in the big house 
up yonder — and she is old — and what 
do you think she's worried about ? 
She's afraid she won't die 1 'Oh, Peter,' 
she says to me — she's fond of me be- 
cause I'm the same age of a little boy of 
hers that died — 'it seems to me that 
I can't wait, Peter ! What shall I do ?' 
she says. And I tell her to wait. 'Dear 
old friend,' said I to her last night, 'it 
will come. It's bound to come. Just 
be patient.' " 

He paused and knocked his pipe 

"Now, as to your case," he said, "I 
know how you feel. I'm sorry for you 
^by the Lord, I'm sorry for you ! But 
what's the use of running away ? 
You'll keep on growing up, you know. 
It's one of the things that doesn't stop. 
You can't beat the- game by wearing 
knickers, you know. And then, there 'd 
come a time when you'd want to quit, 

She shook her head. 

"Really, you would," he assured her, 
persuasively. "They all do." 

"That's what Uncle Joe says," she 
admitted, "and Aunt Edith. She 
changed her mind, she says-— — " 

"Are you talking about Joe Holt ?" 
Peter demanded. 

"Yes — do you know him ? He lives 
in a big white house with wistaria on 
the side," Caroline cried, joyfully. 

"I was a senior "when he was a fresh- 
man," said Peter. "Then he's taken 
the Washburn house." 

"Do you know Aunt Edith, too ?" 
asked Caroline. 

"Yes," said Peter, after a pause, 
"yes, I know Aunt Edith — or used to. 
But I didn't know she — they were up 
in this country. I haven't seen her — 
them for a good while. Does — does 
she sing yet ?" 

"Oh, yes, but not on the stage any 
more, you know," Caroline explained. 

"I see. Does she sing, I wonder, a 
song about — Oh, something about 'my 
heart' ?" 

" 'My heart's own heart,' you mean,' 
Caroline said, importantly; "yes, 
indeed. It's her encore song." 

"I see," said Peter again. 

He looked into the fire, and there was 
a long silence. After a while he shook 
his shoulders like a water-dog. 

"Now, Caroline," he said briskly, 
"here's the way of this business. You 
can't wear knickers until you're one of 
the boys, and you can't be one of the 
boys until you wear knickers. Do you 
see ? So you don't get anywhere." 

Caroline looked puzzled. She was 
suddenly overcome with sleep, and the 
old familiar names and ways tasted of 
home and comfort to her soul. 

"You're too nice to be a boy, Caro- 
line," said Peter, leaning over her and 
brushing her azalea-crowned hair 


tenderly with his lips. "If you persist 
in this plan of running away to be a 
boy, some boy, growing up anxiously, 
somewhere, will ne\ er forgive you ! 
Take mv advice, and wait — will you ? 
Say 'Yes, Peter.' " 

"Yes, Peter," Caroline murmured, 

"Good girl ! Then I'll take you 
home with my little donkey. I don't 
believe they've missed you yet. You 
have come four miles, though, you little 


He disappeared behind the trees, and 
Caroline nodded. Later she woke 
sufficiently to find herself and Rufus on 


the blue blanket on the bottom of a 
little donkey cart; Peter stood by the 
gentle, long-eared head. 

"Thank you, Peter," she murmured, 
half asleep, "and you'll sec Aunt Edith, 
won't you ?" 

"I don't believe so," he said, very 
low. "Not yet. Tell her Peter brought 
you back. Just Peter. But he can't 
come yet. Get up, Jenny 1" 

They wound out by an old wood 
road. A cool spiciness flowed through 
the green aisles, and as the tiny donkey 
struck into a dog trot, the man striding 
easily at her head, a faraway cock crow- 
ed shrilly and the dawn gleamed white. 


By Frederick William Wallace 

IN the shantys, a man is asked but 
few questions as to how he came to 
be there, and McGonnigal merely 
passed the fact that he had deserted 
from a ship in Quebec. From early 
morning to dusk, he labored as "odd 
job" man; sharpening saws and axes, 
loading teams in the rollways, break- 
ing out and hauling logs in the bush, 
and in a variety of ways where agility 
and muscular strength are called into 
requisition. With the foreman he 
became a great favorite owing to his 
willingness to work, and among the 
men he was popular when he showed 
that he was not a camp "bully." 

Around the blazing stove at nights, 
when the logs of the building cracked 
with the frost, they listened and 
laughed at his yarns of the sea and 
foreign ports, and when he trolled out 
the burden of the old deepwatcr haul- 
ing choruses, the gang would chantey 
the refrains with thundering gusto. 
Saturday nights were riotous with all 
hands shouting and singing, step danc- 
ing and wrestling, while the silences of 
the forest were rudely awakened by 
bawling of iron lunged men, and the 
melodious notes of mouth organ and 
fiddle. The inevitable jar of whiskey 
blanc would circle merrily, slaking 
thirsty throats and creating a jovial 
bonhomie among these rough hard bitten 

It was a great winter, and McGon- 
nigal loved the life. The hard work 
was play to him, after years of knock- 
ing about the Seven Seas, and the 
warmth and cheeriness of the bunk- 
house appealed to him, as no "lime 
juicer's" foc'sle ever did. 

A sailor has a strange love for the 

Part II. — Spring o' the Year. 

*^ Continued from October. 

woods and the greenery of the fields. 
On his watery home, he hungers for 
the pastoral and the rustic, and the 
smell of new mown or fresh plowed 
earth creates in him a strange longing 
to break for the soil. For a space, it 
was so with McGonnigal, but somehow 
or other, when the sun hauled to the 
nor'ard in his diurnal traverse, the 
McGonnigal soul sighed for the sight 
of blue water and the feel of a ship's 
deck again. The rustic life hardly 
seemed to satisfy, and when he heaved 
at a big stick with a cant hook, he 
often wished he was stamping around 
with a capstan bar in his fist, and a 
foretopsail loosed alx)ve him. 

As the days passed, the sun's rays 
caused the snow to trickle from the pine 
branches, and sun blackened men hung 
wet socks and soggy moccasins to dry 

at the camp stove o' nights. The 
winter's cut of logs were nearly all 
hauled out to the banks or on the ice 
of the small tributary branching off 
from the St. Anne, and the gang were 
talking of the drives and the town again. 
Before the opening of the dam and 
the disgorging of the winter's cut to 
the big river, McGraw took the sailor 
asids one night. 

"Red," said he. "I guess ye've 
heard o' Morton's camp on the other 
side o' th' Sant' Anne yonder ?" 

McGonnigal nodded. "What about 
it, sorr ?" 

"Well, I hev a little scheme in mind 
that I wanter work on them. They've 
got a big French bully over there who 
thinks he's boss o' th' Sant' Anne 
River, an' ef he drives his cut down 
afore me, there's no workin' with him. 
He's full o'dirty tricks, an' him an' me 
don't pull on th' same whiffletree, so I 
wanter fix him good this time. He's 
big, tough an' ugly, an' a perfect devil 
ter scrap, but he's too much fur me ter 

tackl •, " 

"Is it Bully McShanty ye're talkin' 
about ?" interrupted the sailor. -^ 

"Aya, that's th' man," continued 
McGraw. "Now th' Morton people 
have a creek runnin' thro' their limit 
which opens inter th' St. Anne a little 
lower down than ours, an' as soon as 
the ice goes. Bully Mechanic is goin' 
t ;r work like th' devil ter drive his logs 
down ahead o' us. Of course ic's an 
even chanst for th' two of us, but I'm 
blamed if I'm goin' ter foller that big 
brute down this spring. I'm goin' ter 
be first, or I'll know th' reason why. 
What I want ye ter do, Red, is ter go 
Continued on page 57. 


THE event of September was the 
meeting of the American Bar 
Association at Montreal. This 
organization is unique in itself, 
but its recent convention attracted the 
attention, no less than developed the 
keen interest, of lay and professional 
circles. England has associations of 
barristers in given cities, and organiza- 
tions of solicitors in certain sections, 
but the advocates of England have no 
general society which is representative 
of the profession throughout the United 
Kingdom. The Provinces of Canada 
have their several legal associations, 
but the Dominion has no united body 
in which the profession in general may 
seek membership. In voting, there- 
fore, to hold a general convention of 
the lawyers of the United States in the 
Metropolis of French Quebec, the 
American Bar Association indulged in 
an experiment vouchsafed to it alone; 
and one which because of its conceded 
successs is destined to affect the policies 
of the nations there represented. 

The visitor to Montreal observed at 
the outset that more distinguished 
men were there gathered than in any 
previous assemblage on the continent 
of North America. And, indeed, the 
observer realized that what was de- 
signed to be a convention of law- 
yers had in fact resolved itself into 


an Anglo Saxon Peace Conference. 

It implied breadth of vision upon the 
part of the American Bar Association 
to decide to convene on Canadian soil. 
This was the first instance in the his- 
tory of the Dominion in which a Yan- 
kee organization of national scope held 
its convention on Canadian territory. 
But while* the American brethren are 
entitled to credit for initiating an 
Anglo-Saxon peace conference in the 
guise of a professional convention, the 
bars of Canada, England and France 
are worthy of praise for the able and 
hospitable spirit in which their mem- 
bers joined in grasping the possibilities 
of this assembly, and in making of it 
not only a successful professional con- 
ference, but something more as a force 
in the relations of three nations. 

Now there have been conventions of 
the American Bar Association before 
and there will be similar gatherings 
again. In the past, as surely in the 
future, the resolutions of this body as 
to relations of the law to questions of 
public policy have received the con- 
sideration of the people of America; 
but the deliberations of this associa- 
tion on Canadian soil, were for the 
first time brought to the attention of 
the world through being made the 
subject of discussion by the inter- 
national press. 

The Yankee Bar 

On Canadian 


By Ernest Cawcroft 

Illustrated from Photographs 

The giving of an international aspect 
to this convention may be attributed 
to three or four features of the gather- 
ing, each of which should — but cannot 
— receive more than a paragraph of 

In the first place, the Bar Associa- 
tion by going to Montreal expressed 
the view of the American people that 
Canada is a member of the family of 
nations and that a marked difference 
of opinion about reciprocity trade 
treaties cannot mar the relations of the 
two peoples; secondly, the acceptance 
of an invitation by the Lord Chancel- 
lor, and the making of his presence 
the occasion of an international mes- 
sage, evidenced a newer conception of 
the relationship of an English minister 
of State to the dominions beyond the 
seas; and thirdly, but not inclusively, 
the convention attracted a larger num- 
ber of men who, being more than 
lawyers, have played and are taking a 
distinctive part in shaping the judicial 
economic and political policies of the 
nations on each side of the inter- 
national line. 

But an American lawyer must admit 
that this convention of the Bar Associa- 
tion without the Lord Chancellor 
would have been nothing more, or less, 
than such a convention. It was the 
desire for his presence which was a 
factor in taking the convention to 
Montreal; and it was the fact of his 
presence which got the deliberations of 
the convention into the international 

It may, indeed, be an easy matter 
to get the Lord Chancellor into office, 
— although English barristers do not 
fight shy of this tenure at fifty thou- 
sand dollars a year; his term ends by 
death or decapitation, which in the 
past has not been so difficult; but it 
has not been in the past and it is not 
now, an easy thing to get the Lord 

Chancellor out of the United Kingdom. 
Lord Chancellors seem to like old 
England, and moreover, they feel 
safer in the presence of the Great Seal. 

The Great Seal — and many lesser 
ones — comes down to us from the days 
when even the learned, those high in 
authority, did not write, and when the 
affixing of the Seal was essential to the 
validity of official acts and instruments. 
The manner of appointing successive 
Lord Chancellors is indicative of the 
meaning of the Great Seal in the his- 
tory and official life of England. Many 
great and small office holders are 
appointed by Letters Patent, or by 
certificates of authority as in this 

But in the appointment of a Lord 
.Chancellor the King signs no Letters 
Patent, — he simply delivers the Great 
Seal as the Lord Chancellor-elect 
kneels before him in the presence of 
the Privy Council. The possessor of 
the Great Seal has access to the 
Sovereign on terms of equality almost 
with the Archbishop of Canterbury as 
the hereditary spiritual adviser of the 
English Sovereign. 

The Great Seal cannot be taken out 
of the United Kingdom; and thus in 
the past, successive Lord Chancellors 
have had a variety of personal and 
public reasons for not separating them- 

BAh A^S«><.iAII(}N 


selves from the Great Seal. These 
reasons cumulated into a precedent, 
and precedent is no light thing in the 
law and life of England. It is true 
that James I L threw it into the Thames, 
but that was the act of the king and 
not his chancellor; Cardinal Wolsey 
wanted to keep the Seal and desired 
to go to France and for doing both at 
the same time was subjected to im- 
peachment. Lord Brougham, chan- 
cellor to George the Fourth, sometimes 
forgot the Great Seal when making 
the round of the great country houses, 
but that was in the days when no 
gentleman remained sober after sunset. 
It was under the jiressure of these pre- 
cedents that President Kellogg, of the 
American Bar Association went to 
London to invite the Lord Chancellor 
to attend the convention in the United 
States — and succeeded in getting his 
Lordship to attend in His Majesty's 
French Province of Quebec. 

But sons of the Mother Country on 
both sides of the international line 
will be glad to learn that the Lord 
Chancellor did not depart without due 
deliberation from the United Kingdom 
and not until the Great Seal had as 
many guardians appointed as care for a 
an infant monarch. 

The London Gazette, which is the 
official circular of the English Court, 
recently contained this quaint six- 
teenth-century announcement under a 
twentieth-century date line: — 

"Crown Office, August 7, 1913. The King 
has been pleased by Letters Patent under the 
Great Seal, bearing date the 25th day of July, 
1913, to appoint: 

The Right Hon. John Viscount Morley of 
Blackburn, Lord President of the Council; 
the Right Hon. William Earl Beauchamp, 
Kirst Commissioner of Works, etc., and the 
Right Hon. Sir Herbert Hardy Cozens Hardy, 
Master of the Rolls, to be Commissioners for 
the care and custody of the Great Seal of the 
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, 
during any absence of the Right Hon. Richard 
Burdon Viscount Haldane, K.T., Lord High 
Chancellor of Great Britain, from the United 

And thus the Lord Chancellor got 
started for North America, with his 
own and the King's conscience in good 

His Lordship was the central figure 
in a series of international paradoxes 
from the moment of his arri\'al. He 
was greeted with marked applause as 
he came upon the platform at the 
opening session of the convention, and 
took a seat between Premier Borden 
and Ex-President Taft. An attempt 
at reciprocity helped one in and the 
other out of pulilic office. Premier 
Borden welcometl Haldane and the 
Bar Association to the Dominion; and 
• he did it with such delicacy of taste 
that every one seemed to forget that 
they were celebrating Commodore 
Perry and the war of 1812 over in 
BufTalo, and the facts seemed to have 



steeped into the minds of those pre- 
sent, that while Canada and the 
United States could not get together 
on reciprocity; while the United 
States and England • cannot strike a 
bargain as to Panama Canal tolls; 
and though the naval contribution of 
the Borden Government to the Mother 
Country has consisted of marine 
speeches and deep-sea editorials, — the 
world to-day recognized the two con- 
crete facts that no fortress guards the 
three thousand mile line between the 
Republic and the Dominion ; that war 
between the three nations is an impos- 
sibility; and that if the American and 
English marines ever smell each other's 
powder, it will be when the two fleets 
go into action under one commander 
in an effort to maintain the supremacy 
of the white race. 

But the paradoxes did not end at the 
first session. There were a few at the 
Monday afternoon session, which was 
devotecl to Lord Haldane. It was 
fitting that the highest judicial officer 
of the United States, — Chief Justice 
White, — should be presented to intro- 
duce the supreme judicial officer of 
Great Britain, — Lord Chancellor 
Richard Burton Haldane. We won- 
dered as the suave Chief Justice wel- 
comed the Chancellor if it occurred to 
him and to those present, that this 


jurist who began his career in Louisi- 
ana, — which as a former F"rench colony 
impressed its code on that state as a 
system of common law, — was indul- 
ging in an international novelty in 
their presenting an Ex-Minister of 
War in His Majesty's French Province 
oi Quebec, where the same system of 
jurisprudence has left its imprint. 
How better to signalize the cordial 
relations of three ancient enemies ? 

But the Lord Chancellor is a man of 
vision. He showed it in the anticipa- 
tions of his address. He presented a 
prepared speech which fitted into these 
novel and paradoxical features of what 
proved to be an international occasion. 
K Those who knew of Haldane as a 
scholar among scholars would have 
been pleased to hear him discuss the 
historical evolution of the law; those 
who were familiar with his career as an 


English practitioner and minister-of- 
war would have been glad_to hear him 
speak upon the concrete problems of 
modern legal administration; but both 
were gratified that he chose to depart 
from a mere professional lecture; that 
as a catholic minded cosmopolitan 
he chose the subject, "Higher Nation- 
ality," and that he made of his address 
an international message of good will 
by authority of his Sovereign, whose 
words he read as follows:— 

"I have given my Lord Chancellor permission 
to cross the seas, so that he may address the 
meeting at Montreal. I have asked him to 
convey from me to that great meeting of the 
lawyers of the United States and of Canada 
my best wishes for its success. I entertain 
the hope that the deliberations of the dis- 
tinguished men of both countries who are to 
assemble at Montreal may add yet further to 
the esteem and good-will which the people of 
the United States and of Canada and the 
United Kingdom have for each other. 

It is needless to detail the text of the 
address here because that is not the 
purpose of this article and in any event 
the words of the Lord Chancellor were 
given as wide international publication 
in the first instance as is usually given 
to an important encyclical by the Holy 
See. It suffices to say I y way of com- 
mendation that if the Carnegie Peace 
Foundation will arrange for the re- 
reading of this address throughout 
America, it will do much to propa- 
gate that conception of international 
ethics without which the Peace of 
God, that peace not based on fear, 
is finally impossible. 

The scene at McGill University the 
same afternoon was not less interesting 
than the one at the Princess Theatre. 
The decision of the University Council 
to confer degrees upon representative* 
Continued on page 4.5. 

The Manor Inn 

By Margaret G. MacWhirter 

Decorations by Donald iMacGregor 


T'S a letter from Tom," said 
Ellen Winchester, turning to 
her mother with an open letter 
in her hand. 

"And he wants me to go to him. 
He says his regiment is likely to be 

stationed in M for a while, and 

he thinks I had better join him." 

"How can you go, Ellen ? You 
have no money for the stage, and it's a 
ilong walk, my girl." 

"I know mother, but I'm young 
and strong, and have enough saved to 
buy my bite and sup along the road. 
It's eight long months since we've 
been parted, mother." 

"Belikes you're lonesome, lass; a 
soldier's wife is often that. Be thank- 
ful there's a little rest from the war. 
Well, well, my girl, you must just 
please yourself. If Tom bids you go, 
and you're willing to obey him, I've 
nothing to say; however much I'll 
miss you, I'll not bid ye stay; no 
■doubt he's longing for a sight of your 
bonnie face, my lass." 

Ellen threw her arms around the 
-elder woman's neck, holding her in a 
tight embrace, while tears gathered 
in her eyes as she received her mother's 

A few days later Ellen Winchester 
set off on her long walk of two hundred 
miles to join her husband whose 
regiment was stationed about that 


distance from her home which was in 
the west of England. 

The time was about the beginning 
of the last century, when the mode 
of travel was vastly different to that 
of the present day. 

With a small bundle in her hand, 
her carefully hoarded money in her 
pocket, and stout shoes upon her feet, 
she set off. Her heart felt heavy at 
the parting with her mother, and she 
dreaded the long lonely journey through 

a strange country, yet as she had 
already said, she was young and strong; 
she was brave too, as became the 
wife of a soldier, and her heart was 
filled with love for her handsome 
husband who was now a corporal; 
so with as bright a face as she could 
present she bade the dear home people 
good-bye, and set her face to the 

Calling at the farm-houses along 
her way she was invariably treated 
with kindness and consideration, for 
England dearly loves a soldier, and this 
brave, bonnie soldier's wife with her 
shy, modest ways won all hearts. 
Often she was given a lift over weary 
miles in a farmer's cart, or market- 
wagon. Thus day followed day till 
the journey was more than half-done. 

One evening she reached the Manor 
Inn, a larger and more imposing 
hostelry than any she had hitherto 
seen. In other days it had been a 
mansion of considerable size and magni- 
ficence, as evidenced by the number 
of buildings and out-houses. The 
eastern side of the old mansion had 
been converted into an inn. A long 
wing with upper and lower chambers 
extended beyond and behind the front 
of the main house, forming a division 
known as an L, and affording accom- 
modation for the many travellers who 
called here, journeying back and forth 



from north to south, and also across 
country, for the Manor Inn, situated 
near the cross-roads, was a convenient 
stopping place. 

Tired out, Ellen Winchester re- 
quested admittance from the land- 
lord, which was granted after a 
moment's hesitation, and she was 
brought into the large parlor, where 
seat^ in a huge arm-chair she met 
the one other guest, a big, burly, good- 
natured north country drover, return- 
ing from a journey to the south. The 
landlady, bustling around, soon had 
a good supper placed before the travel- 
lers. Ellen ate heartily of the bacon, 
bread and home-made cheese, with 
which the table was bountifully sup- 
plied. Soon after, pleading fatigue, 
she went to rest. 

The old dame conducted her guest 
to an upper chamber in the front 
corner of the main house, remarking 
as she placed the candle on the table: 

"I hope you're a good sleeper, for 
folks arrive here at all hours, but you 
needn't be alarmed; there's nobody'll 
harm you." 

"I'm sure to sleep well, I'm so tired," 
Ellen answered pleasantly. 

In fact she was almost falling asleep 
while she waited for the landlady to 
depart, ere undressing. 

"Good-night, and thank you kindly," 
she said as the old woman at last went 

Ellen was asleep almost as soon as 
her head touched the pillow. How 
long she slept she did not know, but 
suddenly she was awakened by a 
scream of agony, which rang through 
the silent house, followed almost im- 
mediately by the sound of a heavy 
body falling — then silence. 
. Shaking with terror, Ellen crept out 
of bed, and stole to the door of her 
room, which was unlocked, as she had 
been unable to find the key when 
retiring. She opened it very, very 
quietly ; the long passage was dark and 




silent as the grave. A shudder ran 
through her frame. Was it all a 
horrible night-mare brought on by the 
heavy supper she had eaten ? 

Closing the door softly she stole 

to the window and looked out. The 
night was clear; the sky studded with 
stars. Everything was still. 

Ellen noticed that a light burned in 
one of the upper chambers of the long 
wing, into which she could see without 
difficulty. Two lighted candles placed 
upon a table revealed the apartment, 
which appeared to be in a state of 
disorder; the clothes had been thrown 
from the bed, and an upturned chair 
lay upon the floor. With her hands 
tightly pressed to still the wild beating 
of her heart, Ellen continued to gaze 
into the room. Presently a look of 
horror came into her eyes, but fascin- 
ated with terror she gazed steadfastly 
at the scene before her. Across her 
vision passed the figures of the land- 
lord and his wife, dragging with 
difficulty the body of a man across 
the floor. Reaching the opposite side 
of the room they paused. Ellen saw 
the man rub his hand across the wall, 
as though searching for something. 
A door flew open, and towards this 
entrance the man and woman pushed 
and dragged the body; suddenly it 
disappeared from her sight as though it 
had tumbled down a descent, probably 
a stair-case. Trembling so that she 
could scarcely stand, Ellen turned to 
flee, but whither could she go ? 

Summoning all her resolution she 
lay down upon the bed in as natural a 
position as possible, and composed her- 
self as though asleep. Gradually the 
wild beating of her heart subsided, 
and her pulses obeyed the mandate of 
her will. Now with herself under 
rigid self-control she awaited she knew 
not what. 

Hours seemed to pass-^so long the 
time seemed, then — ah ! Now was 
the hour of trial. 

A stealthy step sounded at her 
door; very gently the latch was lifted, 
and with a cat-like motion the land- 
lord and his wife entered and approach- 
ed the bed. Eagerly the intruders 
looked down upon the sleeping woman 
whose natural breathing satisfied the 
man, for he said in a low whisper: 

"She's asleep; she heard nothing; 
come away." 

But pushing him aside his wife 
crept closer to the edge of the bed, 
then leaning over the sleeping woman 
she passed the lighted candle before 

her eyes. Once, twice, thrice, 

Ellen felt that she must strike the 
candle from the old woman's hand 
and scream, and scream. She could 
not maintain that awful control a 
moment longer. Meantime, her brain 
worked with the rapidity of lightning; 
if she failed at this crisis, what then ? 
Only too well did she know her fate. 
No, no, she must not give up. A 
little longer, — then the woman turned 
and joined her husband near the door. 
Their low-spoken words reached the 





ears of Ellen, 
strained to catch 
the slightest 
sound : 

"She seems 
asleep ; but what 
do you think, 
hadn't we bet- 
ter make sure ? 
Dead men tell 
no tales." 

"No !" was 
the impatient 
response. "What 
gain is it to kill 
her? She knows 
nothing; let her 
be, lest she wake 
and make both- 
er. We've other 
work to do yet." 

The woman 
turned, giving 
one final glance 
at the silent fig- 
ure breathing 
in a deep sleep 
of fatigue and 
and softly as 
they had en- 
tered the land- 
lord and his wife departed. 

Ellen heard the door close, then 
stealthy steps echoing along the pas- 
sage till finally they died away, 
descending a distant stair-case. Now 
she felt herself sinking, sinking to 
unfathomable depths, and she knew 
no more. 

When she came to herself the bright 
sun was shining into her room. Thank 
God she was still alive, and the glorious 
day was here. But, she must be care- 
ful ; one false step, and her life would 
be the forfeit. 

Descending to the parlor she en- 
countered the landlord. 

"Good morning sir," she said shyly. 
"I am ashamed to be so late, but I 
was tired and the bed was soft, so I 
forgot to wake." 

"Did you sleep well ?" The man 
asked in a tone which he tried to 
render pleasant. 

"You need hardly ask me that, 
when you look at the clock," she 
replied with a laugh. 

"I hope you weren't disturbed in 
the night; there are so many coming 
and going at all hours," the man 

"I think I must have fallen asleep 
as soon as I went to bed," answered 
Ellen so naturally that the man's 
suspicions were dispelled. 

"It must be a hard, busy life for you," 
continued Ellen in a sympathetic 
tone; "but I do not know where else 
I could have gone yester' evening, I 
was so tired ; so I thank you for keep- 
ing me." 


"Oh ! It's hard enough, but some 
one must do it," the landlord said 
with a short laugh. "Here, good wife, 
bring the lass her breakfast.'' 

From the alacrity with which she 
responded Ellen judged that she had 
not been far off during the conver- 
sation between the landlord and her- 
self. _ 

Quietly she ate her breakfast, then 
apparently loath to leave such com- 
fortable quarters, she at last bade 
them farewell, with fervent thanks 
for their kind and generous treatment 
of her, and carrying along a sub- 
stantial lunch of bread and cheese 
with which the dame insisted upon 
presenting her, and continued her 

Poor Ellen's feelings may be better 
imagined than described as she walked 
slowly away from the Manor Inn. 

Her senses were oblivious to the 
charm of the summer morning — the 
green fields, hawthorn hedges and sweet 
scents of nature appealed to her in 
vain. Her mind was filled with the 
problem of the. preceding night. 

She had gone several miles when 
she observed a man on horseback 
coming towards her. As he came 
nearer he drew rein, accosting her 


civilly, enquiring if she had travelled 
far, and asking direction where he 
could rest and feed his horse, as he 
had been travelling since daybreak. 

"I came from the Manor Inn," she 
replied. "And I have no doubt they 
would be glad to accommodate you." 

"Is it a good house, madam ?" he 
asked, Ellen thought a little too 

"They were kindness itself to me, 
for when I was leaving this morning 
the good woman insisted upon giving 
me a lunch that will last all day. I 
assure you I found them kind and 
obliging. Call and see for yourself 
sir," replied Ellen, dropping a courtesy, 
and preparing to move on. 

The man gave her a searching look, 
then his brow cleared, and bidding her 
a civil good-day he spurred on his 

Heaving a sigh of relief, Ellen Win- 
chester pursued her way. 

The long summer day was drawing 
to a close, and wondering where she 
should find lodging for the night, 
Ellen suddenly came upon an old 
woman, sitting by the roadside appar- 
ently half-dead with fatigue. As 
Ellen drew near the old woman accosted 
her in a feeble voice, asking if she had 

a bit of bread to give her for the love 
of God. Immediately Ellen opened 
her bundle, and gave her the remainder 
of the generous lunch with which she 
had been supplied by the landlady of 
the Manor Inn. 

"Where are you going, young 
woman ?" the old crone asked in a 
wheedling tone. "You look tired: 
have you travelled far to-day ?" 

"Only from the Manor Inn," replied 
Ellen, while her heart gave a warning 

"The Manor Inn ! That's a good 
ways from here. Weren't you fright- 
ened to stop there, my woman ?*' 
asked the old dame in an insinuating 
tone as though inviting confidence. 

Looking quietly at her interrogator, 
Ellen asked: 

"Why should I be afraid ?" 

"They do say as it's haunted, and 
queer tales are told of strange noises 
that are heard in the night. Did you 
hear nothing ?" 

Ellen laughed merrily. 

"Such nonsense as people do talk. 
When people are as tired as I am at 
night, they are glad to sleep, and not 
bother with notions. Why I was 
ashamed to come down this morn, I 
Continued on page 56. 

With "Pat" Burns' Cattlemen 


By W. Irving Thomas 








SjWELVE years ago, 
just out of college, 
I began what I 
thought was to be 
my life's work, 
teaching in a high 
school of an east- 
ern city; but the 
city was growing 
iiii:»iittiiigiiiiiiiiMiniiiiiimiiiiiiiuiiiiii:3B rapidlv and the 

students of the high school were 
increasing in number more rapidly 
than the dollars which the ratepayers 
were willing to furnish for teach- 
ers. Consequently I found that 
there were so many placed under my 
instruction that I must either neglect 
some of them or do more work than 
could possibly be crowded into regular 
working hours. I was young and 
ambitious; if I remember correctly 
there was some extravagant notion in 

my mind about doing unusual things 
for the benefit of the rising generation ; 
at any rate I worked through all of the 
daylight hours and often well into the 
night ; worst of all, though I had always 
been fond of hunting and fishing and 
horseback riding, I had no time for 
these; they were crowded out entirely. 
At first I did not realize how hard this 
sudden chaftge in my habits would be 
upon my health ; before I woke up to 
my danger, I could neither eat nor 
sleep and the doctors told me that if I 
were to live at all it would be out of 
doors. It was within a week or two of 
the summer vacation; I was quite at a 
loss to know what out door vacation 
offered the best prospects. 

Ever since I can remember anything 
I have been very fond of horses; it 
chanced that in going to the business 
part of the city from my boarding 

place, I passed one of the fire halls; 
there were, of course, several very fine 
horses kept there by the fire depart- 
ment and I never tired of going in to 
look at them; incidentally I became 
well acquainted with one of the drivers. 
One day, just before the school ysar 
closed, I happened to be talking to this 
man and remarked that I was ordered 
to stay out of doors and didn't know just 
how to manage it. He said, "I'll tell 
you what would be the clear rig ; I have 
a friend ranching out in Alberta. I'll 
give you a letter of introduction to him 
and you can go out there and herd 
cattle for the summer; you won't 
know yourself in the fall." It was the 
latter part of his speech which most 
appealed to me; I thought that by 
spending the summer on the ranch I 
could regain my health and come back 
to teach in the high school again. I 

would have laughed at the idea of 
preferring ranching to high school 
teaching, but nothing could induce me 
now to go back. 

I found that the fireman's friend was 
a "new settler" with a few cattle and a 
little bunch of horses, but one of Pat 
Bums' winter camps was located not 
far away. I soon became acquainted 
with his foreman, Mr. Duggan, though 
I never met Mr. Burns. The current 
story concerning him was that he came 
to Alberta with the men who built the 
first railroad, saw the cattle possibili- 
ties of the country and began to ranch 
in a small way at first, gradually 
increasing his "bunch" till he finally 
became the leading cattle man of 

His method was to establish winter 
camps wherever there was a large 
spring, capable of furnishing unlimited 
water, located in a coulee, the banks of 
which afforded shelter from snow 
storms, while the grass on the surround- 
ing prairie could be cut and stacked in 
summer for winter use. Each of these 
camps wintered from one hundred to 
three hundred cattle according to the 
amount of hay which could be cut 
within reasonable hauling distance 
from the spring. These camps were 
located as near together as available 
hay, water and shelter permitted. 
There was one about eight miles north- 
west of the one just mentioned and 
another about six miles south. In the 
spring the cattle from these camps 
were brought together into large herds 
of a thousand or more, each herd placed 
under the management of a "beef boss" 
who had several cowboys working under 
him, a teamster and a cook. Beside 
the cattle there was the "saddle bunch" 
containing from two to three horses for 
each cowboy. 

As spring approached these large 
herds began to be assembled, especially 
where one camp had run out of hay 
while another had a surplus. As the 
grass began to grow, when the frost 
first came out of the ground the cattle 
were taken out a little way from camp 
in the day time and brought back at 
night for hay and water. When the 
grass had grown sufficiently to be 
trusted to feed the cattle they were 
driven away from the region of winter 
camps, far back from the railroad so as 
to leave the grass near the camps to 
grow into hay for another winter. 

As the winter camps were all located 
near the railroad to make supplies 
handy, the cowboys were frequently in 
town and were never riotous nor intem- 
perate. Most of them took a drink at 
the bar when in town and sometimes 
brought a bottle out to camp, but I 
never saw one of them drunk during 
the winter. They were fond of playing 
tricks on one another and especially on 


a tenderfoot if one chanced to come 
among them. 

A little while after I joined the 
camp I was out a short way from the 
corrall afoot with two or three of the 
cowboys; another cowboy came out to 
us riding a horse bareback and with 
no bit in his mouth. He had nothing 
on but a halter. They fixed up an 
errand for me to camp and the fellow 
with the gentle horse kindly offered 
him to me. I was scarcely on his back 
when he went straight up, ten feet it 
seemed to me. Knowing that I couldn't 


sit him bareback even if I had been an 
experienced rider, I slid down over his 
tail and lit on the ground behind him, 
to the uproarious delight of the cow- 
boy^. Very frequently when a wild 
horse is broken by a certain rider he 
becomes very much attached to his 
master and is as gentle as a kitten in 
his hands but he will buck to the last 
atom of his strength and endurance if 
anyone else tries to ride him. 

From what I had heard I supposed 
that a bunch of cowboys was a sort of 
continuous vaudeville of drunks, shoot- 
ing up towns and full of cantankerous- 
ness generally, but in winter camp and 
out on the range they were quite as 
regular in their habits as any set of 
working men and a great deal more to 
be depended upon than other classes of 
men whom I had known. It was when 
they were coming in from the range 
after a summer's absence from the 
frontier towns or when they were cele- 


brating on the eve of departure from 
the winter camp for the range to begin 
another summer's herding that wild 
capers could be expected. To these 
men who met no one on the range but 
men of their own kind the tenderfoot 
was a great boon, for he brought a 
change, a diversion, he was dif- 

The most entertaining tenderfoot 
who came into the range during my 
stay with the cowboys was one O'Hara, 
just over from the "ould soil." He 
came over with a consignment of 
imported horses to Calgary. Clana- 
han, a foreman whose bunch was one of 
the latest in getting away for the 
summer range, being short handed and 
unable to find an experienced man, 
hired O'Hara thinking that, as he had 
a considerable experience with horses, 
he would be easily broken in. 

Because he was so late in starting 
Clanahan had to content himself with 
a somewhat motley outfit. The chuck 
wagon was driven by a negro, a good 
driver and not a bad rider, who could 
help out with the cattle on occasion. 
The cook was a Chinaman, a thorough 
success at his job but new to the range. 

The first day out some of the riders 
came into camp with specimens of a 
plant which proved very satisfactory 
when cooked for greens. They told the 
Chinaman that it grew abundantly at 
a spot which they pointed out not very 
far from camp. The bunch was sup- 
posed to be composed entirely of steers 
and dry cows but one of these sup- 
posedly dry cows had carefully con- 
cealed a newly born calf at the spot 
pointed out to the Chinaman and when 
he proceeded with pail and butcher 
knife to look for greens, if two mounted 
riders had not been keeping an eye on 
his movements, he would probably 
never have gotten back to camp. As 
it was he came in at the top of his speed, 
the cow thundering along at his heels, 
bellowing wildly. He was too much 
excited to notice that one of the cow- 
punchers roped the cow, and stumbling 
over the tent ropes rolled into camp, 
more white than Mongolian, to the 
great delight of the cowboys. 

However, they overlooked the fa^t 
that they were not far enough away 
from civilization to make escape 
impossible and the next morning found 
themselves without a cook. As there 
was no other way out of the difficulty, 
they cast lots to see who should take 
the place of the missing Chinaman. 
The lot fell upon a lanky cowpuncher 
with little experience and less liking 
for his new job. 

"I took a chanst with the rest o' you 

an' I'll .stand to it," he said, "but I 

don't tech nary kettle ner skillet till 

every cuss o' you swears that the first 

Continued on page 60. 

Following The 


THE winter vacation of the snowshoe and white trail began 
with the business man. In summer his office force melted 
to the woods and the seashore; he stayed, of necessity, 
at the desk. In the fall they returned; the machinery 
of the office went forward smoothly again; and for the first time 
the wearied and nerve-worn business man had a chance to 
think of his own playtime. One of them experimented with 
January at Algonquin Park, and had a "bully time." So the 
winter camping parties began,— men only at first; then wives 
and daughters. 

Time was when the hair rose up on the back of our necks when 
anybody mentioned "Our Lady of the Snows," and for a long 
time we would have nothing to do with Mr. Rudyard Kipling 
because of his poem. But a more sensible view has come to us 
with the years and our Canadian winters are now our pride. To 
the Canadian-born there is no sound more unforgettable, more 
freighted with memories, than the sharp creak of the dry snow 
underfoot on a bright morning. His the line — again Kipling's — 
"And for one the creak of snowshoes on the crust." No tropic 
palrn, no smell of saddles or arch of spray-wet sail can match 
it. The dry cold air, the deep snow, the winter woods have no 

terrors. The lower the 
thermometer, the keener 
the zest for the morning 
tramp, the merrier the 
laughing party at luncheon. 
Men and women garbed in 
sweaters and wool caps 
and moccasins dig their 
toes into the snowshoe 
thongs. with vim and swing 
off for a seven-mile tramp in 
the wonderful winter forest. 
And at night the moon- 
light that is found alone 
in the brilliant whiteclad 
north, the trails over the 
lakes and around the silent 
islands beckon irresistibly. 
The undimmed glamour of 
the moon, the crisp crunch 
of the snowshoe, the tingle 
of frost, and the merry 





White Trails] 


laughter of the Hne before and behind you, all have an elfin 
glamour. You chuckle like a bo\ — chuckle as if there were no 
such things as stockmarkets, tickers or deals in the world — and 
go exploring on your own account where a line of dotted tracks 
writes a legend in an unknown language on the snow. You 
may meet wise-eyed Reynard, returning with a kill; or perhaps 
the trail ends in a beaver colony of strange humped houses. 
Perhaps it brings you to a scarred and bloody spot where a 
white owl has swooped on a luckless rabbit and left nothing 
but slim, clean-picked bones to record his passing. ■ / 

But the others are singing now — the voices, softened and 
sweetened by distance, ring out with almost unearthly harmony 
— and you turn, short-cutting through an aisle of lofty pines to 
catch up with them and in the sound of familiar human speech 
lose the uncanny feeling that haunted you when you bent above 
the bones of the little rabbit. Somebody in a white sweater and 
stocking-cap waves her hand as you cut across the open — it's good 
to be missed by a pair of bright eyes — and before you know it, 
you have tumliled in with the others to a low-ceiled room, 
where a rousing fire of logs roars in the wide chimney and 
sandwiches are waiting. 

There, too, are the nights 
when skating takes the 
place of snowshoeing. 
Have you ever skated on 
black ice by moonlight, 
with never a track before 
your own ringing blades ? 
Or tobogganed down the 
steep face of a hill with 
three dips and two bumps 
at the lx)ttom of the second 
dip — and the tail-man can 
look out for himself? The 
business men who first be- 
gan going to Algoncjuin 
didn't know they were up- 
setting a tradition and 
starting a fashion, but just 
the same their example has 
spread until winter Algon- 
quin is full of merrymakers 
among the snowy woods. 


ooinc in on the 
nominican camp 
road through the 
winter wuods op 
the park on a 





The Crimson Parrot 

By George Frederick Clarke 

Illustrated by Frederic M. Grant 

THE port of St. John was heavy 
with fog and rain and the old 
horn at the mouth of the har- 
bor kept bellowing its warning 
every minute or so, and made me 
shiver as I sat in the little room at the 
back of the shop. My mind was busy 
with this thing and that, of tales I'd 
heard of the deep sea, pirates and 
smugglers, and blockade-runners, and 
God knows what not; for to our little 
store came seamen from all the ports 
of the old world, and I knew a heap of 
life in a quiet way. 

And presently he came. The fog- 
horn had but ceased a lonesome warn- 
ing when the door opened, and the 
room was filled with the creaking sign 
outside and the tinkling of the bell we'd 
put over the door when I was only a 
little gaffer. And I saw his eyes first, 
shining from his wet, grey-whiskered 
face like lamps through a fog. Then, 
as he stumped towards me, my eyes 
took him all in, the tarpaulin-wrapped 
bundle under his arm, his long body 
upheld by one wooden leg and one 
sound one, that was as crooked as 
Billy Margrove's tongue, what used 
to sell hemp and baccy and longshore- 
men's outfits down the wharf a piece. 
He creaked and strained over to 
where I was, for I was too struck dumb 
even to move. I wanted to call mother 
but I knew her to be asleep in the next 
room, and decided it was best not to 
show myself cowardly before him. 

And he set down the bundle he 
carried, all the while looking at me 
with his bright, uncanny eyes. Oh, he 
was an old, old man, wrinkled and 
seared and browned like mahogany, 
and his clothes were old, and patched 
together in many places. He opened 
his mouth, and his voice, so unlike the 
rest of him I almost jumped from my 
stool, was as kind and soft as the mis- 
sion parson's I used to go to hear on 
Sundays, as he said: "It's a bad 
night, sonny," and I said, yes it was, 
and then he asked me for a plug of 
baccy which I got for him. 

He had seated himself in a high- 
backed rocking chair we had, and 
pulled out a pipe and gully knife and 
began cleaning it, and when he'd got 
the baccy, started to fill up. 
And after he'd lit and took a few 


"it's a lie," 
croaked the 


puffs, he spit into ' 
the stove, and 
looked af me and 
through me with 
his bright blue 
eyes and says : 
"It's a bad night. 
Sonny, but not so 
bad as the night 
we sunk the 'Bar- 
badoes'," says he, 
and shook his 
head and tapped 
the bowl of his 
pipe on a horny knuckle. 

"Ah yes," he continued, 
puffing and blowing a great 
cloud of smoke. "The night 
we sunk the Barbadoes was a 
hundred times worse nor this, and the 
thunder was that heavy I thought the 
end of the world was come and knowed 
it was judgment for the sins that we'd 

He stopped a moment, and leaned 
toward me so suddenly his wooden 
leg creaked with the effort. "Hark ye, 
sonny," he says, "and I'll tell you a 
story. I'm an old man now, and it's 
been on my mind a score of years. 

"that's the barbadoes," he says, "and we sunk her 
IN fifteen fathom off the coast of morocco 

ALONG with the GOLD'' 

But it's gospel true," he says. And 
then, — ^just then, a voice came from 
the bundle he'd brought with him "It's 
a damn lie," it said, and laughed, a 
croaking laugh. 

I'll never forget the look in the 
stranger's eyes — terror, anger, I know 

not which, then he stooped, and, tear- 
ing away the tarpaulin disclosed to my 
eyes a large crimson parrot. 

"That's her," he says in his soft, 
peculiar voice. "That's the 'Bar- 
badoes! ' and we sunk her in fifteen 
fathom off the coast of Morocco along 
with the gold and her and him, that 
was in love, both of them." 

I shivered. Was the man a maniac, 
drunk, or what ? I tried then to call 
mother, but my mouth was dry and 
my tongue a dead thing that refused 
to move. And all the while the gale 
swung the old sign outside to and fro 
with a dismal clatter and whistled and 
moaned about the eaves as though it 
were some lost soul seeking entrance; 
and down the harbor the foghorn 
repeated its mournful warning. 

He took a piece of bread from a 
pocket and thrust it between the bars 
of the cage. The bird's beak darted 
for his fingers in impotent fury. He 
laughed, low and musical, and muttered 
something in a foreign tongue as the 
angry bird withdrew to its perch and 
pecked at the bread and grumbled 
alternately. Finally it closed one eye 
and, with the utmost solemnity said, 
' 'It's a damn lie, thank God — yes," and 
then the thing laughed. 

"She's five hundred years old if 
she's a day," continued the seaman, 
"and she's seen a heap of life, both 
good and bad. But she knew too 
much, so we sunk her, as I said before, 
off the coast of Morocco along with 
her and him." 

He stopped again, and I knew he 
must be crazy, and wondered when 
he'd start to kill me; for I thought of 
every tale I'd ever heard of the doings 
of crazy folk. But in a minute he 
began again and talked on slow and 
eager to the end of the tale. 

"There was me," he says, "and Joel 
Stairs, and Alex. Robbins, and Peter 
Frome from Norwich. And one night, 
twenty year aback, we was seated in 
the ingle of the 'Bull' drinking ale and 
small beer and cracking jokes with 
Patience Croft, the barmaid, when in 
walks a tall, handsome man with the 
air of the military. He steps up to 
the bar, he does, and lays a gold piece 
on the marble, then his eye sought us 
and, 'Step up, my men,' says he. 

"We all goes forward and drank his 
health. And he said, 'Another,' and 
we was again filled by the pretty bar- 

" 'What ship, men ?' asks the 
stranger, and we said we was waiting 
for orders. It might be a month and 
it might be two. 

"He looked at us solemnly and drew 
his brows together thoughtful-like and 
says, 'I want a crew, a good, hardy lot 
of men. My yacht, the "Barbadoes", 
is ready to sail in a week, Will you 
sign ?' 

"And Peter Frome spoke up. He 
was always quick with the tongue and 
generally our lead. "Where to ?" he 

"Again the stranger's brows came 
together. 'What's that to you men ?' 
he asks proudly. 'You get your pay — 
a month's salary down,' he hastens, 
'and good rations. Better than you've 
been getting all your lives, I'll wager 
a thousand pounds. Will you sign ?' 

"It wasn't just regular. Every sea- 
man likes to know his port. But there 
was an air about the man that was 
taking, and he'd mentioned wages 
that was more'n we'd ever thought to 
get. Moreover, there was something 
mysterious about it all that whetted 
our curiosity. 

"When he'd gone, Joel Stairs spoke 
up. 'I'll stake my davy it's a treasure 
hunt.' And we all agreed it was more 
than a yachting cruise we'd signed to. 
And Joel Stairs swore — we'd all been 
drinking heavy — he'd bring Patience 
Croft home her pretty hands full of 
doubloons and pieces-of-eight. God 
knows the poor girl loved him. And 
Joel wasn't a bad sort — not a bad sort. 
But he never came back — nor never 

"Well, in a week we saw her, — as 
trim a craft as ever tug-boat towed 
out of port—" 

The old man stopped a moment, his 
blue eyes beyond me. His pipe had 
gone out. The parrot, Barbadoes, 
stood on her perch and seemed to 

Presently he continued, "For a 
gentleman's yacht we soon found that 
she presented a very warlike appear- 
ance. On her forward deck, under a 
tarpaulin, was a wicked little six- 
pounder, and in the mate's cabin were 
rows of Lec-Metford rifles. And we 
wondered anew. Was it a treasure 
hunt, or gun-running we was bent on ? 

"Well, 1 have said the master was 
not more than thirty-five, with a quick 
turn to his tongue that showed he was 
used to ordering men. He was dark 
featured, with great grey-blue eyes, 
and we cal'lated he'd served in India. 

"And he'd pace back and forth the 
length of the deck with his grey eyes 
fixed on the grey sea, as though he was 
impatient at the speed we was making. 


And he'd come to me a dozen times a 
day at the wheel and question me as to 
my knowledge of every piece of water 
on the globe. And there wasn't much 
I couldn't tell him, I say. 

"He had directed me to shape our 
course to Gibraltar and in fifteen days 
we had passed the great fortress and 
was slipping through the straits to the 
Mediterranean. We was all puzzled. 
As a rule, men don't go treasure hunt- 
ing in those waters, but rather south 
to the Caribbean Sea. 

"On we went, stopping only at this 
port or that to take on fresh water or 
coal, and the farther we got the more 
anxious we grew to know our fixed 
destination. We was disappointed, we 
was, for we'd visions of treasure hunt- 
ing and the possible share in a rich 
prize. But after all, it Wcis a treasure 
we was after, and so help me God ! the 
Indian Ocean is the greatest treasure- 
ground in the world. 

"Hark ye, sonny," he said, and 
strained towards me so that his wooden 
leg creaked painfully to my ear. "Hark 
ye, lad, and I'll tell you of a treasure 
greater than Drake looted at Nombre 
Dois, or Captain Kidd is ever credited 
with burying. I'll tell you of Mono- 
hirini, the Hindoo princess, and the 
gold and jewels that we shipped aboard 
at Bombay nineteen years agone this 
very month. 

"Six weeks from Southampton we 
dropped anchor at Bombay and the 
master had given his orders. He told 
us he was going ashore, would be gone 
a week at the latest, and cautioned us 
to stay aboard after the third day, 
then, dressing himself with the greatest 
care, he left us and went in the direc- 
tion of Bankipore, we learned later. 

"A week passed, a week of blistering 
days and there was nothing to do but lie 
beneath the awnings and watch the 
queer native boats putting into, or out 
of the harbor. 

"And one night he came back. It 
had just struck eight bells when we 
heard the lookout's ahoy ! A boat 
swung alongside; there was some talk 
in a low key, and a minute later we 
helped the master and a lady on board. 
There followed them a huge native 
with his arms full of traps. 

"They hurried into the cabin and, 
in a moment the master came forward 
and in a quick voice superintended the 
removal of several boxes which they 
had brought with them. 

"It was not until the last case was 
aboard and the niggers had salaamed 
and departed that he turned to us, and 

I saw his eyes, as bright as the stars 
that filled the heavens. His face was 
thinner, but there was something new, 
a glad triumph that had not been there 
the previous week. He says, 'Billy,' 
says he, 'we must be out of this at 
once. Is everything aboard, coal, 


water, everything ?' And I said yes, 
and he became familiar with me, the 
only time I ever saw him stoop from 
his reserve. He clapped me on the 
back, 'Good, old boy !' he tells me. 
'They're likely to follow us; but we'll 
give them a warm reception, eh ?' and 
he chuckled. 'Keep a sharp lookout 
and arm the men,' he commanded, 
and stayed on deck until we was well 
out of the harbor. 

"We saw her the next day with him 
by her side, his deep grey eyes con- 
tented and filled with love. She had 
her hand on his arm and she walked 
with a swaying, lithesome movement 
from her hips as do all Eastern people. 

"Beautiful ? I have no words to 
tell of her beauty. I heard him, as 
they passed the wheel, call her a god- 
dess. And his voice, that was so com- 
manding to us beneath him, softened 
like a woman's as he told her that her 
name, Monohirini, had been well 
given. It seems it meant in English, 
'Stealer of men's minds.' He exclaimed 
that she had stolen his soul. 

"I know she worshipped him. Her 
whole heart trembled in her eyes as 
they gazed into his. I remember well 
her hair, as black as the darkest night. 

"The Hindoo servant they had 
brought with them kept himself aloof 
from us. He was tall, and silent, and 
fierce. He slept at night just outside 
and before their cabin door, like a 
great faithful dog. 

"Joel Stairs overheard the master 
and her talking one day. He said ; 'My 
Princess, is it well with you ? Are you 
quite happy ?' and she replied, 'My 
lord's happiness is mine. He is my 
star that guides me through his Heaven.' 
And she stooped and caught up his 
hand fondly and kissed it. 

"Some of us had heard of the beauti- 
ful Hindoo princess Monohirini and 
of her great wealth. The very chairs 
in her palace were said to be studded 
with jewels. Many suitors had vainly 
tried for her hand, — foreign princes 
and nobles; but with no success. She 
was said to be the proudest of her race, 
and her brother boastfully declared 
that no member of his family would 
ever wed with any of the white race. 

"Yet, here she was, my lad, and as 
deeply in love as woman ever was. 
How the master had accomplished it 
we never knew. This much, however, 
we did know. He expected us to be 
pursued, hence the gun on the forward 
deck, the Lee-Melfords in the cabin, 
and the constant watch kept day and 

"In our own quarters we talked the 
matter over, and speculated on the 
boxes they had brought on board, 
jewels and money— a king's ransom, no 
doubt, and we gloated over our evil 

Continued on page 3o. 


Autlior of . 


Percy Edward .Anderson, 


Three people, Genevieve Leslie, a society girl; Cecil Winthrope, an Englishman in the diplomatic service ; and Tom Blake, a Canadian civil 
engineer, are wrecked on the most desolate and wildest stretch of the Mozambique coast. Blake's admiration for Miss Leslie has been 
squelched by Winthrope on board the steamer, but shortly after the storm subsides, Blake proves himself the strongest and most resourceful 
of the three, and assumes command of the party. A headland shows some ten miles to the south, with promise of water and safety from the 
malarial swamps. This the party heads for, and in the journey Winthrope sprains his ankle, which forces Blake to carry him. Almost spent 
with thirst, they reach a river, and Blake, pushing ahead, finds that it is salt with the sea-water of high tide. Meantime, Winthrope discovers 
an uprooted cocoa-palm, and the nuts serve as both food and drink. They spend the night in a baobab tree, hearing wild beasts about them, 
but safe from their attacks. Next morning, Blake starts out to find a way to cross the river and so reach the headland. On reaching it the 
party find a drove of wild catttle, a spring of good water, — and a family of leopards in command of the situation. Being weaponless and without 
fire to smoke out the leopards' den, they are forced to withdraw. "Men's pockets seem so open," remarks Miss Leslie, as they retreat, "I've had 
to pick up Mr. Blake's locket twice." He gasps "Locket! I never had one in my life! Give it here!" and opens a surveyor's burning glass, 
which solves their fire and food problem. They burn out the leopards, eat roast kitten and start to create a dwelling place in the den. Miss 
Leslie determines to show she can help, and takes hold of the work bravely. Then she overhears a conversation between Blake and Win- 
thrope in which Blake states angrily, "I'd like to know where in hell you come in ? She's not your mother, nor your sister, nor your aunt, and 
if she's your sweetheart, you've both been dammed close-mouthed over it." Terror-stricken, she hastens back to camp. She tells Winthrope 
of her fear, and he urges her to marry him, but she refuses. Then Winthrope comes down with the fever, and Blake is poisoned by eating fish. 
While he is gone, the jackals attack the camp, but the girl manages to beat them off, and when Blake returns in the morning, he shows 
open admiration of her bravery. When Winthrope recovers from his attack of fever, the three make a trip back to the cocoanut grove. Miss 
Leslie goes to pick an amaryllis, and finds a huge poison adder. Blake kills it, but not before it has apparently struck Miss Leslie on the knee. 
Unceremoniously he flings back her skirt and puts his lips to a small red wound to suck out the poison, only to receive a furious repulse from 
the girl who says it is only a thorn wound. Winthrope takes her away, in hysterics, and Blake, after extracting the snake's venom to poison 
arrows, picks the amaryllis as a p_>ace offering for Miss Leslie. By this time both men are in love with her, Blake silently, Winthrope con- 
stantly urging his suit. Blake begs forgiveness for his blunder about the snake and is forgiven. Then he makes her a strong bamboo door 
for her cave, heavy, armed with sharpened stakes, and yet set so ingeniously on a hinge that a child can swing it. Winthrope, in Blake's 
absence, hints to Miss Leslie that Blake is afflicted with paranoia, and has made this door to protect her from himself in his irresponsible 
moments. A tropical storm of terrible fury bursts over the camp while the men are away. Cowering in her cave for shelter. Miss Leslie sees 
by a lightning flash that Winthrope is stealthily crawling in upon her. his face like that of a beast. The sharp bamboo door, caught by a gust, 
whirls on its axis, and strikes him down. She manages to bolt the door, and faints. In the morning Blake staggers in, calling her name. 
When he learns of \\ inthrnpe's attempt he is furious, but she restrains him, and they find that Winthrope has been struck by the door, and 
is already dying. He confesses in his last moments that he is only a valet masquerading as a gentleman, with a lot of stolen emeralds sewn 
up in a stomach-pad. Left alone they put Winthrope's body up on the headland, hide the emeralds and clear up the debris of the storm. Not 
until jMiss Leslie is again alone does she realise that under the stress of the day she has called Blake "Tom." 



In the morning she found Blake 
scraping energetically at the inner 
surfaces of a pair of raw hyena skins. 

"So you've killed more game !" she 

"Game? No; hyenas. I hated to 
waste good poison on the brutes; but 
nothing else showed up, and I need a 
new pair of pa — er — trousers." 

"Was it not dangerous — great beasts 
like these ?" 

"Not even enough to make it inter- 
esting. I'd have had some fun, though, 
with that confounded lion when the 


moon came up, if he hadn't sneaksd off 
into the grass." 

"A lion ?" 

"Yes. Didn't you hear him ? The 
skulking brute prowled around for 
hours before the moon rose, when it 
was pitch dark< It was mighty lone- 
some, with him yowling down by the 
pool. Half a chance, and I'd given 
him something to yowl about. But it 
wasn't any use firing off my arrows in 
the dark, and, as I said, he sneaked off 
before " 

"Tom — Mr. Blake ! — you must not 
risk your life !" 

"Don't you worry about me. I've 
learned how to look out for Tom 
Blake. And you can just bank on it 

I'm going to look out for Miss Jenny 
Leslie, too ! . . . . But say, 
after breakfast, suppose we take a run 
out on the cliffs for eggs ?" 

"I do not wish any to-day, thank 

He waited a little, studying her 
down-bent face. 

"Well," he murmured; "you don't 
have to come. I know I oughtn't to 
take a moment's time. I did quite a 
bit last night; but if you think " 

She glanced up, puzzled. His mean- 
ing flashed upon her, and she rose. 

"Oh, not that ! I will come," she 
answered, and hastened to prepare 
the morning meal. 

When they came to the tree-ladder, 

she found that the heap of stones built 
up by Blake to facilitate the first part 
of the ascent was now so high that she 
could climb into the branches without 
difficulty. She surmised that Blake 
had found it necessary to build up the 
pile before he could ascend with his 

They were at the foot of the heap, 
when, with a sharp exclamation, Blake 
sprang up into the branches, and 
scrambled to the top in hot haste. 
Wondering what this might mean. 
Miss Leslie followed as fast as she 
could. When she reached the top, 
she saw him running across towards an 
out-jutting point on the north edge of 
the cliff. 

She had hurried after him for more 
than half the distance before she per- 
ceived the vultures that were gathered 
in a solemn circle about a long and 
narrow heap of stones, on a ledge, down 
on the sloping brink of the cliff. While 
at the foot of the tree Blake had seen 
one of the grewsome flock descending 
to join the others, and, fearful of what 
might be happening, had rushed on 

At his approach, the croaking 
watchers hopped awkwardly from the 
ledges, and soared away; only to wheel, 
and circle back overhead. Miss Leslie 
shrank down, shuddering. Blake came 
back near her, and began to gather up 
the pieces of loose rock which were 
strewn about beneath the ledges on 
that part of the cliff. 

"I know I piled up enough," he 
explained, in response to her look. 
"AH the same, a few more will do no 

"Then you are sure those awful birds 

have not " 

"Yes; I'm sure." 

He carried an armful of rocks to lay 
on the mound. When he began to 
gather more, she followed his example. 
They worked in silence, piling the 
rough stones gently one upon another, 
until the cairn had grown to twice its 
former size. The air on the open cliff 
loj) was fresher than in the cleft, and 
Miss Leslie gave little heed to the 
absence of shade. She would have 
worked on under the burning sun 
without thought of consequences. 
But Blake knew the need of modera- 

"There; that'll do," he said. "He 
may have been — all he was; but we've 
no m(jrc than done our duty. Now, 
we'll stroll out on the [)oint." 
"I should prefer to return." 
"No doubt. But it's time you 
learned how to go nesting. What if 
you should be left alone here ? Besides, 
it looks to me like the signal is tearing 

^ She accompanied him out along the 
cliff crest until they stood in the midst 


of the bird colony, half deafened by 
their harsh clamor. She had never 
ventured into their concourse when 
alone. Even now she cried out, and 
would have retreated before the sharp 
bills and beating wings had not Blake 
walked ahead and kicked the squawk- 
ing birds out of the path. Having 
made certain that the big white flag 
was still secure on its staff, he led the 
way along the seaward brink of the 
cliff, pointing out the different kinds 
of seafowl, and shouting information 
about such of their habits and qualities 
as were of concern to hungry casta- 

He concluded the lesson by descend- 
ing a dizzy flight of ledges to rob the 
nest of a frigate bird. It was a fool- 
hardy feat at best, and doubly so in 
view of the thousands of eggs lying all 
around in the hollows of the cliff top. 
But from these Blake had recently 
culled out all the fresh settings of the 
frigate birds, and none of the other 
eggs equalled them in delicacy of 

"How's that ?" he demanded, as he 
drew himself up over the edge of the 
cliff, and handed the big chalky-white 
egg into her keeping. 

"I would rather go without than see 
you take such risks," she replied 

"You would, eh ?" he cried, quite 
misunderstanding her, and angered by 
what seemed to him a gratuitous 
rebuff. "Well, I'd rather you'd say 
nothing than speak in that tone. If 
you don't want the egg heave it over." 
Unable to conceive any cause for 
his sudden anger, she was alarmed, and 
drew back, watching him with sidelong 

"What's the matter ?" he demanded. 
"Think I'm going to bite you ?" 

She shrank farther away, and did 
not answer. He stared at her, his 
eyes hard and bright. Suddenly he 
burst into a harsh laugh, and strode 
away towards the cliff, savagely kicking 
aside the birds that came in his [)ath. 

When, an hour later, the girl crept 
back along the cleft to the baobab, 
she saw him hard at work building a 
little hut, .several yards down towards 
the barricade. The moment she per- 
ceived what he was about her bearing 
became less guarded, and she took 
up her own work with a spirit and 
energy which she had not shown since 
the adventure with the puff adder. 

At her call to the ntxin meal, Blake 
took his time to respond, and when he 
at last came to join her, he was morose 
and taciturn. She met him with a 
smile, and exerted all her womanly 
tact to conciliate him. 

"You must help me eat the egg," 
she said. "I've boiled it hard." 
"Rather eat beef," he mumbled. 


"But just to please me — ^when I've 

cooked it your way ?" 

He uttered an inarticulate sound 
which she chose to interpret as assent. 
The egg was already shelled. She 
cut it exactly in half, and served one 
of the pieces to him with a bit of warm 
fat and a pinch of salt. As he took the 
dish, he raised his sullen eyes to her 
face. She met his gaze with a look of 
smiling insistence. 

"Come now," she said; "please don't 
refuse. I'm sorry I was so rude." 

"Well, if you feel that way about 
it," he responded gruffly. 

"It would be missing half the enjoy- 
ment to eat such a delicacy without 
some one to share it," she said. 

Blake looked away without answer. 
But she could see that his face was 
beginning to clear. Greatly encour- 
aged, she chatted away as though they 
were seated at her father's dinner-table, 
and he was an elderly friend from the 
business world whom it was her duty 
to entertain. 

For a while Blake betrayed little 
interest, confining himself to monosyl- 
lables except when he commented on 
the care with which she had cooked 
the various dishes. When she least 
expected, he looked up at her, his lips 
parted in a broad smile. She stopped 
short, for she had been describing her 
first social triumph, and his untimely 
levity embarrassed her. 

"Don't get mad, Miss Jenny," he 
said, his eyes twinkling. "You don't 
know how funny it seems to sit here 
and listen to you talking about those 
things. It's like serving up ice cream 
and onions in the same dish." 

"I'm sure, Mr. Blake—" 

"Beats a burlesque all hollow — Lady 
What-you-may-callum's chop-sooey tea 
and young Mrs. Honorable Somebody's 
autocotillon — with us sitting here like 
troglodytes, chewing snake-poisoned 

antelope, and you in that Kundry 


"Do you — I was not aware that you 
knew about music." 

"Don't know a note. But give me a 
chance to hear good music, and I'm 
there, if I have to stand in the peanut 

"Oh, I'm .so glad ! I'm very, very 
fond of music ! Have you been to 
Bayreuth ?" 

"Where's that ?" 

"In Germany. It is where his 
operas are given as staged by Wagner 
himself. It is indescribably grand 
and ins[)iring — above all, the Parsifal!" 

"I'll most certainly take that in, 
even if I have to cut short my engage- 
ment in this gee-lorious clime — though 
when it comes to leopard ladies — " 
He paused, and surveyed her with 
frank admiration. 

Continued on page 45. 



T^HE production of two hundred 

million bushels of wheat in a coun- 
try that was recently inhabited by 
Poor Lo and his four-footed associates, 
is surely concrete evidence of develop- 
ment. But Canada's latest bumper 
crop is more surprising to outsiders 
than to those who live close to the 
ever-marching procession of home- 
seekers. When we know that new- 
comers have been reaching us at the 
rate of 350,000 a year, we expect to 
see tangible results of their labors. 
Ten years hence our mighty advance 
will cause less excitement than we felt 
over the big crop of a decade ago. We 
are now 8,000,000, but, as Immigration 
Superintendent W. D. Scott said the 
other day, we are planning with 40,- 
000,000 in view. 

SON has recently widened his circle 
of admirers in the Maritime Provinces. 
Captain James and Seaman Richardson 
of Publico, N.S., heroically rescued the 
crew of a United States schooner which 
had become disabled in a fierce Atlantic 
storm. The story of their bravery 
reached Washington — reached the 
White House itself. Captain James has 
received a handsome gold watch, and 
Seaman Richardson a gold medal, both 
suitably engraved, with the president's 

'T'HE agitator from Great Britain 
with a meritorious cause and abil- 
ity to present it, is always given a fair 
hearing in the Dominion. But he 
must behave himself in our midst. 
We can stomach much less lawless 
oratory than our neighbors in the 
States. Tom Mann's wild antics at a 
Windsor (Ont.) gathering not long ago, 
when he denounced all Government 
whatsoever, spoke impudently of the 
King, and left the platform while the 

national anthem was being sung, were 
characteristic of a type of radical that 
will never be popular here. The Cana- 
dians comprise Liberals, Conservatives, 
Laborites, Socialists, Independents and 
others, but the Loyalists are the most 
numerous partisans in the nine prov- 

VyiNNIPEG the up-to-date, one day 
arranges to spend thirteen mil- 
lions on her new waterworks system, 
and the next throws open her new Art 
Institute. A school of art, conducted 
as an important branch of an industrial 
bureau, is surely the last word in west- 
ern progress. Competent instructors 
will train young Manitobans in the use 
of brush and pencil. Winnipeg citizens 
believe that there is no reason in the 
world why a few Turners and Raphaels 
should not be discoverable in their 
region, as well as an army of farmers, 
manufacturers and bankers. And, as 
usual, they are right. 

^ANADA'S treasure-house of natural 
resources shows variety as well as 
vast extent. The latest Mecca of 
precious metal seekers is the MacLeod 
river, in the far northwest. Here has 
been discovered a placer territory 
whose wealth promises to rival Cali- 
fornia and the Klondike. Simultan- 
eously news comes of another big 
natural gas "strike" near Edmonton 
which will afford the lucky folk in that 
vicinity fuel and lighting at nominal 
rates. It \^ill also tempt enterprising 
American manufacturers looking for a 
desirable factory site. 

'T'HE oldest Canadian in active ser- 
vice resents the insinuation that it 
is time for retirement at ninety-three. 
Canada will never see his like again, 
and will never have another servant 
in her employ more faithful, more 
industrious, or more skilled in his line 

of work. On returning to London 
af'ier a flying visit. Lord Strathcona 
insisted that he was still in harness and 
would remain at his post as long as his 
zest for action held out. Let us hope 
the century mark will find the illus- 
trious High Commissioner still hale and 
hearty, an eager booster of the land 
that loves him. 


T_IAVE you ever Iain on a hill side 
where the sun shone warm on the 
pines, and felc lazy and peaceful and 
contented clear down to your roots ? 
If you have, "The Woods" is your 
book. Douglas Malloch, its author, is a 
Scotch-Canadian who knows our 
beautiful forests and loves them — and 
has put them into song for all the world 
to hear. In fact, the young poet says 
that his best ambition is to express the 
charm of the deep woods and the 
people who, living there, have taken 
on the character of their surroundings. 
Mr. Malloch has long enjoyed a 
reputation among foresters, lumber-, 
men and others whose lives are thread- 
ed out among the woods. The men 
who are leaders in the forestry move- 
ment both here and in the United 
States know and love his poems. But 
he deserves a wider audience, for in all 
of us, no matter how citv-bound and 







Author of "The Woods." a new book of poems with the 
tang of the pines and the ring of the axe in its verses 

convention-crusted we are, there is a 
remembrance, an undercurrent of 
affection for the out-of-doors that bred 
our ancestors, and an instinctive under- 




standing of it. Dim and clouded 
though it may be, we know something 
of the woods life, and take a pleasure 
in it at second-hand with the mos- 
quitoes carefully handpicked out, and 
no danger of our getting rained on. 

Not only does Mr. Malloch voice the 
wcx)ds, but he speaks also for the 
woodsman. His out-of-doors is not 
the country of Shelley, Wordsworth, 
and the other so-called "nature poets." 
It is a region of mackinaws and pcavies, 
of the "tank-wagon" and the skid-road, 
the boss and the "hoss," a place where 
IX)werful rough men war with grin 
Nature for their bread. The song and 
.story, the humor and philosophy of the 
lumberjack are put into his verses. 
Take for instance the poem "Posses- 
sion, "which is the reflection of a lumber- 
jack sitting on the stoop in the sun : 

"The boss in town unrolls a map 

An' proudly says 'It's mine.' 

But he don't drink no maple-sap 

An' he don't smell no pine 

The boss in town he figgers lands 

In quarter-sections red; 

Lord ! I just set with folded hands 

An' breathe 'em in instead." 

"Back on the Job" is the quaint 
philosophy of the lumlxirjack whom 
"Miss Spring" has overtaken with part 
of his cut still in the woods. 

". . . . Up here in the timber 

We think we are runnin' the thing; 

We're fallin' the trees 

An' we're makin' it freeze — 

But all of a sudden it's Spring. 

Then it's mi.\ up a walk for the swampers 

An' can the whole mackinaw mob; 

No use fer the boss 

Er the crew cr the hoss — • 

Miss Spring has got back on the job." 

The flying geese, the first snow, 
spring fever, the partridge drumming 
in June — these are the things that 
inspire Mr. Malloch and make his book 
delightful to wfX)d.s-lovers, wherever 
they are. (George H. Doraii Co., New 

A SCHOLARLY ami careful work is 
^^ "The Natural Hi.story of the Tor- 
f)nto Region" which has been prepared 
by the Canadian Institute for the mem- 
Ix'rs of the Twelfth Geological Congress 
and for all wlio may have an interest in 
the history and natural history of the 
city and its vicinity. David Reid Keys, 
M.A., contributes the historical sketch ; 
.Alexander Francis Chamljerlain, M.A., 
I'h. 1)., the Indians of the 
region; A. P. Coleman, Ph.D.. F.R.S., 
writes of the gtH>logy ; R. I'. Stupart, 
L.R.S.C, of the climate; C. D. Howe, 
i'h.D., of the life zones; Prin. William 
Scott, of the seed plants, and other 
botanical, z(K)logical and entomological 
tudies are made by men well-known 
in their respective fields. It is thor- 
oughly authoritative, and an addili<m 
io the student's library. (William 
Briggs & Co., Toronto, *2.00) 

Fashion-Craft Clothes- 
Made in Canada. 

Sold in Canada, 
Worn in Canada by the well-dressed 
Canadian. Never more perfect thain 
now. Price range $18. to $50.00. 

All equally well cut and tailored. 

ff^g Shops of ^^ ^^/l 

In every imporlani town and 
city in Canada 

E. L. Marsh's "The Story of Can- 
ada" is picturesque, rather than pro- 
found. Children will read it with 
pk!.'isurc, as if it were a story-book, and 
in the reading cannot help but learn 
plea.santly much that is hard to acquire 
in ihe dry form of the average history. 
(Thomas Nelson & S<ins, London.) 


/'~*ANADA now owns a venerable 
^^ dwelling, surrounded by an acre 
of ground, at Westerham, England, 
that will be forever among the most 

prized of our historic possessions. It 
is the spot where General Wolfe made 
his home. Some 240 letters, documents 
and portraits constituting the Ware 
Collection, will he placed there for the 
reverent inspection of coming genera- 
tions. Of Canada's little group of 
nn'litary immortals, James Wolfe, 
whose lifeblood stained the sod of 
Quebec Heights in 1759, is easily the 
favorite of the people. 

The way of the transgressor is hard 
on the public. 





Old Dutch 

Please mention Canada Monthly when you write to advertisers. 



The Crimson Parrot 

Continued from page 29. 
"One day we stopped by a beautiful 
little island, uninhabited — a mere half 
mile extent. 

" 'We had relaxed our vigilance 
since passing Gibraltar, and now 
imagined we were safe from pursuit. 
The master and his princess were jubi- 
lant, and the sight of the green foliage 
and the pretty beach caused him to 
heave to and go on shore to explore. 

"In a short time he returned and 
ordered the steward to put some food 
in the boat. When all was complete he 
helpctJ Monohirini down the side and 
was rowed to shore. We saw them, 
hand in hand, scamper up the beach 
and into the woods like a couple of 

"Now was our chance. The scheme 
to get hold of the treasure was simpli- 
fied. We were all Englishmen, save 
one, the cook, a Bermuda nigger, and 
we had sworn to commit a crime, but 
we were glad that there was to be no 
i)loodshed. We had now only the 
native servant to settle with. 

"Immediately, therefore, we set to 
work. A council was held and it was 
decided to fill the long boat with pro- 
visions and row them to shore; we were 
not utterly heartless, my lad, though 
we was rascals; and it went against the 
grain to leave them to starve on a 
barren island. 

"It was a wild, devilish plan and 
would have worked all right, but God, 
I cal'late, had a hand in the game. For 
no sin goes without its punishment in 
this world, and ours came quickly. 

"When all was complete we rowed 
the long boat to shore, and while one 
st(K)d with a rifle, the rest unloaded. 
But there was no need for a guard- 
ian. The master had gone into the 

"It took five of us to overpower the 
stalwart Hadji, and then not before 
three of us were cut up with the long 
knife he carried. But a blow on the 
head silenced him at last, and, trus.sing 
him up securely, we rowed him to shore 
and, a rifle and cartridges by his side 
left him well u{x)n the beach. 

"A little later, with the engines 
locating a steady tune, we tore open 
the boxes in the cabin. Gold ? Jewels ? 
Aye, lad, enough to make us all rich 
for life. 

"It couldn't have been an hour later 
\\ hen the lookout sent word below that 
I strange vessel was bearing down on 
IIS, which he thought suspicious. We 
Mished on deck, and there, sure enough, 
not a league away, was a great steam 
\ acht changing her course to cut us off. 
la an instant we remembered the 
master's warnings, the .swivel on the 
forward deck, the rifles storcfl below. 

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On that boat, no doubt, was the 
brother of the princess, or one of his 
command, and a band of savage war- 
riors who would show us no quarter in 
a fight. We had a crew of twenty-five 
but, as we had no desire to meet an 
enemy twice or three times our number, 
our course was changed. Immediately 
the stranger altered his course, while 
we prepared for battle. Two things 
were in our favor, night was approach- 
ing and the barometer was falling. 
"Hardly had we turned about Imw- 

ever, when we heard a shot and a rifle 
bullet sang over the wheel, a signal to 
heave to. We had no idea of this. 
Onerrime more added to the one'already 
committetl couldn't stain us much 
blacker. So we trained our little four- 
I)oundcr on the vessel and sent back the 

"For a moment we thought they 
were about to turn; but presently, on 
she came straight for us, and we knew 
it was fight. They were faster than 
us and they kept up a fusilade of small 


Time to Think 

of Christmas 


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T. T«mbarom 

best. The story of what happened when a lad, to 
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of "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and "The Shuttle," 
with a new dramatic quality $1.40 


By DR. S. WEIR MITCHELL, author "Hugh 
Wynne." New York Times says: "An absorbing 
chronicle of liuman passion and frailty, marked 
with just those alterations of humor and pathos 
that give to the best fiction its enduring quality 


The Story of Waltstill Baxter 

KATE DOUGLAS WIGGINS' stories have been 
exceedingly popular for their qualities of homely 
simplicity and very human touches. This one has 
all of these with more dramatic intensity. . . .$1.25 

The Chief of the Ranges 

H. A. CODY has a way of his own of telling 
stories of Canadian history and conditions, as has 
been evident in "The Frontiersman," "The Long 
Patrol" and others. The new one is a romance- 
history of the early days of Jthe Klondike iregion, 
a bright, breezy story, with a strong love 
theme $1.25 


GERALD STANLEY LEE, a Yankee newspaper 
man, went to London and became so enamoured 
of the Ludgate Hill crowds that they moved him 
to study and writing. This is an unique outline of 
democracy from a new viewpoint. A specially 
suitable gift for a friend who thinks $1.25 

The Moccasin Maker 

E. PAULINE JOHNSON'S work in verse is 
famed. This is a collection of masterful short 
stories which will establish her genius as a prose 
writer $1.25 

The Jack-Koife Man 

ELLIS PARKER BUTLER has made you laugh 
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ters, with pathos as well as humor $1.25 

Otherwise Phyllis 

MEREDITH NICHOLSON has made a name for 
himself in "The House of a Thousand Candles." 
This is another of his strong dramatic books 
centreing around a particularly charming girl who 
has a disregard of the conventional. As usual a 
strong and happy ending lends interest to a par- 
ticularly good story $U5 

A Fool and His Money 

some remarkable and romantic stories in his 
"Graustarks" and other books. This one, like the 
others, has a castle and a beautiful countess, and 
the other qualities which have made this author's 
books so much in demand $1.25 

At your booksellers or 




arms that ploughed up the deck and 
sent splinters in all directions. 

"Then the fight began in earnest. 
The sea rose, and as we staggered along 
at top sjieed we answered shot for shot 
with steady earnest. Our little vessel 
shivered and strained as, smoke be- 
grimed and sweating we fought them. 
Joel Stairs and Peter Frome had served 
in the na\y, and I can see them to-nigh I 
stripped to the waist, working the little 
swivel gun until she was so hot they 
had to cease and take to the small arms. 

"God, it was awful ! Our decks 
were a mass of wreckage. Big Jack 
Cornish, shot through the lungs, knelt 
on the deck swearing and coughing 
blood. The Bermuda nigger lay with 
his white eyes rolled to the skies, stone 
dead. Billy Roper, the cookee, cried 
and moaned his mother's name, with 
his lower jaw half shot away. Two 
thirds of our men were wounded. 

"A half hour later, at nightfall, 
they ran us abroad, and a crew of tur- 
baned warriors leaped on our deck. It 
was every man for himself now and 
those that were left fought — fought 
like the fiends we were. God help us 
all. Twice- — three times we fought them 
back, foot by foot, and the deck was 
slippery with our blood and theirs. I 
parried the thrust of a hea-vy tulwar in 
the hands of a gigantic Hindoo and 
swung my rifle for his head. The 
beggar ducked, and the butt. caught 
him on the shoulder. As he fell 1 
turned my attention to another adver- 

The old man stopped a moment and 
his eyes scorched through me; then he 
stooped and tapped his wooden stump 
with his pipe. "Sonny," says he, in 
a pathetic voice, "Host the leg God gave 
me in that fight. The nigger I'd 
knocked on the shoulder come to, — I 
guess he was only half stunned; for 
suddenly I felt a sharp pain and grew 
sick. As I fell, my eyes caught sight 
of my late opponent on his knees on the 
deck, his great brown hands clutching 
his bloody, broken tulwar. With one 
slash of the weapon he had severed 
flesh and bone of my leg below the knee. 

"Sometimes I dream of that night, 
and always I see that wild face below 
me, the strong teeth clenched in deadly 
hate, the great brown hands clutching 
the broken tulwar. 

" 'I don't know how long I was 
unconscious. When I awoke, I at first 
thought the fight was yet on, but as my 
senses gradually came to me and I sat 
up, I realized that only the elements 
were at war ! Overhead, the lightning 
splashed in chains into the blackness 
of the night, and the thunder rolled in 
mighty reverberations. There was no 
sign of any enemy save those who, 
stark and stiff, rolled about on the 
deck beside me. A feeling of sickness 
came over me and I had much ado to 




N ordering your next lot of 
groceries be sure to order a 
supply of Knox Plain Gela- 
tine, also a supply of Knox 
Acidulated Gelatine, which is 

the same as the plain, except thai it con- 
tains an envelope of Lemon Flavoring, 
saving the expense of buying lemons. 
Each package contains tablet for coloring. 
To insure success with the following 
recipes, you should use 



Serve thi» 

Perfection Salad 

% box Knox Sparkling 

1 cup finely shredded 
^ cup cold water. Juice of I lemon. H cup sugar. 
J^ cup mild vinegar. 1 pinl boiling water. 

2 cups celery, cut in small pieces. 1 teaspoonful salt. 
J^ can sweet red peppers finely cut. 

Soak gelatine in cold vratrr five minutes; add vineear. 
lemon juice, V>oilinir w.iter. su^r and salt. When Vjcifin- 
ninir lo set add reinaininif inBredients. Turn into iisold 
and chill. Serve on lettuce leaves witti mayonnaise dres- 
sing, or cut in dice and serve in cases made of red "t green 
peppers; or mixture may be shaped in molds lined with 
pimentos. A delicious accompaniaient lo cold sliced 
chicken or veal. 

Try this Lemon 

Sponge or 
Snow Pudding 

1 envelope Knox 

SparklinL' Gelatine. 
1 cup of sugar. 
Whites of two eggs. 9^ pint cold water, 

y^ pint boiling water. Riod and juice of two lemons. 

Soak the gelatine in the roUI water five minutes. Dis- 
solve in Ixjiling water and add (jrated rind and juice o! the 
lemons and sugnr. Stir until dissolved. Strain and let 
stand in a cool place until nearly set. Then add the whites 
of the eggs, well beaten, and l-eat the mixture until it is 
light and spongy, put iightly into glass dish or shape in 
mold. Serve with a thin custard made o! the yolks of the 
eggs, or cream and sugar. 

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Paddings. Ic« Creams, Sherbets, Salads, etc., sent FRKE for 
your grocers name. Piftt sample tor U stamp and groctr's 


503 Knox Avenue Johnstown. N. Y. 

Branch Factory, Montreal. Can. 

keep from going off again, but I pulled 
myself together and looked about me. 
I called. 

"There was no answer, only the 
shriek of the gale; and the vessel rolled 
and pitched like a dead thing in the 
trough of the sea. And now, I noticed 
for the first time, that the engines had 
ceased, and that there was no sign of 
any life on the vessel. Horrified, I 
cried again at the top of my voice. The 
wind picked it up and carried it into the 



"Over the dead bodies of comrade 
and foe I crawled on hands and knees 
sobbing like a child. Were they all 
gone, dead ? Where were the stout 
seamen who had set out from Liver- 
[)()ol eight weeks before ? Some dead, 
no doubt, others captured to meet some 
horrible fate. I thought of the master 
and his sweetheart and Hadji on the 
island, and I envied them. They at 
least, were safe, and I thanked God, I 
who was stained with crime. It was 
surely the hand of God ! 

"If ever the vessel weathered the 
gale how could I work her to a port ? 
and even so, I would be marked for 
life, — a poor crippled seaman only fit 
to sit on the docks and answer the 
questions of children. 

"Ay, sonny, it was the hand of God ! 
The ship was deserted save for the 
dead and me. As I crawled painfully 
down the companion way I could think 
of nothing but Joel Stairs and Patience 
Croft, and the promise he had made to 
bring back her pretty hands full of 
Doubloons and pieces-of eight. Poor 
Joel ! 

He stopped again. I was trembling 
like a leaf, but it was not with the cold 
for the little cylinder stove was red hot. 

He raised a crooked finger and held 
me with his eyes, that had now taken 
on a peculiar, uncanny stare. "Sonny," 
says he, "I reached the master's cabin. 
The door was half open and a light 
burned inside. I heard a voice, plain 
as I hear my own now, saying; 'It's a 
bad night, mate,' just like that, and 
then there was silence. My heart beat 
wild, and I thanked God that some, at 
least, of my companions were alive. 

"I pushed open the door and crept in, 
and, as I live, there, before the table, 
was seated the master, writing on a 
great sheet of white paper; white I 
said it were, sonny, and as big as the 
table, and on his shoulder stood Bar- 
badoes, his crimson parrot; the same 
that you sec now, the very same. 

"The master never looked up, just sat 
there writing; and I grew curious at 
last and drew myself to the table and 
raised to one foot. And then I saw that 
he was making his will. It read 'Lat. 
— Longitude — off coast of Morocco. 
I John Rownsly Peterboro, Knight of 
the County of, Berkley Place, 
do bequeath my crimson parrot, Bar- 
badoes, and all my estate, goods and 
chattels of the same place to Billy 
Firth, Captain of the Merchant Marine 
and late of my yacht Barbadoes.' 

"I stopped then and noticed that, 
hanging about the parrot's neck was a 
large golden locket and in it was his' 
face and hers, Monohirini's; and 
round and about the edges were set 
with precious stones, diamonds and 
rubies and emeralds." 

The old man stopped and suddenly 
leaned his head sideways as though he 

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were listening, and then, — ^just then, 
the parrot spoke. "It's a damn lie, 
thank God— yes," and then the thing 

The man stooped, and grasping the 
cage, fastened the tarpaulin about it 
with tremblinghands and rising, reached 
the door with a few creaking steps, shot 
back the bolt and stepped into the 

I sat rooted with terror to the stool 
for a moment, then, for I saw he had 
dropped something in his flight, I 

hastened tg the door and picked up a 
small packet wrapped in oil-skin. 
Tearing it open, my eyes were almost 
dazzled with the sight. A locket, set 
about with priceless gems, held the 
face of a man and a beautiful woman. 
Clasping it to my breast I shoved 
the door open and searched the dark 
for the strange figure of the seaman. 
I saw nothing, heard nothing but the 
dismal bellowing of the fog-horn at the 
harbor's mouth, and the sad creaking 
of the sign above the door. 







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is always soft in texture 
and spreads like butter. 
Makes the most tempt- 
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Be sure you get 


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Pkt$. only, tsc. <&* isc. 


Mothers should give only the well-known 

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teething powders 



The many millions that are annually used 
constitute the best testimonial in their fa- 
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to be absolutely free from opium. 
See the Trade Mark, a Gum Lancet, on 
every packet and powder. Refuse all 
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Small Packets, 9 Powders 
Large Packets, 30 Powders 


This department is under the direction of "Kity who un^-r 'his familiar pen 
name has endeared herself to Canadian women from 'Belle Isle to Victoria. Every 
month she will contribute sparkling bits of gossip, news and sidelights on life as 
seen through a woman's eyes. 


The wild November comes at last 
Beneath a veil of rain: 
The night-wind blows its folds aside. 
Her face is full of pain. 

The latest of her race, she lakes 
The A utumn's vacant throne 
She has but one short moon to live 
And she must live alone. 

T"HE stillness of July and the silence 
of November mark these two 
among the months of the year. The 
distinction between them is like to that 
between sleep and death — or the better 
simile might be, between exhaustion 
and rest. In July, Nature, wearied 
after her exertions of spring and early 
summer, takes a siesta. Her trees are 
full in the leaf, her gardens glow with 
flowers, the com and wheat are ripen- 
ing towards their golden harvest grain. 
Life is at its fullest. The earth is like 
a young mother with the ripe fruit of 
love cradled in her arms. One feels 
that there is life everywhere, above, 
below, around. In November one 
walks abroad into a world of wreckage 
and mist and fog. Some exquisite 
gray-gold November days there are in 
this land where the autumn is of all 
seasons the loveliest, but for the most 
part we find lifelessness and decay. 
Over all the face of nature lies the 
shadow of death. The emblems of 
death, the shroud-like mists, the black- 
ening trees, the carpet of dank leaves, 
the sodden ground, and above all the 
silence of autumn. Old earth seems to 
fall into a state of coma, that precursor 
of death. The pear tree stands bleak 
and gaunt in the little garden, where, 
in the night, the ghosts of the dead 
flowers of summer seem to the watcher 
looking through the wreaths of mist, to 
skim along the low borders seeking 
their old haunts. But it is only the 
wraith-like trails of fog, through which 
here and there a vagrant night-moth 

flits as he makes for the bright beam 
which the night lamp sheds across the 
murk below. The nights are chilly 
without being cold. There is none of 
the briskness of winter about them. 
Churchyard nights filled with the 
earthy smell of decaying leaves. Bare, 
forlorn days in which one hugs the 
cheery fireside, and, looking out once 
in a while at the lingering remnants of 
discoloured vine. that nod and sway 
upon the garden fence, thinks long 
thoughts of the summer that has flown 
— of the many sweet summers that lie 
like faded fl6wers on the grave of the 
forgotten years. 


KTOVEMBER for all its lethargy, its 
silence, is the month of the fairies. 
The ructions in Fairyland begin on the 
last night of October, the night of All 
Hallows. Then it is that milk and cake, 
or failing cake, a good "scib" of pota- 
toes is set outside the door for the 
Good People to take away with them. 
You may call this talk of fairies a super- 
stition of the Celtic races, but a close 
study of the old fairy stories unveils the 
strong probability that they are 
founded on fact, though garnished 
extravagantly by the powerful imag- 
ination of a poetic people. 

An Oxford professor is the authority 
for the statement that the fairies really 
existed and were a small race inhabit- 
ing the British Isles, or those parts of 
them (who ever heard of an English 
fairy !) now known as Scotland and 
Ireland, before the coming of the 
Aryans. Regarding these invaders as 
terrible giants, the little people hid 
away in natural caves and subter- 
ranean haunts from which they came 
forth in the night for recreation or 

But though that race must have 



perished centuries ago, tlie old, old 
people will tell the children sitting 
large-eyed and eager about the turf 
fire while the November winds are 
moaning in the creaking larches, and 
the November rain is tapping furtively 
on the pane, that there was once a 
time when the Little People went forth 
from xheir caves to do battle for old 
Ireland. Oh, those tales of enchant- 
ment and delight ! How the children 
brought their little stools closer in a 
circle round the glowing sods and 
listened to the "ould people" in the 
corner tell of "Hy-Breasil," the land of 
the Blessed, and of "Tir-na-n-oge, the 
land of perpetual youth, where Ossian, 
the last of the old Fenian heroes of 
Erin, was transported by a wondrous 
maiden of unearthly beauty, who, 
mounting him before her on her white 
steed, flies with him and his two hounds 
Bran and Sceoluing, across the ocean 
to where the deep sea opens and they 
go down to the most exquisite sea caves 
where Ossian wetis the maiden, the 
Princess of the land of everlasting 

Only to get weary of her — as all the 
faithless do, and hunger for the old 
world of woe and pain and little joys, 
where men and women grow weary and 
old and fade into the grave. 

But, just as you and the Pedlar 
would finfl if they went to-morrow to 
the land of their youth, Ossian found 
everything change<l. Men were 
jireaching the Christian faith through- 
out Ireland, and the old Druidical 
worship was no more. A sense of 
desolation and loneliness overtook him 
and he determined to return to his 
bekncd i)rincess and the happy Tir- 

It wiis then that his fate fell upon 
him. Ad he passed r.leamn-a-Smolach 
— the (jlen of the Thrushes — near the 
I.iffey, he saw men building a temple 
for the new worship. They were fum- 
bling about a big stone, endeavoring in 
vain to lift it, and had partly rai>x.-(l it 
when itslii)|)e<l. Ossian,leaning from his 
horse caught it and flung it high into 
place. As he did s<j, his girths slipped, 
and sna[)ped with the violent strain of 
his body. The rider fell. The fairy 
white horse flew away. Youth, blessed 
and wonderful Youth, departed, and 
Os.sian lay a blind and witlu're<l old 
man with all the years he had missed 
in the Land of Youth weighty upon 


"TlllCKI': was the story of Marl (ierald, 
which through all the years of 
stress and strain and fwble joys which 
have attended a p<K)r ijcdlar, remains 
fresh and green to this day. 

Here is how an old woman skille<! in 
fairy lore, tells it — you may find it 

The cook of Spotless Town s away. You'll g^uess what makes the guests so gay. 
It cleans the pots and pans in haste. It cannot scatter, harm cr waste. 
It cuts expens2S, so you know 
It's sharp to use 


Sapolio Q /ean s) floors, shelves and enamel ware. 
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-zsfesu^^ utensils — making them look almost new. 

Sapolio(^(?//j"y4£^ faucets and other metal surfaces 
and puts a wonderful white glitter on your baking 
tins. It does not harm these smooth surfaces nor 
roughen your hands. 

You rub just the amount of Sapolio you need 
on a damp cloth. Not a particle scatters or wastes. 

If you value your kitchen utensils and wish to 
have soft hands, use nothing but Sapolio — the 
economical cleaner. 

i^Sih'er nx'rnpper 
— blue band) 





jHOCH '<'«'*> sons: 


On request, wc will mail a Spotless Town Cut-Out for 
children. It consists of the Spotless Town background, 8/^ 
inches lone, and nine Spotless Town characters in color, which 
cut out to stand as placed in front of the Town. T'his makes 
a very attractive miniature town for the playroom. 

Enoch Morgan's Sons Company Sole Manufacturers New York City 

written up in fine language, but that is 
not the way Betty talked: — 

"Shure Ivirl Cierald," sh<' would say, 
between dhraws of her black dhudheen, 
"doesn't be dead at all, but only sleep- 
ing in his choice place under where his 
own grand castle used to stand l;cyant 
there near the Curragh. It is well 
known that his sf)gers are there with 
him in the big hall. The Karl do be 
xiitiin' at the head of a long table and 
his men down Ix; the side and they all 
of thim have their heads on the table 

for 'tis fast a.sleep they are. Agin the 
wall do be rows of stalls and every man 
has his horst; in wan of thim. Wance 
in every sivin years the Karl wakes an' 
calls for his horse. Then he rides out 
free as air wid his men, behind him. 
He rides round the Curragh of Kildare, 
wance, twice and the tliird time. Then 
he goes back into his cave and sleeps 
for another sivin years." 

A1k)u1 here, Betty would knock the 
ash off her pipe, refill it with cut twist, 
and put a live coaloen ofT of the fire on 




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it. Then after u blast or two to set it 
going, — "All the worrld knows that 
when Ireland is set free of th' English- 
had scran to thiin !— the Earl will come 
i)ack an' there will be fine doings at the 
Castle. They'll be roasting pigs whole, 
and there'll be cauldhrons of cabbage, 
an' barr'lls o' fKjrther. Lashin's an' 
lavin's for all comers. May G<jd send 
the day s(K>n ! The way 'twas I heard 
the story was through me own mother's 
great gran'-uncle's first cousin. He 
saw the Earl an' the great Hall. 

"It was this-a-way: 

"Me mother's great gran'-uncle's first 
cousin was a bit of a horse-<iealer in his 
way an' fond of the hard sup, t(X). 
Wan night he was comin' home from 
the fair, he saw a door in the hill open, 
an' he walked in. He was the worse 
for a glass or two, but he could kape 
his feet an' his siven sinses for all of it. 
Well, agra, there he was in a fine big 
room, with lamps hung in it, an' a row 
of tattered banners swayin' lip high. 
An' the light av the lamps was shinin' 
on the armour of men who sat at a big 
table asleep, wid their heads on th' 
table, an' behind them were rows of 
horses all saddled an' bridled ready for 
th' hunt. 

"Faith it was me mother's great 
gran'-uncle's first cousin that had the 
fear of God on him that time. He 
thrimbled so that a bridle that he had 
in his hand fell wit' a big noise, an' the 
warrior that was nearest to the poor 
onshuck of a man raised up his head. 

" 'Is it time ?' was what he said. 

" 'Arrah, what time would ye be 
wanting ? Shure 'tis time everybody 
was asleep an' in bed an' that's where 
I'm going,' said me mother's great 
gran'-uncle's finst cousin, and wid that 
he lepped out of the cave an' away wid 
him, an' thry as he would for ever 
afther he never could find the door 

Staring into the red heat of the fire, 
the children could see the door in the 
hill, and it was wide'open and the fire- 
light was shining on the steel helmets 
of men who sat in rows with their 
heads on the table. 

"But, as sure as I'm dhrawin' this 
pipe, childer alanna, an' I lay me in me 
narrow bed, the day'll come when 
they'll free ould Ireland an' Earl 
Gerald will ride out at the head of his 
min, an' tie the green flag wid the harp 
on the top of his castle tower an' it will 
curl in the win', God bless it! and wave 
bold and proud for all it's so long down 
in the dirt." 

And here's to your memory, old 
Betty, long laid in your narrow bed. 
One of the children, maybe, will be 
here to throw a hat in the air the day 
Home Rule comes, if but for love of 
you, darling old woman, who taught us 
how to live for ever in the land of Tir- 

HTHE Suffragettes are gradually gain- 
•'■ ing ground. Mrs. Pankhurst has 
decided that militant methods must be 
abandoned, and a Castle of Peace, so 
to speak, be erected upon a Cellar of 
War. To this end, no doubt, may be 
attributed the gradual encroachment 
of women on things masculine, even to 
clothes. The extreme skirt of the 
moment is as near to trousers as a mere 
skirt may go. And now we've taken to 
wearing waist and morning coats. Not 
that the waistcoat is a new comer. 
The Pedlar wore one when he was 
playing at being a young lady. But 
they were mere vestings compared 
with the magnificent effort of to-day. 
The Pedlar adores waistcoats. He has 
made a study of the waistcoats of 
romance and history, and has hung 
them in a dream closet along with many 
another fabric made of gossamer and 

Let us look in upon them. Here are 
two which belonged to bluff King Hal. 
His best" of cloth of silver, quilted with 
black silk, and stuffed out with fine 
camerike." His second, a sleeved 
white satin "embroidered with Venice 
silver." This he wore the day he 
wedded Anne Boleyn, that care-free 
and flirtatious maid who died shortly 
after of a malady of the throat. 

But what were these in splendour as 
compared with the scarlet waistcoat, 
embroidered with golden bees, worn by 
Queen Elizabeth's Essex, or with Jos. 
Sedley's magnificent crimson satin 
sewn with gold butterflies, or with the 
great and good Dr. Johnson's vest of 
scarlet and gold lace which he wore the 
first night of "Irene ?" These were 
weskits as were weskits. 

Which reminds us of Dickens. The 
cult of the waistcoat was a favorite one 
with the Genius of London. Not only 
does it take an important part in every 
Dickens novel, but the author himself 
was partial to waistcoats, and was, 
when over forty, pronounced irrecog- 
nizable "without his bright waistcoat." 
Once when giving one of his famous 
readings, Dickens appeared in a white 
and black or magpie waistcoat which 
created a strong sensation. The novel- 
ist was delighted when he heard people 
about asking one another "What is it ? 
Is it a vest ?" "No, it's a shirt," all of 
which he took to be very compliment- 
ary and gratifying. 

Not satisfied with his own, and Sam 
Weller's waistcoats, Dickens once 
wrote to Macready about one. "You 
wore it," he says "in 'Money'. It was 
a remarkable and precious waistcoat, 
wherein certain broad strip)cs of blue or 
purple disported themselves as by a 
combination of extraordinary circum- 
stances, too happy to occur again . 
I saw it with feelings easier to be im- 




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agined than described." And then 
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he has need of just such a waistcoat to 
show to his artist who cannot imagine 
such a paragon. Will Macready let 
him show it as a sample of what the 
writer wants ? Macready did, and 
Dickens went to a wedding in that 
waistcoat and eclipsed the bridegroom ! 


T~'HUS we get in Dickens — or rather 

^ from him, the psychology of the 

waistcoat. You remember that vest 

of Tigg Montague when he sat as 
chairman of the Anglo-Bengalee ? 
"Flowers of gold and blue and green 
and blushing red were on his waist- 
coat." Then the porter of the Anglo- 
Bengalee, Bellamy, in his "vast rod 
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As to the ladies. There were no 
suffragettes in the time of Evelyn or 
Pepys, but an item in the milliner's bill 
of Evelyn's cousin reads "one j waist- 
coat." What the j stands for we dare 
not surmise. It was the blue and white 
riding waistcoat of another lady that 
suggested the colours of a uniform for 
the Royal Navy. So you see the waist- 
coat is not without fame. But talking 
of that there are three waistcoats 
which are historically famous and as 
such stand alone. 

The most famous in England is the 
yellowed jersey vest with its faded 
lace that Nelson wore aboard the 
Victory. The most expensive waist- 
coat was another kersey with snuff- 
stained pockets over which the first 
Napoleon buttoned his green coat- 
but perhaps the one that cost Britain 
most was the vest of "figured Man- 
chester velvet" which Franklin took off 
when "His Majesty had no further 
occasion for his services as Deputy 
Post-master," and which he put on nine 
years later when a certain treaty was 
signed that lost America to England. 

Looking deeper into our waistcoat 
cupboard we espy one worn by the 
second Charles in 1679; an affair of 
white and silver worn by the poet 
Shenstone ; divers vests of Beau Brum- 
mell, and some wonders of young Mr. 
Disraeli, which we must bring into the 
light. Dizzy evidently looked on the 
waistcoat as a medium for advertise- 
ment. He had a prodigious assortment 
of them. When he went on his first 
tour, he heard on landing at Gibraltar, 
of King William's death. "It will be 
the ruin of my dress waistcoats," he 
wrote: "I am deeply grieved." Lady 
Dufferin beheld him years later, at an 
evening party, in purple satin trousers 
and scarlet waistcoat. Once he wore 
three — a crimson velvet, a white, and 
a plain red, reminding one of the first 
gravedigger in Hamlet who takes off^ 
the deuce knows how many — before 
delving. There are waistcoats galore 
in Thackeray. You remember how 
gorgeously Harry was breasted when 
he went after Miss Amory, and how 
fond Pendennis was of the figure he cut 
in a splendid new vest. 

Then there is Jeames's waistcoat — 
ample and magnificent — and the 
modest vest of the cleric — ^and there is 
also the strait waistcoat — but we close 
the cupboard door upon that horrifying 
garment. What business hath it 
among the flaunting breastings of 
Royalty and Romance ? 

f-^. ■ EUGENICS "t 

HTHE serious world is busy studying 
•'■ eugenics. It is in its reading, its 
lectures, its conversation. Talk for a 
little with one of those _ progressives 
whose strange desire it is to school- 
master the world, and you will find 
yourself in a few minutes floundering 
about in eugenics. Time was, and not 



so long ago, when people asked the 
meaning of this new term. Now every 
school-marm knows it. Eugenics is to 
be taught in the schools. It is to 
preside over the wedding feast. Pos- 
sibly we will find it at funerals, forbid- 
ding the burial of the dead, and point- 
ing sternly to the crematory. Assur- 
edly it is present in its most aseptic 
form at every birth of any importance. 

I think we should call upon Burbank 
to explain. He or some other wise 
horticulturist experimenting with 
vetches — or was it peas ? — succeeded 
in convincing himself that he got 
certain results from cross fertilizing, 
and immediately put forth the axiom: 
"If this be true of vegetable life, why 
not of animal ? and if animal, why not 
human life ?" 

The world, weary of this philosophy 
and that — seized upon the new inven- 
tion, and lecturer, writer, cleric, school- 
master, all came forward to push the 
new theory — and the foremost agita- 
tors for racial purity are, we venture 
to say, either single persons, or people 
who are married but childless. 

We have ever found the single 
woman to be the "wisest" adviser in the 
matter of feeding babies and bringing 
up the children. The dear soul tells 
the mothers — with the most honest 
simplicity — what to do for little 
Johnnie when he is teething, and ex- 
plains with delightful ingenuousness 
why Baby won't sleep of nights, or 
permit anyone else in the house to get a 
wink. Old Maidy knows all about it. 
She could give pointers to every mother 
in the land as to how to hold the baby, 
to dress him, to feed him. But her 
fingers are icy, her breast barren. 
What does she — can she — know of the 
everlastingness of mother-love, of the 
strange secrets that Love whispers in 
the ear of the lifile mother whose warm 
arms are cradled about the wonderful 
human atom that lies within them. 
So it is with eugenics. It is the fad of 
the moment. It is the favoured topic 
with the single woman lecturer. You 
will not hear much alx)ut it from the 
doctors, except from those professional 
rontlcmen who write for the magazines. 

But let us look at it from the other 

le for a moment. 

We hear a great deal about the 
mentally defective. We have statistics 
and sermons pointing to liquor, ven- 
ereal diseases, and insanity, as the 
"hole trouble in this question of 

igenics when only consanguinity is 
Known to rwluce what is commonly 
called resistance, mental and physical. 
Who is to judge the so-called mentally 
defect ivc ? Assunxlly not some nar- 

w-minded pedagogue of set ideas 
• ho has never seen beyond his own 
limited horizon. Him you will always 
finrl willing to pn>nrli the jjospel of 

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how it should be done, to tell you what 
the outcome of human inating will Ix;, 
forgetting or overlooking the fact that 
he is but a poor example of what he 
preaches '.so glibly. 

How do the eugenists propose to 
SL'ttle this old question which has 
puzzled the human race since the dawn 
of hi.story ? Humans of small mental 
attainments, arc, experience teaches 
us, indolent, and to be frank, sensual. 
They arc prodigiously prolific as a rule, 

but they are neither mad nor half- 
witted. Are such pcnsons to be locked 
up and fed by the few who consider 
themselves mentally fit to judge them ? 
Who is without beam or mote in his 
own eye ? What does survival of the 
fittest mean ? If the fittest alone 
survive what of the non-competent, 
non-producing class, of the crowds of 
"no-accounts" that flock to the cities ? 
What of vacant farms, luxury loving 
autocrats, weary vagabonds ? Should 


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these be pcimitted to mate and bring 
children to life ? Must all the sinners 
be eliminated for all time and only the 
saints be permitted to rule the world — 
a dull world, indeed ! 

Take the questions of large families. 
It is noteworthy i.hat the brainiest 
people have fewest children. But in 
any family great or small, what mental 
dissimilarity exists even though physi- 
cal likeness is apparent ! Why should 
the offspring of the same pair be so 
different in the matter of temperament, 
or mental efficiency ? Why should a 
genius be found among a flock of com- 
monplace children ? Apart from 
genius, which we know to be rare — 
how is it that one alone out of four or 
five children will make headway, and 
ultimately win a brilliant success of 
life while his brethren remain among 
the failures ? They have had the same 
educational advantages and the same 
environment, the same parental love 
and care, but one or two have flown to 
the stars while the others remain gap- 
ing on the ground ? There is, as we 
said before but one known and sure 
law that will reduce resistance, mental 
and physical — consanguinity. Every 
cattle breeder, every fancier who goes 
in for the best in dog or cat or pigeon 
is wary of the dangers of inbreeding. 
Yet in every argument which has so 
far come under our notice in the matter 
of eugenics we have not seen this point 
— the actual one — mooted. Consan- 
guinity does not, of course, account for 
all the world's human failures — for the 
syphilitic, the insane, the drunkard, 
but neither should these be blamed on 
heredity but rather on habit. Men run 
themselves upon these rocks, and 
though eugenics were to regenerate the 
world for one generation, it would 
depend on the will of man himself that 
the purity of the race be continued. 
Not until sin is removed will man be 
perfect. As long as drink and lust and 
dire poverty remain, so long will we 
have degenerates and failures. Man 
alone — in his own person and by his 
own will — can redeem himself. That 
eugenics will help, few will doubt — but 
all the eugenics that ever were taught 
or enforced will not cleanse the Augean 
stable in which humanity rots. That 
cleansing must be done by every 
human Atom for himself. . Only thus 
will it benefit the whole. 

An English tourist was sightseeing 
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district !" 

"He has, sir," repHed the guide, "but 
sure, he's like all the landlords — he lives 
in England." 

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Sylvia Pankhurst will be known in 
history as the person who wouldn't 
open her mouth while in jail and 
wouldn't shut it while at large. 

A young lady who had no knowledge 
of nautical phrases, asked a friend: 
"Do you know, I often wonder why a 
ship has to weigh its anchor every 
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The Yankee Bar 

Continued from page 22. 
jurists of four nations, was in keeping 
with the spirit of the convention, for 
the purpose of presiding on that 
occasion. North America cannot and 
should not soon forget that gowned 
procession which entered the Hall. 
Strathcona and McDonald led, follow- 
ed by Haldane and White; Taft and 
Borden came arm in arm; Ex-Ambas- 
sador Choateand the Canadian Minister 
of Justice walked side by side; these 
men received the degrees in person, 
while Senator Root who was absent 
in Europe in connection with the work 
of the Hague Tribunal and Maitre 
Labori, who was confined to his room 
with a sprained ankle, received the 
degrees "in absenti." The mention of 
the name of the defender of Dreyfus 
brought forth applause from the Ameri- 
can lawyers, and generous evidences of 
appreciation from his assembled com- 
patriots of the Province of Quebec. 

The Lord Chancellor hurried away 
the night of the first day to be with his 
Great Seal. He is a bachelor and 
evidently married to it. Then the 
convention settled down to profes- 
sional discussions of no general interest 
to the laity. But the personality and 
the one day of the Lord Chancellor in 
North America, had been sufficient to 
make his concluding words ring around 
the World : — 

"And now I have expressed what I had in my 
mind. Your welcome to me has been indeed 
a generous one and I shall carry the memory 
of it back over the Atlantic. But the occasion 
has seemed to me significant of something 
beyond even its splendid hospitality. I have 
interpreted it, and I think not wrongly, as the 
symbol of a desire that extends beyond the 
limits of this assemblage. 

"I mean the desire that we should steadily 
direct our thoughts to how we can draw into 
closest harmony the nations of a race in which 
all of us have a common pride. If that be now 
a far-spread inclination, then indeed may the 
people of three great countries say to Jerusalem 
'Thou shall be built,' and to the temple, 'Thy 
foundation shall be laid.' " 

Unwilling Eve 

Continued from page 3L 

The blood leaped into her face. 

"Oh !" she gasped, "I never dreamed 
that even such a man as you would 
compare me with — with a creature 
like that !" 

"Such a man as me !" repeated 
Blake, staring. "What do you mean ? 
I know I'm not much of a ladies' man; 
but to be yanked up like this when a 
fellow is trying to pay a compliment — 
well, it's not just what you'd call 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blake. I 

"That's all right. Miss Jenny ! I 
■don't ask any lady to beg my pardon. 
The only thing is I don't see why you 




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should flare out at me that way." 
For a full minute she sat, with down- 
bent head, her face clouded with doubt 
and indecision. At last she bravely 
raised her eyes to meet his. 

"Do you wonder that I am not quite 
myself ?" she asked. "You should 
remember that I have always had the 
utmost comforts of life, and have been 
cared for — Don't you see how terrible 
it is for me ? And then the death 
of— of— " 

"I can't be sorry for that !" 

"But even you felt how terrible it 
was . . . and then — Oh, surely, 
you must see how — how embarras- 

It was Blake's turn to look down 
and hesitate. She studied his face, 
her bosom heaving with quick-drawn 
breath ; but she could make nothing of 
his square jaw and firm-set lips. His 
eyes were concealed by the brim of 
his leaf hat. When he spoke, seem- 
ingly, it was to change the subject: 
"Guess you saw me making my hut. 

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I'm fixing it so it'll do nio even when 
it rains." 

Had he been the kind of man that 
she had been educated to consider as 
alone entitled to the name of gentle- 
man, she could have felt certain that 
he had intended the remark for a 
delicately worded assurance. But was 
Tom Blake, for all his blunt kindliness, 
capable of such tact ? She chose to 
consider that he was. 

"It's a cunning little bungalow. 
But will not the rain flood you out ?" 

"It's going to have a raised floor. 
You're more like to have the rain drive 
in on you again. I'll have to rig up 
a porch over your door. It won't do 
to stuff up the hole. You've little 
enough air as it is. But that can wait a 
while. There's other work more press- 
ing. First, there's the barricade. By 
the time that's done, those hyena 
skins will be cured enough to use. 
I've got to have new trousers soon, 
and new shoes, too." 

"I can do the sewing, if you will cut 
out the pattern." 

"No; I'll take a stagger at it myself 
first. I'd rather you'd go egging. 
You need to run around more, to keep 
in trim." 

"I feel quite well now, and I am 
growing so strong ! The only thing 
is this constant heat." 

"We'll have to grin and bear it. 
After all, it's not so bad, if only we can 
stave off the fever. Another reason I 
want you to go for eggs is that you can 
take your time about it, and keep a 
look-out for steamers." 
"Then you think — ?" 
"Don't screw up your hopes too 
high. We've little show of being 
picked up by a chance boat on a coast 
with reefs like this. But I figure that if 
I was in your daddy's shoes, it'd be 
high time for me to be cabling a ship 
to run up from Natal, or down from 
Zanzibar, to look around for jettison, 
et cetera." 

"I'm sure papa will offer a big 

"Second the motion ! I've a sort 
of idea I wouldn't mind coming in for 
a reward myself." 

"You ? Oh, yes; to be sure. Papa 
is generous, and he will be grateful to 
any one who — " ' 

"You think I mean his dirty money! 
broke in Blake, hotly. 

Her confusion told him that he had 
not been mistaken. His face, only a 
moment since bright and pleasant, 
took on its sullenest frown. 

Miss Leslie rose hurriedly, and 
started along the cleft. 

"Hello !" he called. "Not going for 
eggs now, are you 7" 

She did not reply. ; 

"Hang it all, Miss Jenny! Don't 
go off like that." 

"May I ask you to excuse me, Mr. 
Blake ? Is that sufficient ?" 

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It's enough to give a 

Come now; don't go 

know I've a quick 

you make allow- 

"Sufficient ? 
feUow a chill ! 
off mad. You 
temper. Can't 
ances c 

"You've — you've no right to look so 
angry, even if I did misunderstand you. 
You misunderstood me !" She caught 
herself up with a half sob. His silence 
gave her time to recover her com- 
posure. She continued with excessive 
politeness, "Need I repeat my request 
to be excused, Mr. Blake ?" 

"No; once is enough ! But honest. 



now, I didn't mean to be nasty." 

"Good-day, Mr. Blake." 

"Oh, da-darn it, good-day !" he 
groaned . 

When, a few minutes later, she 
returned, he was gone. He did not 
come back until some time after dark, 
when she had withdrawn to her lean-to 
for the night. His hands were bleed- 
ing from thorn scratches; but after a 
hasty supper, he went back down the 
cleft to build up the new wall of the 
barricade with the great stack of 
fresh thorn-brush that he had gathered 
during the afternoon. 



In the morning he met Miss Leslie 
with a sullen bearing, which, however, 
did not altogether conceal his desire to 
be on friendly terms. Having regained 
her self-control, she responded to this 
with such tact that by evening each 
felt more at ease in the new relation- 
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his moroseness. The fact that both 
were passionately fond of music proved 
an immense help. It gave them an 
impersonal source of mutual sympathy 
and understanding, — a common meet- 
ing-ground in the world of art and 
culture, apart from and above the 
plane of their material wants. 

Yet for all his enjoyment of the girl's 
wide knowledge of everything relating 
to music, Blake took care that their 
talks and discussions did not interfere 
with the activities of their primitive 
mode of life. As soon as he had 
finished with the barricade, he devoted 
himself to his tailoring and shoe- 
making; while Miss Leslie, between 
her cooking and wood-gathering and 
daily visits to the cliff for eggs, had 
much to occupy both her thoughts and 
her hands. • t. 

At first every ascent of the clifT was 
embittered by a painful consciousness 
of the cairn over the north edge. 
Fortunately it was not in sight from 
the direct path to the headland, and, 
as she refrained from visiting it, the 
new happenings of her wild life soon 
thrust Winthrope and his death out of 
the foreground of her thoughts. Each 
day she had to nerve herself to meet 
the beaks and wings of the despoiled 
nest-owners; each day she looked with 
greater hope for the expected rescue 
ship, only to be increasingly dis- 

^But the hours she spent on the cliff 
crest after gathering the day's supply 
of eggs were not spent merely in 
watching and longing. The incon- 
venience of carrying the eggs in a 
handkerchief or in one of the heavy 
jars suggested a renewal of her attempt 
at basket-making. Memory, per- 
severance, and a trace of inventiveness 
enabled her to produce a small but 

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serviceable .hamper of split bamboo. 
Encouraged by this success she 
gathered a quantity of tough, wiry 
grass, and wove a hat to take the place 
of the flimsy palm-leaf makeshift. 
The result was by no means satis- 
factory with regard to style, its shape 
being intermediate between a Mexican 
sombrero and a funnel ; but aside from 
its appearance, she could not have 
wished for a more comfortable head- 
cover. Before showing it to Blake, 
she wove a second one for him, so that 
they were able to cast aside the 

grotcscjue, palm-leaf affairs at the 
same time. 

The following morning Hlake 
appeared in an outfit to match her 
leopard-skin dress. He had singed 
off the hair of the hide out of which he 
had made his moccasins, and his 
hyena-skin trousers quite matched the 
bristling stubble on his face. 

"Hey, Jenny !" he hailed; 
"what d' you think of this for fancy 
needlework ?" 

"Splendid! You're the very picture 
of an Argentine vaquero." 


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"Greaser ? — ugh ! Let me get back 
to the Weary Willy pants !" 

"I mean you are very picturesque." 

"That's it, is it ? Glad I've got 
something to call your leopardine gown 
that won't make you huffy." 

"We can at least call our costumes 
serviceable, and mine has proved much 
cooler than 1 expected." 

"But our new hats beat all for that — 
regular sunshades. What do you 
say ? — there's a good breeze — Let's 
take a hike." 

"Not to the river ! The very 
thought of that dreadful snake — " 

"No; just the other way. I've 
been thinking for some time that we 
ought to run down to that south head- 
land, and take a squint at the coast 
beyond. Ten to one, it's another 
stretch of swamps, but — " 

"You think there is a chance we 
may find a town ?" 

"About one chance in a million, 
even for a native village. The slave 
trade wiped the niggers off this coast, 
and I guess those that hit out up- 
country ran so hard they haven't been 
able to get back yet." 

"But it has been years since the 
slave trade was forbidden." 

"And they don't sell beer on Sunday 
— oh, no ! I'll bet the dhows still 
over from Madagascar when the moon 
is in the right quarter. At any rate, 
niggers are mighty scarce or mighty 
shy around here. I've kept a watch 
for smoke, and haven't seen a suspicion 
of it anywhere. Maybe the swamps 
swing around inland afld cut off this 
strip of coast. It looked that way to 
me when I made that trip along the 
ridge. But there's a chance it used to 
be inhabited, and we may run across 
an abandoned village." 

"I do not see that the discovery 
would do us any good." 

"How about the chance of grain or 
bananas still growing ? But that's all 
a guess. We're going because we 
need a change." 

She nodded, and hastened to pre- 
pare breakfast, while he packed a skin 
bag with food, and examined the 
slender tips of his arrows. As a matter 
of precaution, he had been keeping 
them in the cigarette case, where the 
points would be certain of a coat of 
the sticky poison and at the same time 
guarded against inflicting a chance 
wound. But as he was now about to 
set out on a journey, he fitted tips into 
the heads of his two straightest shafts. 

The morning was still fresh when 
they closed the barricade behind them 
and descended to the pool. There 
was no game in sight, but Blake had 
'no wish to hunt at the commencement 
of the trip. The steady southwest 
wind had blown the sky clear of its 
malarial haze, and gave promise of a. 
day which should know nothing of 
Continued on page 71. 



Accept Howard E. Coffin's 1914 
Automobile Review— We'll Send It! 


O AUTOMOBILE buyer should fail to read 
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It approaches a new ideal with its true streamline body — 
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Pat Burns Cattlemen 

Continued from page 25. 

one as puts up any roar about the 
chuck takes my place." 

This proposition was agreed to and 
the new cook took up his disagreeable- 
duties. When the men came in for 
dinner they found a huge dish of bean 
soup awaiting them as the first course. 
When O'Hara put the first spoonful 
into his mouth he jumped to his feet 
and yelled : "Damn them beans, they're 
that salt they'd tie a knot in yer tongue. 
As he turned from the tent door whence 
he had gone to empty his mouth, he 
noticed that the other men were eating 
the beans as though they were the 
greatest of delicacies and bethought 
himself after it was too late. "But 
I'm fond o' salt soup, so I am," he 
hastened to add and sat down and 
swallowed the beans with their bath 
of brine as stoically as the others. But 
his effort at recovery was in vain; the 
cook maintained that he had cussed 
the beans, thereby, according to the 
compact, forfeiting the chaps for the 
apron. The other cowboys backed 
him up in this and O'Hara reluctantly 
took possssion of the pots and pans. 
His first thought was to duplicate his 
predecessor's ruse, but he overheard 
several conversations, intended for his 
ears, in which dire persecutions were 
planned, ready for execution, in case 
the cook committed any more foolish- 

Now O'Hara was not a coward, but 
he was more cautious than he would 
have been on his native heath; every- 
thing was strange to him; the wild, 
measureless prairie kept his imagina- 
tion active and, moreover, he had 
already had one experience with cow 
country retribution. When he first 
came among the cattlemen, he talked 
too much about the spirited hunters 
he had broken to ride for gentlemen 
in the old country. When he was 
about to begin his first day's herding, 
the horse wrangler generously offered 
him first choice as the cowboys gath- 
ered to get their jnounts. The wrangler 
moved them slowly so that he could 
get a good look at them. As the fore- 
man's favorite horse came out to the 
edge of the bunch he caught O'Hara's 
eye at once. His sire was an English 
thoroughbred ;i his mother, a wild 
prairie cayuse that had never felt the 
touch of spur, bit or saddle. He was 
a buckskin with four white feet and 
legs white to the knees, a blazed face 
and eyes that showed white rims about 
dark centers. 

"Now, there's a boss fer yez," said 
O'Hara, "he's the most like a thorough- 
bred I've seen since I left Ireland." 

"I supposed you'd be pickin' out 
somethin' hard to ride to show us how 
they do it in Ireland," said the wrang- 




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ler. "That's the quietest hoss in the 
bunch, I'll have no need o' ropin' him." 
Hanging his lariat over the horn of his 
saddle, he took O'Hara's bridle, 
stepped over to the buckskin, bridled 
him and led him up to O'Hara. O'Hara 
looked him over admiringly, felt the 
hard muscles of his forearm and patted 
his neck caressingly. "He'll do ! be 
gorry he's fit fer a gentleman's ridin' 
anny place." As O'Hara threw the 
saddle on and drew the cinches tight, 
the buckskin was quietly picking grass 



as though quite unconcerned in what 
was going on. O'Hara mounted but 
the horse kept on grazing and seemed 
reluctant to leave the grass. 

"He's lazy, O'Hara, you'll have to 
wake him up with the spurs, "sug- 
gested one of the cowpunchers. 

O'Hara acted upon the suggestion. 
He never knew what the horse did, for 
the next second found him describing 
a parabola, high in the air like a sky- 
rocket and skyrocket-like he lit on his 
head with his heels in the air. He lost 
connection with events for a time. 
When he finally regained consciousness, 
he was deeply impressed by the cow- 
boys' heartlessness as they laughed 
uproariously over his dismay to find 
that he saw double. There were two 
of everything he looked at and the 
landscape, men, horses and cattle, 
seemed to be jumbled up in a hopeless 
muddle, but time and cold water slowly 
brought his optics into proper relation- 
ship and objects finally shifted into 
their accustomed perspective. The 
remembrance of this experience 
deepened the effect of the threats 
which he overheard. Accordingly he 
continued to discharge his duties as 
cook, but it was work to which he was 
not accustomed and in order to do it 
satisfactorily he was compelled to work 
over hours. 

During his first week as cook the 
outfit camped near a large spring in a 
draw covered with willow while the 
prairie about it was an unbroken 
expanse of grass land. Sam Dunlap, 
the negro driver of the chuck wagon, 
was in the habit of turning his mules 
loose to graze about the camp. The 
wrangler found them a nuisance in the 
horse bunch and either from attach- 
ment to Sam or the wagon they never 
strayed far. One evening O'Hara 
finished up his dish washing after 
supper later than usual and started 
down to the spring for two pails of 
water to be used in cooking breakfast 
in the morning. As is often the case in 
Alberta, even in midsummer, after the 
sun went down the wind grew chilly. 
The mules went into the willows to 
hunt for a quiet place to lie down, out 
of the wind. While O'Hara was dip- 
ping the water out of the spring, one 
of the mules selected the path from the 
camp to the spring as the most fitting 
place for the night's repose, as it was 
one of the few places in the draw free 
from willows. He had just gotten 
himself well settled when O'Hara 
started back to camp. As he had been 
working for some time by the camp 
lights, his eyes were not accustomed to 
the darkness and he was following the 
path more from force of habit than by 
sight. As he was late and in a hurry he 
stumbled over the mule without seeing 
him, giving him an ice cold bath with 
the spring water. The mule bounded 



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to his feet with a terrified bray, hurling 
O'Hara in a headlong -somersault into 
the bush and crashed off through the 
brush as though he were running from 
a prairie fire. Mules were something 
new in O'Hara 's experience and he did 
not recognize in his terrified victim's 
voice, anything which he had ever 
heard before. He scrambled to his feet 
and with all the speed he could muster 
rushed, hatless and breathless, into 
camp where he told a wild tale of the 
narrow escape he had had from a fear- 

ful creature as large as an elephant 
with a voice louder than Gabriel's 

The riders took up the cue and 
entered into an impromptu contest to 
see who could tell the most bloodcurd- 
ling, hair raising yarn about prairie 
hobgoblins, and night-walking spirits 
of Indians slain in old tribal wars. One 
fellow was quite thoroughly convinced 
that O'Hara had encountered the 
spirit of an old chief of the Stony 
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the torture of captured enemies, who 
had been killed while attempting to get 
water at the spring during a battle with 
the white men of a wagon train which 
had camped there when the first 
settlers came to Alberta. O'Hara was 
noticably affected. The cowpunchers 
observed that he did not go back to get 
his hat nor to fill his water pails for 
morning. The prairie which had been 
to him a vast empty loneliness which 
inspired him with nothing but the fear 
that he might get lost in it, now began 
to be peopled by his imagination with a 
host of dreadful creatures. As daylight 
faded into night, the uncertain light 
transformed moving objects in the 
distance into veritable confirmation of 
the worst things he had imagined. 
O'Hara's experience and the cowboy's 
fiction to which he eagerly listened, 
made as marked an impression on the 
negro teamster as it did on O'Hara. 

To the practiced eye of the foreman 
it was evident that he was in danger of 
losing the second cook as well as his 
teamster if the cowpunchers were 
allowed to continue their pranks 
unchecked. He painted as dire a pic- 
ture as possible for them, of the camp 
short of riders and without cook or 
teamster. The dread of over-work and 
the possibility of being compelled to 
take the place of either O'Hara or the 
negro forced caution upon even the 
most thoughtless; but when the season 
was nearly over and they had returned 
to the spring where the mule had so 
frightened O'Hara and only a few days 
lay between them and the edge of the 
range, perhaps it was association of 
ideas that brought back the desire to 
torment O'Hara and the negro. They 
found the skeleton of a buflfalo, bleached 
in the sun till it \vas as white as chalk. 
They attached the bones to a stake so 
that when it was driven into the ground 
the remains of the bufTalo looked like 
the skeleton of a huge man or devil if 
one took the horns into account. 

That evening the cowboys were 
amusing themselves by hurling at each 
other whatever came handiest when a 
boot fell, plunk, into the drinking 
water; at once a clamor arose for fresh 
drinking water. 

"Go on wid yez," said O'Hara, "ef 
3'ez will be after dirtin' the wather yez 
can drink it dirty." But the cow- 
punchers, to a man, set up a howl for 
water and O'Hara had learned that 
when they were a unit in any demand 
it paid to concede to their wishes. 
However, remembering his former 
experience in getting water from this 
spring in the dark, he induced Sam to 
go with him. In the meantime the 
skeleton had been set up at the turn in 
the trail where O'Hara had his former 
experience with the ghost of the Stony 
Indian. The eye sockets of the skele- 
ton had been rubbed with matches till 
they glowed with a cold fire. As O'Hara 



and the negro turned the bend in the 
trail, the white, fiery eyed skeleton 
suddenly confronted them. They 
dropped the pails and gripped each 
other in an embrace of terror. They 
froze to the spot, utterly unable to 
move till something touched them 
from behind; as they looked around, a 
huge dark creature, resembling a man, 
towered above them, fire and smoke 
issuing from its nostrils, eyes and mouth , 
They were worse than between the 
devil and the deep sea, they were 
between two devils. With a whoop 
that only a negro can utter, Sam 
bounded away across the prairie like a 
coyote, O'Hara doing his best to keep 
up to him. 

When they finally discovered that 
nothing was following them and sank 
down on the grass exhausted, away 
back in the distance, in the direction 
of the camp, they heard the uproarious 
laughter of the cowpunchers. At once 
it dawned upon them that they were 
the victims of a cowboy joke and 
began to plan vengeance. 

"Do you know what I's gwine do ?" 
said Sam. "I's gwin' light right out 
o' here an' leab 'em widout no driber. 
Dem cowpunchers t'ink dey's mighty 
knowin' bout bosses, but dey ain't 
none ob 'em kin dribe dat Rastus mule. 
Yo's got to know jes' how ter talk de 
proper talk ter 'im an' yo's got ter 
han'le 'im jes' so, er he ain't gwine pull 
nothin.' He ain't gwine tech de collar, 
no how." 

"How will yez hike widout a hoss ?" 
said O'Hara. "I'd like to have a 
picture q' yez when a bunch o' range 
steers got sight o' yez, an' it wouldn't 
make no diflference how hard yez 
scratched grass yez couldn't keep out 
from under foot o'thim, an' it's jist 
three days aff o' payday. I've no 
mind to lave me summer's wages 
behint me. There's mor'n drivin' 
mules thet them cowpunchers don't 
know. At least it's meself as will find 
out what they know about the foin 
awld game o' sparring." 

O'Hara started for the camp as though 
he already had his eye on the fellow in 
the other corner of the ring. He was 
the real O'Hara then. The mystery of 
the prairie had begun to wear off and 
had lost some of its grip on his imagina- 
tion; he had learned to ride a bucMng 
horse and was beginning to believe in 
himself again. As he entered the camp 
with Sam at his heels, he was greeted 
with a bunst of derisive laughter. 

meself as thought yez'ud be weepin'." 

The cowpunchers were too wary; no 
one bit; but Clanahan, willing to give a 
fellow countryman a lift and fearful 
lest he lo,se his cook, accommodatingly 
inquired: "How's that, O'Hara ?" 

"Why, Sam here, is after lellin' me 
thet DcMar is drownded." 


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DeMar was the smallest man in the 
outfit, only five feet two, but a good 
rider and cattleman. By way of com- 
pensation he and McDougal were pals, 
always together when off the herd. 
McDougal stood six feet four in his 
stockings, lean, sinewy and so muscular 
that he could pick a calf up from the 
ground and lay it across his saddle in 
front of him without dismounting. As 
a prodigious tobacco chewer he was 
[)rincipally noted for the enormous 
amount of tobacco juice his crater 
emitted at a single eruption, and as 

Clanahan enquired how DeMar got 
drowned,0'Haraanswered: "McDougal 
spit on 'im." 

Everyone understood this as a chal- 
lenge to McDougal who was not slow 
in accepting it as he had unbounded 
confidence in his great strength. O'Hara 
was of the type which has usually worn 
the belt of the world's championship. 
He was a fraction of an inch under six 
feet tall, was deep chested and heavily 
muscled, had a short, strong neck and 
a square jaw. He was capable of stand- 
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and able to strike blows that would telb 
even on the strongest, when his oppor- 
tunity came. He had been in training 
in Ireland and fought according to 
approved tactics. McDougal had 
never been whipped, but he owed his 
success entirely to his tremendous 
strength and reckless courage. Under- 
standing that O'Hara's last speech was 
intended for him, he roared: "Shut yer 
ugly yap er I'll spread it all over yer 

"An' that would be kind o' yez," 
said O'Hara, "fer I've always been 
told it was too small. If yez can't find 
it, it's right here," and placing his index 
finger on his mouth he stepped up 
in front of McDougal. 

Uproarious laughter followed O'Hara's 
jest and McDougal, quite beside him- 
self with rage, charged O'Hara like an 
enraged bull with a red flag flaunted in 
his face. He struck out viciously with 
his right, but O'Hara, seeing that he 
was not close enough to make the blow 
effective, caught it on his chin, allowing 
his chin to sink down with the spent 
blow, thus overcoming McDougal's 
greater reach and bringing him up 
within the length of his own arm. 
With all the force of his legs, back and 
shoulder behind the blow he landed 
directly over McDougal's heart. The 
big cowpuncher stood tottering, gasp- 
ing for breath; another blow on the 
chin would put him out and he was 
momentarily helpless to defend him- 
self; every cowpuncher in the crowd 
knew it and held his breath to see what 
O'Hara would do. 

"Call it a draw, McDougal," advised 
one of the cowpunchers, "he's too well 
onto the game fer you; there's no use 
tryin' to beat a man at his own game." 

With a bellow like a steer cornered 
in a coulee by a wolf, McDougal pushed 
in on O'Hara and clinched him; but 
here again he did not know how to 
take advantage of the prodigious 
strength upon which he depended for 
success in this last resort; as they 
closed, O'Hara slipped his right arm 
around the small of McDougal's back 
and caught his chin in the palm of his 
left hand. McDougal's greater height 
was a serious disadvantage, as there 
was little difTerence in their weights. 
O'Hara, putting all the power of his 
shorter back into the strain, began to 
draw McDougal's waist in toward him 
while he forced his head, slowly but 
steadily back. McDougal, gathering 
all his strength for a last frantic effort 
exerted himself till the veins stood out 
on his neck, almost to bursting; but the 
struggle was useless; his head slowly 
went back till the strain on the small 
of his back was unendurable; suddenly 
a sense of sufTocation overcame him 
and his grip relaxed. O'Hara, feeling 
him growing limp in his arms, gave 
him a backward shove, without strik- 






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ing, sending him to the ground in a 
crumpled mass where he sat panting in 
deep, gulping breaths. When he had 
somewhat recovered himself, O'Hara 
remarked in a patronizing voice: "Yez 
air all right bustin' bronchoes, Mc- 
Dougal, but it's another game when 
yez tackle men." 

The Manor Inn 

Continued from page 24. 
slept so late. It was so comfortable I 
was in no hurry to leave, and when I 
did the landlady gave me food for tjje 
day, — that is the last of it you are 
eating," indicating the remnants of 
food which still remained in the old» 
woman's hand, "was she not generous?" 
"True, young woman, and you are 
not ungrateful for kindness shown to 
you, and deserve to be well treated. 
For my own part I've nothing to say. 
and you mustn't mind an old woman's 
gossip. No doubt it's all idle tales of 
superstitious folk. And now, thanking 
you kindly for your bite which has 
put new strength into my old body, 
I'll go on my way." 

Once again Ellen resumed her 

"How many" more ?" she inquired 
wearily to herself. 

A mile farther she obtained shelter 
with a cotter and his wife, and that 
night thoroughly worn out with the 
experiences of the preceding night, 
the journey and the interviews of 
that eventful day the soldier's wife 
slept the deep sleep of exhaustion. 
At last the long toilsome journey 

was over. The town of M was 

reached, and Corporal Thomas Win- 
chester held his wife in his arms, 
gazing long and lovingly into her 
winsome face. 

"It's good to see you, lass I've miss- 
ed you sore, my girl. You must rest 
now for sadly tired you must be with 
the long tramp. You're the right stuff 
for a soldier's wife, Nellie." 

Throwing her arms around his neck, 
Ellen Winchester burst into tears. 
"O Tom ! Dear Tom ! It's glad I 
am to see you. One time I never 
thought to see you again." 

The captain of the regiment to 
which Corporal Thomas Winchester 
belonged listened attentively to the 
story told him by his subordinate 
officer, and questioned closely his 
pretty modest wife. 

As a result of the information which 
he laid before the authorities the 
secret door in the wing in the old 
Manor Inn was discovered. 

Descending the stone stair-case 
which they found on the other side 
of the secret door the officers of the law 
found buried the body of the unfor- 
tunate drover and also the remains 
of many others who had mysteri- 

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ously disappeared from time to time. 

As the landlord and his wife were led 
off to prison the dame e.xclaimed in an 
aside to her husband: 

"If you hadn't been so soft-hearted 
over that jade of a soldier's wife she 
would have had no tales to tell." 

The landlord utterly cowed by the 
revelations of the underground cham- 
bers of horrors shook his head and 
answered sadly: 

"I'm glad I haven't to answer for 
her too. She was a pretty lass, but a 
deep one." 




Continued from page 19. 
with Micky Sullivan Johnny Lachap- 
p'lle, an' Dan McDonald to th' mouth 
o' Morton's creek an' dam it up with 
snags or logs. When they open their 
gluices their logs'll jam, an' we'll git a 
chanst tar pass them. Y'under.tand ?" 

"I hev a hazy idea, sorr," replied 
McGonnigal slowly. 

"Never mind. McDonald an' th' 
others will know — they'll show ye. Ye 
kin go down with them, so keep yerself 
in readiness an' in good fightin' trim." 
And the foreman strolled away. 

"In good fightin' trim ?" murmured 
McGonnigal. "I wonder phwat he 
manes by thot ? Kape yerself in good 
fightin' trim, he said. B'jabers, me 
coat tail is always draggin' in th' mud, 
an' it only needs a man ter tread on it 
ter start a foight. Wirra ! I'll soon 
find out." 

Day after day, a mysterious atmos- 
phere of expectancy pervaded the sun 
flooded woods and proclaimed the 
advent of spring. The snow became 
honeycombed, and the ice frazzled, 
while gaunt crows in the pine tops 
made the mornings discordant with 
their caws, and the hibernating animals 
of the forests turned in their lairs to 
look at the sun. Along tha banks of 
the creek, naked logs, limbed and 
marked, steamed in the noonday heat, 
and the ice of the little river turned 
weak and mushy. Tha dams above, 
were filling fast with spiing water, and 
when an Indian river driver came up 
from below one balmy morning with 
the intelligence that the St. Anne was 
moving out, McCraw sent the four 
men off on ;heir mission with a team, 
axes, canthooks, old logging chains and 
a box of timber dog*. 

It was night when they reached the 
St Anne River, and as the ice had 
given way in several place., leaving 
open leads, they left the team and 
sleigh in charge of Sullivan. The others 
shouldering their implements, found a 
leaky flat bo.tomed boat, tumbled 
into it, and pushed off. It was risky 
work croj^sing the frail ice, as they had 
to haul the boat out and push it over 
the cakes, and several times, they 
crashed through mush into the icy 
river. When at last, they grounded 
the boat on the muddy banks on the 
other side, the plotters heaved a sigh 
of relief and wiped the perspiration 
from their faces. 

Dan McDonald — a Glengarry man 
from th2 Scotch settlements on the 
Ottawa — took the lead. "We've got 
a guid mil • yet tae go afore we strike th' 
mouth o' Morton's creek. Dinna 
mak' a noi.e, fur it's mair than likely 
they'll hae a wa;ch set tae cpile tricks 
like oors " 

Scrambling and crawling through the 




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wet bush, over rocks and stones, and 
floundering thro' morass and mud, the 
trio wended their way in the dark, 
until McDonald called a halt. 

"Wheest !" he commanded. "I'm 
thinkin' they'\e got a mon posted at 
th' mooth o' th' creek, an' he's smokin'. 
Kin ye no sm?ll Uibac canadien on th' 
.win'? Waii a meenlt, an' T'llgangforrit 
an' see." 

A few minutes later he crawled back, 
quivering with suppressed excitement. 
"There's twa o' them, boys, an' yin o' 

them is Bully Mechante with a rifle. 
What th' deevil are wi gaun tae do ?" 
Pi;>," Knock 'em on head," growled 

"Ye don' knock a man lak' Bully 
Mechante on de head ver' easy," said 
Lachappelle. "I t'ink we better for 
crawl up to dem, an' see w'at we can 
do. Maybe we'll git chanst to rush 
clem, or maybe they'll go asleep after 
a while. Mechante nevaire come 
down here without some whiskey blanc 
for keep de cold out." 




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he will probabl}' be in the wagon market again years before he should 
be. But the economical farmer will study and compare different 
makes ; find out in advance which wagon will give him best service; 
and consider such questions as company standing and reputation. 
The evidence will lead him inevitably to buy an I H C wagon. 

Petrolia Chatham 
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Look the line over at the local agent's. Get catalogues, too, 
from the agent, or, write the 

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Lachappelle's plan was agreed upon, 
and like snakes the men wriggled 
through the undergrowth with their 
load. Grovelling and crawling among 
the slushy snow, wet to the skin, thsy 
drew near the scene of action until 
they could hear the growling mono- 
tone of the sentry's voices. 
- McDonald's arm shot out, and he 
crushed the impetuous McCionnigal to 
the snow. "Wait !" he whispered. 
For a solid, shivering, and apparently 
endless hour, they lay crouched in the 
slush, until they were electrified to 
sudden watchfulness by an unmistak- 
able snore. McDonald looked up. 
"By thunder, boys, they're both 
asleep. Me an' Red wull tackle 
Mechante, an' Lachappelle kin handle 
th' other man. He's a little feller," 

Mechante, a huge muscular brut 3 of 
a man, with a swarthy pock marked 
face, awoke to \igilant activity when 
McDonald trippsd over a stump, and 
in a trice he reached for the gun, 

"Qui est la ? — " he bawled, when a 
heavy fi t smashed him betwe3n the 
eyes, A powerful arm encircled his 
chest, and in a moment he was back- 
hccled and rolling in the snow with 
horny fingers groping for his wind pipe, 

"Mojee — " he gurgled, 

"Shut up, you scowbanker !" growled 
a voice, and a handful of slushy leaves 
and mud was crammed into his mouth. 
Deft hands rolled him over, and a 
sailor's fist half hitched his arms behind 
his back with a piece of snowshoe 
thong, Mechante was powerful, and he 
l)oaeted that he could tackle any two 
men, but taken by surprise as he was, 
he had little chance to make a fight. 
Thinking it was McGraw that foiled 
him, he 1 pi uttered, "Goddam, McGraw, 
I fcex you for dis " 

" 'Tis not McGraw, me joker," 
hissed a rich brogue in his ear, " 'Twas 
McGonnigal, from Donegal — a modest 
man that don't loike bad langwidge." 
And Mechante I.S face was thrust down 
into the mud. 

In the meantime, Lachappelle and 
McDonald labored like Titans, rolling 
some old dam logs on to the ice of the 
creek, where they lashed th ;m with 
the logging chains threaded through 
dogs well hammered in. The whole mass 
was securely bound by chains to 
stumps on either bank, and remained, 
a log jamming barricade, calculated to 
impede Xthe progress of a veritable 

Seated on the body of Mechante, 
McGonnigal caressed the gun, and 
kept it pointing in the direction of the 
other prisoner, who lay sdll and said 
nothing. Every now and again, the 
big captive would give a wriggle, and 
Patrick would bring the butt of the 
rifle down on the back of his head. 

"Bad scran to ye — ye squirmin' 
blag'ard. Move again an' I'll jam yer 



ugly figgerhead inter th' diit. Why 
can't ye kape still loike yer mate thar'?" 
Panting and sweating, the others 
finished their task and rejoined the 
sailor and the prisoners. For an hour 
they stood around, the Irishman amus- 
ing his comrades by pushing Mechante's 
face in the mud in order to quanch the 
flow of bad language which trickled 
from the mouth of the aggrieved one. 
He was almost black in the face with 
helpless rage, and the malevolent 
glances he gave McGonnigal boded 
little good for that gentleman in the 
future if Mechante got his hands on 

1 )uring the night, the St. Anne cleared 
and at daylight, McDonald held up his 
hand. "Listen !" he cried. "They're 
opcnin' th' dams ! I hope McGraw is 
awake an' losin' no time." 

-A low, thunderous murmur could be 
heard on the vibrant morning air, and 
almost instantly, a roaring flood of ice 
and water careered down the almost 
empty watercourse, followed by a 
whirling, tossing chaos of logs. Shouts 
rang through the woods, and McDonald 
cried, "Here they come. Run like th' 
devil for th' boat. Scoot, boys, scoot !" 
Mechante gave a mighty heave at his 
bonds, snapped them like twine, and 
rolled McGonnigal over on his back 
among the brush. In a minute he was 
at him, and while Lachappelle and 
McDonald were pelting thro' the bush, 
the sailor and Mechante were engaged 
in a battle royal, snarling, striking, 
and kicking like a pair of wildcats. 

When the two men reached the boat, 
they missed McGonnigal. 
•Where's Red ?" 
"I t'ought he was behind me." 
"Let's git back. Mechante an' the 
other feller have got him — " 

Bang ! went a gun, and a rifle bullet 
whizzed above their heads as the 
redoubtable Irishman crashed through 
the bush, his red mop over his eyes, 
face cut and bleeding, and one arm of 
his coat missing. 

"Inter th' boat, bhoys," he panted. 
"McShanty's loose an' he's got th' gun ! 
In less than a moment, they scram- 
bled into the lx)at and pushed off. 
"McGraw's opened th' dam !" cried he glanced up the 
river at the flood of logs pouring down. 
Using their paddles thay swung 
across the river, swirling with the force 
of long pent up waters, and careering 
and grinding among the timber thun- 
dering out of Mclean's creek, made 
their way across to the Jther bank, 
where McGraw and hi» river drivers 
awaited them. 

It was daylight when they passed 
Morton's creek, and the McLean camp 
hooted and yelled at Mechante and his 
men, who were working with cant hook 
and p<^)le, trying to break a jam of logs 
which had piled across the entrance of 

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It is usually 


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SLOVENLY correspondence, careless in dress, and of phrase, is 
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It is equally gauche to write personal letters upon one's employer's 
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the little stream like a barricade. As 
they tramped past, the Frenchman 
spied them, and shaking his fist, 
screamed curses. 

"Sacre !" he yelled Goddam ! I'll 
feex you, tele rouge ! Wait till I get ma 
han's on you somitam' wit' dat tnojee 

McGonnigal extended a broad thumb 
to his nose and jx;rfoimed a sign of 
contempt, familiar to nun of all nations. 
"B'jal)ers," he growled to McDonald. 

"Th* bounder gave me a clip in th' 
figgerhead wid his spiked hoof. I'd 
like .er pay him back fur that. 

"Phwac was that he called me? Tate 
rooge ?" 

"Which means 'red head" in the 
peasoup language," explained Sullivan, 
"ye'll want to look out fur Mechante. 
He's a bully an' tough nut. See that 
he don't catch ye down th' river." 

McGraw strolled up with a satisfied 
expr sfion beaming over his bronzed 





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face. "Great work, boys," said he. 
"We've fixed Morton's gang good. 
He'll be all day pickin' th' key o' that 
jam. I had all th' hoys up ail night, 
rolling inter th' creak, an' wi've got th' 
whole cut claar an' away. Who 
sciatchod y;, Rid ?" 

"McShanty," growled the latter, 
lighJng up his pipe. "Druv' his boot 
in me mug " 

"All right, boys," cried the foreman, 
turning away. "Some o' you crots th' 
river an' roll off stranded logs. Keep 
'em movin', while we've got th' water." 

For many days, they followed the 
logs down; walking along the river 
banks through mud and slush, wading 
creeks, sleeping in the chilly open, and 
devouring their food raw. Whiskey 
was plentiful, and it was astonishing 
how much the men drank to itave off 
the cold of eternally wft clothing, and 
continual sloshing about in icy water. 

The timber was carefully steered in 
and out of booms, over rapids, and 
chutes, until a fine, balmy spiing day 
saw the cut boomed in slack water 
with those of several other compani .-s, 
and the work of sorting the various cuts 

Dexterous rlvermen performed won- 
derful faats of agility, jumping from 
stick to stick aero s the booms, and bid- 
ing the logs with spiked boots and never 
wetting the soles. McGonnigal received 
many a cold ducking essaying these 
tricks, but as his fame had spread far, 
the observing shantymen took care not 
to laugh too loud. 

At last the logs were sorted and 
boomed in their respective "sacks": 
McLean's cut was taken in tow by the 
company's tug, and the gang made for 
Quebec. Mechante came in soon aftf r, 
rampaging and . wearing, and the butt 
of all the shantymen on the River. The 
big Frenchman cursed and promised 
himself a fine revenge when he got to 
the ancient capital, and with these 
thoughts in his mind, he hustled his 
gang from morning to night, until he 
got his cut clear. 

McLean's gang were paid off, and 
after the married and steadier m ^n had 
gone to their homes, the rest held high 
carnival, and endeavoured to paint the 
old woild town in sanguinary hues. 
McGraw, McGonnigal, and a dozen 
others located at Murphy's Hotel in 
the lower towp, and the hostelry staged 
some wild scenes. Drunken shanty- 
men reeled in and out continuously 
during the day, and at night the place 
rang to rude bursts of song, loud laugh- 
ter and noisy dancing. Fights were 
common occurrences, and the clatter of 
broken glass became a familiar sound. 

Mechante had come to town, and 
made Grevier's Hotel the rendezvous 
for his gang, and as the news of Mc- 
Graw's exploit had spread among the 
lumbermen, the fracernity wondered if 

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the two would meet, and discussed 
probabilities. Such howev-er was not 
McGraw's intention. He had no desire 
to have a turn with the big Frenchman, 
who was a past master in the art of 
savate, and could fight as well with his 
feet as with his hands. In his cups, 
Mechante declared that if McGraw 
would not come to him, he would, like 
Mahomet, go to McGraw, and spend a 
pleasant evening with the latter and the 
"tele rouge" wiping off old scores. 



Next day, an excited bushwhacker 
stamped into Murphy's with the news 
that Mechante and his gang were com- 
ing down to clean the place up that 
night, and true to his word, while 
McGraw and McLean's men were con- 
gregated in the bar smoking and drink- 
ing, Mechante strolled in, followed by 
his henchmen. The singing stopped as 
if by magic, and in the silence that 
ensued a pin could have been heard to 

Mechante leered around, and spying 
McGraw, made a bow of studied polite- 
ness. "Bon soir, Meester McGraw. 
I thought I would call an' see you dis 
tarn,' eh ?" 

"You're welcome," growled the other 
coolly. "What'll ye hav? ?" 

"Merci," said Mechante ironically. 
"I have still enough piastres to pay for 
my own dreenks. You weel dreenk wit' 
me, Meeeter McGraw." Both men 
strodt to the bar, and Murphy, with an 
ominous glance at McGraw, placed the 
bottle of whiskey blanc on the counter. 

The men of the opposing camps 
filled the room, and an uneasy, tense 
silence dominated the atmosphere of 
the bar-room, as the foremen stood up 
to the bat and filled their glasses. 

The bully drained his liquor at a 
gulp, and setting down his glass, placed 
his elbow on the rail, and leered tiger- 
ishly at the other. 

"I hear, McGraw, dat a man leecked 
you dis wintaire, eh ? Is dat so ?" 

Roddy colored. "Maybe so, 
Mechante, maybe so. Ye hear many 
things in th' bush th?se days." 

"Huh !" replied the other sarcastic- 
ally and with an insolent stare. "You're 
a poor devil for camp boss. You let 
your men lecck you w'en dey like. I 
hear dat, me." 

"I've heard things too, Mechante," 
said McGraw coolly, while the assem- 
bled men strained their ears. "I heard 
that ye had yer mouth full o' somethin' 
ye couldn't swaller, a few days back — " 

"Yes, by Gar," roared the other. 
"Where's dat man — de tete rouge ?" 

"I also heard," continued Roddy, 
"that ye allowed yer logs ter jam at th' 
mouth o' yer chute — " 

"Where's de tele rouge ?" bawled 
Mechante. "Who jammed ma logs ?" 

"I did, by heck !" shouted McGiaw. 
"Have ye anythin' to say about it ?" 
Both men were by this time glaring 
into each other's faces, and the tension 
became almost unbearable. Mechante 
stared for a moment, and then burst 
into a harsh laugh. 

"You did ?" he reiterated with con- 
temptuous sarcasm. "Why, McGraw, 
I c'd break you lak' wan lectle puppy 
dog. You jam my log ? Ha ! ha ! 
Wherc'syour camarade — the tele rouge?" 

At this jimcture, McGonnigal thrust 
himself forward from the Ix'nch he had 
been sitting on, and faced the French- 

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man with an airy, devil may care smile 
playing over his features. 

"Is it th' red head, ye'll be after 
wantin' ?" he rumbled. "Sure an' me 
hair happens ter be o' that gloryus, 
aristocratic hue. Maybe ye don't like 
th' color ? Maybe ye still have a dhry 
throat wid th' mud ye swallered up th' 
river ? G'wan, mate, yer mug's still 
dhirty ! Maybe me chum McGraw 
ain't treatin' ye right ?" 

Mechante was nonplussed for a 
moment with the Irishman's aggressive 

attitude and he blurted out, "McGraw 
ees good feller I" 

"Then what in h — 1 are ye bawiin' 
about ?" cried the sailor thrusting his 
hard bitten visage into the French- 

Mechante, with an oath, turned his 
head to the bar, and snarled at Murphy 
to set him up a drink. McGonnigal 
gazed at the man for a space, and 
swung around to McGraw, saying loud 
enough for everyone to hear. "Roddy, 
me bhoy, we don't need to be scared o' 






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that big stiff. He's all wind, but there 
ain't enough in him ter flap a main 

The men of the two factions drew 
apart, crowding to the bar and drink- 
ing noisily. The Bully Ixjgan talking 
and shouting to his companions in a 
loud voice, and swigging drink after 
drink. McGraw and McGonnigal 
drew over to a corner, for the former 
knew that the trouble was by no means 
over yet. With a skinful of "rot-gut" 
in him. Mechanic would regain his 
courage, and a fracas would start. 

"Red," whispered the foreman, 
"look out for the Bully. He's drinkin' 
to get his fightin' blood up an' he'll 
come fur ye yet. If he does, look out 
for his feet." 

From an aggressive silence, the two 
gangs began to pass various stinging 
pleasantries at each other across the 
room, and Mechante lolled across the 
bar encouraging his men to further 
bravado. The whiskey he had con- 
sumed was rising to his head, and he 
felt fearless and strong. 

"Meester McGraw," he bawled. 
"Watch me keeck !" 

Striding into the center of the room, 
he made a spring into the air, and turn- 
ing a complete somersault, sent his 
calked boot heels with a crack into the 
ceiling; landing on his feet again amid 
a storm of applause. Pointing to the 
marks of the calks in the ceiling above, 
he leered at McGraw. 

"Meester," he cried. "Can you do 
dat treeck ? I t'ink not, eh ? You're 
too stiff in de joint for dat. De man in 
your camp leeck you w'en dey lak'. 
You call yourself a foreman — a boss — 
hey ? I say dat you're leetle puppy 
dog, an' I whip you lak' leetle dog — " 
With the dark blood mounting to his 
face, McGraw rose. "I'm a leetle 
puppy dog, am I ?"he muttered, taking 
off his coat. 

The Bully watched him with an evil 
grin. "You'll fight me, hey ?" he 
chuckled. "Boys, de McGraw is goin' 
to fight. De puppy dog wants a leeckln 
from Napoleon Mechante — de bully of 
de Sant' Anne " 

As he spoke, McGonnigal advanced 
and pulled McGraw aside. "Roddy ! 
Leave th' big swab ter me. He guv me 
his boot in th' mug wan day. See fair 

Rolling uptothe astonished Mechante 
the sailor coolly looked him up and 
down, with his hands in his pockets, 
and then deliberately squirted a stream 
of tobacco juice over the Frenchman's 

"Sacre," screamed Mechante, and he 
swung for McGonnigal 's head with a 
terrific roundarm punch. "I'll feex 
you, tete rouge, for dat ! You stuff ma 
mout' wit' mud — Ouch !" 

McGonnigal jumped in and delivered 
a crashing drive into the Frenchman's 



chest, which choked his utterance, and 
followed up his advantage by a socket 
on the jaw. 

"Ouf !" grunted Mechanic, as the 
blow went home. Up went his booted 
feet — sock ! sock ! — and McGonnigal 
crashed back among the chairs and 
tables with a splintering of broken 

"Ow ! th' cursed swab !" he rasped. 
"He caught me atween wind an' water 
wid his hoofs." 

"Watch his feet !" hissed McGraw in 
his ear as he stepped up to his opponent 

"How you lak' dat, Rouge ?" leered 

"Same as you like that !" roared 
McGonnigal, as he feinted with his 
hand, and caught the Frenchman a 
terrific kick in the stomach with all the 
power in his heaxily booted right foot. 

Mechante doubled up in agony. He 
never for a moment e.xpected that the 
other would pay him back in his own 
coin- — Englishmen never used their 
feet in fighting, and he was taken by 
surprise. As he lowered his guard to 
clasp his stomach, McGonnigal rushed 
him to the floor with vicious blows, and 
in tense grips, the men rolled under the 
feet of the mob, sending tables and 
chairs flying in all directions. 

As they swung towards the Quebec 
heater, men yelled a warning. McGon- 
nigal looked up for an instant, and 
grasping Mechante by the neck with 
iron fingers, jammed his face against 
the side of the almost red hot stove ! 

With a bellow like the ancient Poly- 
phemus, the French man st ruggled out of 
the sailor's grip, screaming and cursing. 

"Dat's what ye git fur stampin' yer 
spikes in me mug up th' river," growled 
a voice, and the combatant s were 
buried in a horde of fighting, shouting 
men. Both camps were at one another's 
throats, and McGraw 's voice could be 
heard above the din. "Heave them 
out, boys. McLean's camp ! McLean's 
camp ! Clean them up !" 

Swinging a chair with tremendous 
sweep,he led his gang, and pandemonium 
reigned. Murphy screamed in vain for 
order to he restored. A flying bottle 
sent him under his own bar counter for 
refuge, and McGraw's chair sent the 
lami)s clattering to the Hoor. Men 
fought with whatever they could lay 
their hands on. Bottles, glasses, chairs, 
and tables were hurled and liroken in 
the hands of maddened lumbermen, 
and the air was thick with \ells and 
oaths — French, American and Can- 
adian. Struggling, stamping, and 
punching, the combatants reeiecl around 
the room to the accompaninu-nt of 
smashing, splintering woodwork, 
and cracking partitions. The stove 
pipes came down with a run, and the 
air was thick with soot and smoke, 
and the din was indescribable. The 

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noise had brought up every luml:erman 
in the lower town, and they thronged 
the sidewalks outside. 

One by one, Morton's gang crashed 
througii windows and d(K)rs pursued 
by .some enraged McLean man, hatless, 
coatlcss, and often shirtless, and one of 
the first to leave was Mechante, who 
was hove through a hu^c jilate win- 
dow out to the sidewalk. W hile he was 
trying to pick himself up, McGonnigal 
assisted his journey by heaving a bf)ttle 
of squareface at him, and the blow 
made him yelp. 

When at last the trembling Murphy 
struck a match and gazed on the secne 
of action, he almo,st wept. "Och, 
blazes ! I'm ruined !" he cried. "Fur- 
niture all broken, winders an' mirrors 
all smashed, half me stock gone, an' th' 
place lookin' like h — I struck wid a 
cyclone. Wirra ! 'twas a sorry day 
that I allowed yez into nu- hotel. Five 
hundred dollars gone to Hades in 
thirty minutes ! Och, sure, 'tis worse 
nor a Fenian Raid ! That's what I git 
fur allowin' them scrapp\ , boozy 
shantymen to hang around here. 'Tis 



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th' same ivery spring, but this is th' 
worst yet. Ochonee !" 

It was some two days later that 
the second mate of the British 
barque "Falls of Clyde" turned at the 
mate's query. "Who are all that gang 
shoutin' an' singin' in th' foc'sle ?" 
The junior officer smiled. "I under- 
stand that they're friends o' that new 
bos'un's mate we signed here. They 
came pilin' aboard th' ship to see him, 
an' by th' hook block ! 'twould take a 
regiment to stop them." 

"What are they?" 

"Lumbermen, sir — an' every man 
jack as full as a tick." 

The mate smacked his lips reminis- 

"Well, Mr. Gammon, ye kin pass th' 
word along for all strangers to get 
ashore. We'll be heavin' up in a few 

McGonnigal— metamorphosed to the 
sailor again by slop chest dungarees, 
peaked cap, and creaking sea boots, 
lurched drunkenly on to the foc'sle 
head, followed by about twenty of the 
old camp gang, who proffered him 
drinks out of handy flasks, and wept in 
maudlin farewells. 

An old chorus came floating aft, and 
the mate listened to the hoarse words. 
Oh it's pork an' beans for breakfast, 
Pork an' beans at night. 
Pork an' beans at noontime. 
By G — , boys, it's a fright " 

"Hey, thar', Mr. Gammon. Send 
these fellers ashore." 

With hearty, honest hand grips, 
they bade McGonnigal goodbye, and 
scrambled into the boats alongside. 

"Good bye. Red," almost wept 
McGraw. "Cut th' sailorin' business 
in th' fall an come up on th' St. Anne 
again with me. Ye're a decent sort, 
an' ye kin handle yer mitts like a plug- 
ugly, an' it's great times we've had 
together. So long. Red." And he 
clambered over the side. 

"All hands to th' windlass !" came a 
thundering hail along decks, and a few 
minutes later, the barque was hove short . 

"Pass the hawser down, an' heave 
up !" The tug ranged alongside; the 
anchor came up from the mud of 
Quebec Harbor to the tune of a plain- 
tive chantey, and McGonnigal stood 
at the heel of the bowsprit looking 
down at his former comrades. 

"Tell McShanty to put a pitch 
plaster on his jib th' next time ye see 
him. I'm thinkin' it wuz burnt some. 
I'll maybe see ye in th' fall. So long, 
boys." With a wave of his hand, he 
turned to his work. The barque swung 
round to the pull of the tug, and glided 
down the river, while the lumberjacks 
watched their comrade disappear. 

"Thar' goes th' Boss of th' Sant' 
Anne, an' th' hardest scrapper I iver 
met." And McGraw looked for conso- 
lation in a flask of rye. "Ef he comes 
back, there'll be somethin' doing." 




Continued from page 13. 

and here to our great satisfaction, we found an 
encampment of Eskimos, at a crossing place 
of the caribou, known as Od-e-uk-tellig. Re- 
maining here two days, we resumed the canoe 
journey with a crew of three Eskimos to Ches- 
terfield Inlet; searched the entire length of 
the Inlet for our relief supplies, and on the last 
day of September found them at the Inlet's 
mouth, on the shore of Hudson Bay, where 
the Hudson's Bay Company, faithful to their 
promise, had landed them three weeks pre- 
viously from their steamer Pelican." 

Many readers will remember the 
hardships J. B. Tyrrell experienced on 
his journey from Chesterfield Inlet, 
where he had not arranged for sup- 
plies, to Fort Churchill, the nearest 
post. Several explorers know parts 
of the country through which the two 
men travelletl, but Mr. Tyrrell is one 
of the few who has made the journey 
right through from the Mackenzie 
Basin to Hudson Bay. Mr. Radford 

"On the third of October, we re-ascended 
Chesterfield Inlet, sailed up Baker River into 
Baker Lake in a small forty foot schooner which 
was placed at my disposal for the transporta- 
tion of my supplies for the interior, and 
reached the head of the lake the night before it 
set fast with ice. We proved the navigability 
of the lake for vessels of light draught, and were 
the first whites to navigate these inland waters 
with any craft larger than a canoe or skill 
since their discovery by Captain Christopher 
in 1762." 

They had arranged with Chief 
Akulak to come for them with dogs 
and sledges and bring their supplies 
to the Eskimos' winter camp. This 
was reached alwut the first of Decem- 
ber and there Radford and Street spent 
the winter in a sort of annex to the 
chief's own igloo. From these head- 
quarters — Od-e-uk-tellig — Street made 
sletJge journeys aggregating seven hun- 
dred miles. On March the twenty- 
sixth, 1012, the explorers set out accom- 
panied by three Eskimos, one of whom 
was Chief Akulak. They had two 
sle<lges, one loaded with the canf)e, 
"Hope," which they had carried with 
them throughout. After an overland 
journey of seven weeks they reache<l 
ihe Arctic coast near the head of 
Hathurst Inlet. By this time it was 
tiie middle of May. 

Mr. Radford's letter goes on: 

"Our route lay up the Thelon River valley 
to Beverly Lake; thence northwesterly to 
Back's River. . . .up Back's River to Lake 
Becchcy, thence northerly and wesfcrly to 
liathurst Inlet." 

This journey is reported as not being 

specially trying, the lowest tempcra- 

ire being only forty-five degrees Ix^low 

I TO, while in camp the lowest was 

sixty-one below. But they did have 

diftirulty in feeding their tlogs, owing 

to the scarcity of caribou — in fact they 

lost eight of the twenty-five during the 

Hanbury exi)lorcd this country in 
1902, spending three weeks in an igloo, 
but did not go further than Lake Pelly. 

An interesting portion of the letter 
gives a description of a primitive tribe 
of Eskimos inhabiting Bathurst Inlet: 

"These have had no intercourse with whites; 
do not possess rifles, and hunt as of old with 
a bow, spear and harpoon; they all use stone 
kettles, and knives of hammered, native cop- 
per, and strike fire with stones and tinder or 

by rubbing a pointed stick into another piece 
of wood, until the latter becomes heated 
enough to ignite." 

An arrangement was made with 
three of these Eskimos to accompany 
the white men westward along the 
Arctic coast to the Mackenzie delta — 
the intended route to civilization lieing 
Fort Macpherson* Dawson and through 
Alaska. Toward the end of the letter 
there is a statement that Daw.son 
should be reached in the winter of 



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1912-13, and something of the tragedy 
lies in the fact that within a few hours 
of the expres.sion of this hope, the man 
who uttere<i it and his companion lay 
(lead, slain by the Eskimos who were 
to guide them. 

Fourteen months ago this letter was 
written, and passed from hand to hand 
through the wide silent spaces of the 
north to come at last to the one of 
whom Radford thought as he guided 
the pencil o\er its pages. Twenty- 
four hours after the postman left it at 
the door, word was flashed to the news- 
I)apers of the explorers' death. 

They started out that last morning, 
feeling that the worst was accomplished 
and the final stage of their joiimey to 
Dawson and the world outside was 
I egun. Perhaps a light snow was 
falling. Breakfast was prepared and 
eaten, and the men lighted their pipes 
as they superintended the loading of 
sledges and the harnessing of dogs. 
The guide stood ready for the signal 
to move, the whole party were on the 
point of departure — all but one dog 
driver who suddenly refused to go 
further. The accounts of what actually 
happened vary. Certainly there was 
a swift change from buoyant cheerful- 
ness to flashing wTath — perhaps there 
was a blow struck. One can imagine 
the cracking of the dog-whip in the 
white man's hand. Suddenly as a 
striking snake the recalcitrant driver 
turned, plunging his ready spear 
through Radford's breast. Street 
graspwi his rifle and sprang forward, 
but in doing so he turned his back to the 
man at his sledge, and in that moment 
met death from the point of a spear in 
his back. He fell, and two crimson 
blots w idened to meet each other upon 
the snow. 

According to the schedule of the 
explorers, they were not expected in 
Dawson until the winter of 1912-13, 
and anxiety as to their safety was not 
acute. But rumors leaked through to 
a Hudson's Bay post that there had 
been a tragedy. This was hard to 
believe, for it has been the experience 
of travellers in the northland that the 
Eskimo is faithful and reliable, al- 
though it is stated that certain primi- 
tive tribes have cruel customs and 
repulsive superstitions. Chief Akulak 
yearly treks into the interior to barter 
with the Bathurst Inlet Eskimos who 
have no dealings whate^•er with the 
white men. During the winter follow- 
ing the departure of Radford and Street 
with men of this tribe. Chief Akulak 
made his inland journey as usual, and 
inquired at the conference in the igloos 
for news of the white explorers. The 
replies did not satisfy Akulak, and it 
may be that he saw property belonging 


to his friends the white men. At an\- 
rate his suspicions were aroused, and 
hit by bit he pieced the story together. 
When he came out from his trip, he 
confirmed the rumors that had already 
reached the Hudson's Bay post, and 
on his report the Royal Northwest 
Mounted Police sent a detachment into 
the Bathurst Inlet region to investigate 
More wc cannot learn of the manner 
in which the explorer met death until 
the constables return, but there can he 
little doubt that Akulak's story is true, 
and that two more names are added to 
the roll of those who have perished in 
the Arctic. The strange thing about it 
is the treachery of the Eskimos. From 
the days of Franklin down to Fitz- 
gerald, men hav'c set out upon the quest 
for the unknown and the north has 
swallowed them ; but since the murder 
of Lieutenant Hood there have been 
very few authenticated cases in which 
an explorer's failure to return has been 
the result of treachery on the part of 
the natives. 

And Everywhere 
Mary Went 

Continued from page 11. 

sighed Mary Millicent, "How did 
that happen to you, Barney ?" 

"I wrote a pome," and he waved the 

"Let's have it, Barney" — Mary Mil- 
licent gaily invited disaster — "Don't 
be blossoming there unseen. Some 
have poetry wafted upon them." 

Barney wet his stump of a pencil in 
a twisted tongue, put in a comma 
where it didn't belong, and began— 

"Mary had a kape of lam — 
It had a nawful purrifume — 
And everywhere, that Mary went 
The peepul swore an' lef the room" — 

But his mother had seen the valen- 
tine, and, instead of the [x>et's crown 
of bay, Barney departed twi.sting 
wreaths of rue. 

"I could better write epitaphs than 
poetry," said Mary Millicent," 'It 
was a cape', I'd say in elegy." 

"You talk queer, Mary Millicent," 
said her mother, "atid you look fever- 
ish. Now, you girls go to bed and in 
the morning we'll fix the cape all right." 

Mary Millicent disapfxrared into i 
feather tick without observing the 
order of evening prayer. 

"Aren't you going to read your 
chapter ?" asked Macedonia Elizabeth. 

"My Bible dropped where — the — 
thing — was," said Mary Millin-nt sul- 

"But aren't you going to say any 
prayers ?" pt^rsisted Macedonia, ho[)ing 
still to know through f)lder Mary Milli- 
cent and her faith the origin of the 


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"No," said Mary Millicent, more 
sullenly, "You shut up, Elizabeth. I 
have left in me only one faculty — the 
seasc of smell." 

The first rites of the aid to the 
tainte<i took place on Saturday morn- 
ing in the privacy of the wtxxl-shed. 
Cedar shavings a-smoke on the dust- 
|)an sent up a sweet-smelling incense 
to the infected lamb. It was a double 
house and a double wwKl-shed with 
cracks l)ctween the Ixjarding, and the 

little neighl)or woman's eyes and nose 
were given her to use. She used them. 
Then she came around to the wood- 
she<l door. But she was a discreet 
little neighl)or woman with no sense of 
humor, and she didn't even laugh, but 
offered sympathy and promised Mary 
Millicent solemnly not to tell, then 
went home for reinforcements, which 
consisted of Condy's Fluid, moth balls, 
oil of cedar, camphor, iodoform, 
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"The alleviations seem almost worse 
than the affliction," suggested Eliza- 
beth through the ciifTusing emanations. 
But the mother was busy burning 
charcoal and Mary Millicent had just 
stubbed her toe on the mop as she 
carried out a shovel of fuming sulphur, 
and was incapable of sptx;ch. 

The children made offering of all 
their treasured bits of extracts. Chlor- 
ines and chlorides and cologne took 
turns. And, finally, in the bright after- 
noon sunshine Mary's lamb was al- 
lowed out on the line, the original 
immoral odor bewildered among all 
known deodorizers and all the per- 
fumes of Araby. 

To the older Doyles, resting and 
hoping, came Barney reporting. 

"Arretta Brown's mother is out on 
her steps pointin' at our line an' 
talkin' to our Auntie Warren" (the 
little neighbor woman) "an' Pete 
Gibson come up to them an' looked an' 
laughed an' said 'Hell !' an' went home 
hurryin' an' laughin' an' hittin' his leg 
an' sayin' — " 

"That will do, Barney," decided his 

The little neighbor woman came 
down her cellar steps and up the Doyles' 

"Oh, what is it ?" implored Mary 
Millicent. "Do they know ? You 
didn't tell them ?" 

"No," said quiet Mrs. Warren, "She 
thinks you're showing off your new 
furs. They're poor,' she said to me, 
'poor as pizen — and stinkin' proud !' " 
And Mrs. Warren sat in amazed 
gravity while the Doyles laughed on 
each other's necks till they wept, and 
Mary Millicent, shaking the tears out 
of her lashes, spoke in an unknown 
tongue to Mrs. Warren — "That qual- 
ifying adverb," she said, "may not be 
according to the grammarians, but she 
spoke more truly than she knew," — 
and that mad family were off again. 

Came Barney once more dragging 
his sled in on the new carpet and for- 
getting to shut the door. "Pete Gib- 
son's laughin' an' sayin' 'Hell !' an' 
puttin' skins on his line," he panted. 

Pete's butcher-shop was just across 
a couple of lots, and Pete's nose was 
redder than just the winter afternoon 
had made it, and Pete's humor more 
broad than the Lord had endowed him. 
He hung skin after skin along an impro- 
vised line parallel with MaryMillicent's 
cape, while Arretta Brown's mother 
stood on her steps rejoicing at the 
parody, and Arretta stuck out her 
tongue at Barney, and John Sims, 
catching the infection, picked up his 
spaniel and draped him at the end of 
Pete's line of skins, and hilarious faces 
appeared at the neighbor's windows, 
but at her kitchen window, Mary Mil- 
licent was laughing happily, though 
hysterically still. "They don't know," 

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she said in a sort of hallelujah voice, 
"Oh, glory be, they don't know I" .1 

Mary Millicent didn't go to the car- 
nival, and didn't tell Arthur Carpenter 
why, and that was the end of A. C. 

On Sunday only Barney and Nubbins 
went to Sunday school. The visiting 
Bishop addressed the Sunday school. 
He was a prosy, pompous Bishop, and 
Nubbins fidgetted. Barney was humili- 

"She wriggled an' bobbed," he said, 
"an' the Bishop stopped an' looked at 
her, but she wriggled an' bobbed. 
'What is youah name, little girl ?' he 
said, cross. 'Nubbins Doyle,' she said, 
an' yawned, an' never said 'Sir. 'Nub- 
bins ?' — he sort of bit it — 'Nubbins !'— 
he sort of barked it — 'Nubbins is no 
name for a Christian child.' An' then 
he stood up straight an' kin' o' shoved 
his eyes out an' pointtxJ a finger at her 
an' said, 'Well, Nubbins Doyle, don't 
you wag youahself at youah Bishop !' 
— An' I'm not going to Sunday school 
with Nubbins no more." But Nubbins, 
lost to shame, was going asleep against 
her mother's arm before her red leg- 
gins were off. 

"What was the Bishop talking 
about ?" asked Mary Millicent lan- 

" 'Bout bein' kind to everything 
'live an' lovin' animals." 

"All animals ?" Mary Millicent sat 

"Sure — bare green cattlepillers an' 
wild-cats an' mad bulls," Barney pos- 
sessed the woe of imagination. "An' 
meddle-larks an' roarin' lines — " 

"Every animal ?" Mary Millicent 

"Ain't I tellin' you ? — every animal — 
an' think sweet of'm — bare green cat- 
tlepillers an' tagers an' devilsdarn- 
necdles an' mice an' mosquitoes an' 
sea-sarpints an' pole-cats an' — " 

"Then," said Mary Millicent, "I'm 
glad Nubbins wagged herself at him,' 
and she kissed the dimpled sleepy 
knees as she bent to remove the red 

At night, The-Man-Who-Read went 
to church alone, unaware that the rites 
had been going on surreptitiously all 
that Sabbath day. "It was a good 
sermon," he told the family reproach- 
fully," the theme centred about the 
odor of sancity" — the family melted 
again to Mary Millicent's murmur, 
"Does even that have to have an odor?" 

On Monday mf)rning, early and cold 
and dim, Mary Millicent, clad in the 
marred cape, was shuddering at facing 
again the nose of the world. The 
family, grouped around her, adminis- 
tered solace between sniffs at the cape. 

"Keep away from stoves, Mary 
Millicent, and hang the cape always 
in a cold place, and keep oil of cedar 
in the p<jckets, and you'll be all right," 
said the mother. 

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Elizabeth patted her and sniffed 
strenuously. "You can hardly notice 
it," she consoled her, "It's merely a 
nuance" with an accent, air, and 
gesture her art master couldn't have 

"Nuisance?" chuckled Barney, "I've 
thought of another pome, 

Mary had a little lamb 
A nuisance like a goat — 

but Elizabeth got her hand over his 
mouth and kept it there. 

Little Nubbins, a-tiptoe, glued her 
small tilted to the edge of the 
cape, curled up her face in disgust and 

stepped backwards. "It thmellth," she 
insisted, and stepping delicately, always 
backwards, suddenly sat down in a 
pail of water The-Man-Who-Read had 
left near the door before he went to 
work — "Oh, my Ck)d, I'm drownded," 
she -screamed, her fat logs eloquent in 
the air, and Mary Millicient fled down 
the hill to her train, hysterical again. 
"The poor baby," she laughtxl, "Oh, 
my God, I'm drownded," and then 
ruefully to her cape — "It thmellth!" 

For a long time she was nervous 
and hysterical, shivered suddenly, 
suffered in her memories and never 



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laughed quite the same again. Bob 
and Rosa were good sptirts and did not 
tell and soon moved away to the West. 
The glory of the grey lamb had de- 
parted, the bloom was gone. Shame 
was steeped in the delicious soft greys, 
flame burned in the snowflakey whites. 
At the end of each calendar month, 
when Mary Millicent received the 
cheque of her gainful occupation, she 
paid her deposit and hated the cape 
harder and harder. At the salary 
aforesaid, it took a long time to pay 
for that cape on the credit system. It 
ought, perhaps, to be told here that 
she bought a new bible and got another 
Christian Endeavor pledgcand returned 
to the Order of Evening Prayer, though 
with a rather joggled faith. 

Finally, the years were accomplished 
that grey lamb should be gradually 
relegated to the Limbo of Vanities, and 
sable reigned in its stead. The Lord 
had softened the hearts of the School 
Trustees in that manufacturing town 
so that they occasionally, but with 
signs of grief, added a twenty-five 
dollars to Mary Millicent's salary. 
And she had gone with shining^ eyes 
and marked success from grade to 

On a November morning, she took 
the train for the college town where she 
was to write on an extra-mural exam- 
ination on some special preparatory 
work she was taking. The college 
town had fascinating shops along its 
streets. Mary Millicent went into one 
with her grey lamb cape in one hand 
and a prosperous purse in the other. 
She came out with a thinner purse, no 
grey lamb (the furrier had allowed her 
only twelve dollars for all that square 
surface of lamb, but she'd have given 
him twelve to take it, if he had only 
known), and a soft, dark sable scarf 
and muff that suited Mary Millicent's 
graver, slenderer young womanhood, 
and with relief in her heart, peace in 
her soul, and ambition in her finger- 
tips, she set out for the college halls 
through a storm of soft, melting snow 

The first paper was English Liter- 
ature. Browning was on that year 
mostly. As the pens scratched over 
the foolscap, Mary Millicent glanced 
casually down the paper on her desk to 
a list of phrases. "Give the connec- 
tion," was the laconic demand. At the 
fifth quotation, "The perfume and 
suppliancc of a minute," Mary Milli- 
cent's eyes straj'ed, began to dance, 
and, of a sudden, across the academic 
quiet of the college halls, halting the 
scratching pens, amazing the presiding 
Professor until his glasses fell and 
shattered, of a sudden her girlish, most 
unacademic laughter rippled and broke, 
laughter with some wonderful quality 
of restored youth flickered and bubbled 



and thrilled. With her very last ghost 
of humiliation laid, a demure, joyous 
Mary Millicent, unconscious of sus- 
pended pens, unaware of an outraged 
Professor stepping on his glasses, 
courageous at last for the word, bent her 
head over the white paper and wrote, 
"The perfume of a minute" — "Oh, you 
skunk !" 

But, even as she wrote, her laughter 
stilled abruptly, her demure, joyous 
face grew shamed and despairing. Did 
smells have ghosts too, that the mere 
first writing of the so-long-silenced 
word should evoke that unmistakable, 
rancid odor ? She heard again the 
flippant drummers in the train, again 
the rack of hysteria stirred along her 
nerves, for that active perfume that 
was sickening her soul was no ghost at 
all, but wafted surely from the new, 
comely, snow-wet sable that she had 
hung too near the stove on her right. 

She rose unsedately from her seat, 
she seized the sable between a disgusted 
thumb and a shrinking finger, she 
started blindly for the furrier's place 
among the fascinating shops. At the 
door of the examination-room, she 
suddenly became conscious of the 
astonished hush, and, turning to the 
suspended pens and the outraged Pro- 
fessor still jamming his gla.sses under 
foot, she held out the fur with its 
resurrecting memories of a burning 

•rnity, and struggled for speech. 

"It thmellth \" lisped Mary Milli- 
dent, and fled. 

"It thmellth ?" repeated the outraged 
Profcs,sor, and saw the powdered ruin of 

"It thmellth ! ! !" giggled the students 
each to each across the room, the sus- 
pended pons dropping again to the 
white paper. 

And Mary Millicent, breathless and 
indignant, accusingly lisped it again to 
the furrier, "It thmellth." 

And the furrier, erjually 
and indignant, sent it echoing on in 
protest, ""It thmellth ?" 

Un willing Eve 

Continued from page 48. 
sultry calm — a day on which game 
would be hard to stalk, but one per- 
fectly suited for a long tramp. 

Mindful of ticks, Blake headed 
obliquely across to the beach. Once 
on the smooth, hard sand, they swung 
along at a brisk pace, light-hearted and 
keen with the spirit of adventure. 
Never had they felt more companion- 
able. Miss Leslie laughed and chatted 
and sang snatches of songs, while 
Blake beat time with his club, or 
whistled scraps of grand opera — he had 
healed his blistered lips some time 
before by liberal applications of ante- 
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Gulls and terns circled about them, 
or hovered over the water, ready to 
swoop down upon their finny prey. 
Sandpipers ran along the beach within 
a stone's throw, but the curlews showed 
their greater knowledge of mankind 
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Once a great Hock of geese drove 
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the' alarm as they swept above the 
suspicious figures on the beach. Like 
the curlews, they had knowledge of 
mankind. But the flock of white 

pelicans which came sailing along in 
stately leisure on their immense wings 
floated past so low that Blake felt 
certain he could sh(K)t one. He raised 
his bow and took aim, but refrained 
from shooting, at the thought that it 
might be a sheer waste of his precious 

A little later a herd of large animals 
appeared on the border of the 
jungle, but wheeled and dashed back 
into cover so quickly that Blake barely 
had time to make out that they were 



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buffaloes — the first he had seen on this 
coast, but easily recognized by their 
resemblance to the Cape variety. 
Their flight gave him small concern; 
for the time being he was more inter- 
ested in topography than game. 

The southern headland now lay 
close before them, its seaward face 
rearing up sheer and lofty, but the 
approach behind running down in 
Ijrokcn terraces. Mid-morning found 
the explorers at the foot of the ridge. 
Blake squinted up at the boulder- 
slrewn slopes and the crannies of the 
broken ledges. 

"Likely place for snakes, Miss 
Jenny," he remarked. "Guess I'd 
better lead." 

Eager as she was to look over into 
tlie country beyond, the girl dropped 
into second place, and made no com- 
plaint about the wary slowness of her 
companion's advance. She found the 
most difficult parts of the ascent quite 
easy after her training on the tree- 
ladder. Blake could have taken 
ledges and all at a run, but as he 
mounted each terrace, he halted to 
spy out the ground before him. Like 
Miss Leslie, he was looking for snakes, 
though for an exactly opposite reason. 
He wished to add to the contents of 
the cigarette case. 

Greatly to his disappointment and 
the girl's relief, neither snake nor sign 
of snake was to be seen all the way up 
the ridge. As they neared the crest 
Blake turned to offer her his hand up 
the last ledges, and in the instant they 
gained the top. 

The wind, now freshening to a gale, 
struck the girl with such force that 
she would have been blown back 
down the ledges had not Blake clutched 
her wrist. Heedless alike of the pain- 
ful grip which held her and of the gusts 
which tore at her skirt, the girl stood 
gazing out across the desolate swamps 
which stretched away to the south- 
west as far as the eye could see. She did 
not speak until Blake led her down 
behind the shelter of the crest ledges. 
"What's the matter ?" he demanded. 
"Didn't I warn you ?" 

She looked away to hide the tears 
which sprang into her eyes. 

"I can't explain— only, it makes 
me feel so — so lonely !" 

"Oh, come now, little woman; don't 
take on so !" he urged. "It might be 
a lot worse, you know. We'\e gotten 
along pretty well, considering." 

"You have been very kind, Mr. 
Blake, and as you say, matters might 
have been worse. I do not forget 
how far more terrible was our situation 
the morning after the storm. Yet 
you must realize how disappointing 
it is to lose even the slightest hope of 

To he continued. 


nQCEPflf I* 



NO. 2 



Toy-makers' Town 


THERE is a Santa Clans. All 
the skeptics in the world to the 
contrary, there lives in a little 
old house in a little old town a 
very little and jolly old man who, like 
the Dr. Tinker-Tinker of the modern 
song, has — for so many years that 
fjcople have forgotten the real number 
— l>een a "sender of joys to the world 
of little girls antl boys." 



The Old Man Who Is 

the Real Santa Claus 

of Half the World's 

Little Folks 



He is very old — this man. His face 
is drawn. His hands are small and 
hard. His color is that of rust. He 
looks as though metal and not skin 
were the material with which he was 
made. But in his deep set eyes there 
is always a kindly twinkle — the twinkle 
of a man whose life has been dedicated 
to the happiness of small tots through- 
out the world. 

He is very rich. But each mark of 
his wealth, as he might tell you, repre- 
sents a hapi>y moment that has gone 
into the life of srjme child. He is, all 
things considered, a very powerful 
man. Armies of soldiers, millions 
strong, stand always at his beck and 
call. Great generals he has made. 
Kings and emixirors and czars have' 
l)een created by him. Royalty's chil- 
dren have often knelt at his feet. 

By John H. Parry 

Mighty, indeed, he is. His fleets 
are greater and grander than the com- 
bined navies of all the world. His 
merchant vessels have sailed in every 
sea. His guns and his cannons have 
l>een more numerous than those of the 
Krupps. His motors and automobiles 
represent the one and only stand- 
ardized and "universal" car. His rail- 
road systems boast a mileage and rolling 
stock far more extensive than even 
Sir Thomas Shaughnessy's wildest 

A trust ? No, that is not the word. 
For all the trusts in all the world have 
never attempted to control the multi- 
farious industries and acti\ities pre- 
sided over .by this modest, metallic 
man. He is a Napoleon, a Nelson, a 
Wright, a Morgan and a Ford rolled 
into one. 

His home is a very queer place. 
Low -caved, with a small dark door- 
way, it stands on an island formed by 
the rivers of old Nuremberg. The 
Troedel Market, they call it, and its 
fame has gone forth to every corner 
of the world. 

It is a very mysterious-looking place, 
quite forbidding to the average person. 
And yet, within its walls, stand armies 
and armament so vast in numbers 
that all the battles of history might 
easily be rcfought \\\Hm its floors. 

The old man himself stands usually 
just inside the door. He also is 
mysterious. For years, carefully 
guarding his business secrets, he has 

kept his station at the entrance lest 
some foreigner might discover and 
purloin the industrial process from 
which his fortune has been made. 


He Has Duplicated In 
Toys the Entire Armies 
of both Czar and Kaiser 

The house itself is a great warehouse 
of toys. . Round the walls they are 
ranged — guns, cannons, motors, steam- 
ships, trumpets, sabres. And — every- 
where — the soldiers. Millions upon 
millions of these have been sold — so 
many millions that even the old man 
himself has long since lost count. They 
are his specialty, for it is this man that 
originated the idea of what he terms 
the "edifying soldiers." 

These aie of lead, tin or pewter and 
represent the armies and battles of the 
world. All of the great military cam- 
paigns of history have been accurately 
duplicated in these tin armies and 
both the Kaiser and the Czar have had 
their own armies duplicated in their 

The soldiers themselves are made in 
two ways; some are stamped out of 
flat metal; the others, and more 
expensive, are made in moulds. Once 
all of them were made entirely by 
hand; but now they are stamped out 
by machinery, though the painting is 
still done by hand — thousands of girls 

Capyritkt, I91J, »» tlu VAH D BRHOOF-CUNN COUPANY. LTD. AO riiUt rtttntd. 



and women being employed in this 

'Ihey are sold by the himdredwcight 
and last year nearly one hundred thou- 
sand quintals were sent to America 
alone. A [X)und box, which contains 
about one hundred and fifty pieces — ■ 
infantry, cavalry, artillery, with such 
accessories as trees, bastions, camps, 
the wounded soldiers and the dead — 
may be bought in the Troedel Market 
for sixty cents. But that, of course, 
is the local price, as any Canadian 
father will tell you. 

/\A In Old Nuremberg and jkf \ 
' til 1 the Thuringian Forest f vW 
'^ the Toy-makers Paint, 


Carve and Mold 

This, then, is the Troedel Market — 
the one place in the world that holds 
universal peace in the palm of its 
hand. Aside from soldier making its 
other industries are tremendous though 
keen rivalry exists in all of the lines 
save that of the soldiers. 

It is situated in old Nuremberg — 
the city, as some one has called it, of 
the "toy diablerie." In fact it is a 
singularly fitting fact that this quaint 
old city should be the principal seat 
of the toy making industry of the 
world and consequently, for this rea- 
son, a veritable Toytown itself. 

In and near Nuremberg toys of all 
kinds are made and no other city in 
the world approaches it in volume of 
toy manufactures. There are about 
two hundred large toy factories in 
Nuremberg and in Furth, which is only 
six miles away. The latter city is 
devoted almost exclusively to the 
manufacture of Noah's Arks, dis- 
sected puzzles and other toys of this 

The wooden animals for these arks 
and various other wooden toys, how- 
ever, are made in Sonneberg, Saxony, 
and the Thuringian forest, most of 
them being carved by hand by the 
native peasants. Once a week wagons 
go around through the Thuringian 
forest and collect all the toys that 
have been made in the humble little 
cottages and take them to the city. 
Fn Sonneberg itself, however, there are 
many great toy factories. 

Here are made the heads for dolls, 
porcelain, papier mache or some other 
composition being used for the pur- 
pose as wax dolls are made no longer 
in Germany. Here, too, is the prin- 
cipal home of the leather doll, as well 
as all those trinkets of glass and gilt 
that are hung on the Christmas tree. 
The woolly dog and the fluffy little 
white sheep are also manufactured here 
in great quantities. Thirty thousand 
grown-ups are employed in this pea- 


sant trade in the Thuringian Wald 
alone and two-thirds of them work in 
their own homes. 

In Groden, among the Dolomites, 
there is likewise a wonderfully inter- 
esting group of toymakers. All the 
men, women and children in the village 
turn, carve and paint the wooden 
animals and dolls. 

From every standpoint, Germany is 
the greatest toy-making nation in the 
world. In point of volume its manu- 
factures lead the world, wh'le from an 
art'stic and mechanical standpoint no 
other nation has as yet been able to 
compete with the German manu- 
facturers. In Germany toy-making is 
regarded in the light of a fine art and 
many of the great artists have become 
interested in the designing of unusual 
dolls, animals, et cetera, while trained 
engineers have invented many of the 
mechanical toys. 

In recognition of the importance 
and value of the industry Germany 
has at last established a government 
school at Grunhainichen for the pur- 
pose of teaching toy-making to the 
younger generation. Here many of 
the master toy makers of Germany 
conduct classes, while famous artists 
and sculptors maintain courses in 

Next to Germany, France is the 
leader in the manufacture of toys. 
Once she stood at the head but in 
recent years Germany has forged ahead 
when the industry is considered as a 
whole, though France still holds the 
supremacy in the making of the finer 
and more expensive playthings. Her 
yearly output of toys amounts to 
something like fifty million francs. 
In six months, a year or so ago, Paris 
sent to New York alone $218,819 
worth of toys — one-half of which was 
represented by dolls. 

Great interest is taken throughout 
France in the industry and the toy- 
makers are encouraged in every way 
possible. Prizes are given by the local 
authorities of Paris for the invention 
of new toys. In fact, shortly before 
Christmas, the boulevards of Paris 
are given over to the minor toy-mer- 
chants and their booths extend for 
miles along either curb. 

A commission is appointed by the 
Prefect of Police to award the annual 
prizes and it is a queer sight to see 
such men as Leo Claretie, the grave 
Sardou, and Georges Cain — all of 
whom have served in this capacity — 
sitting in solemn conclave over the 
relative merits of a new fangled top or 
a wondrous Bernhardt doll. 

The bulk of the French industry 
itself is centered in the quarter of the 
Temple, where great factories are 
occupied year in and year out in the 
making of toy guns, cannon, military 
equipment, tents, et cetera, for the war- 

like little Gauls of old France. Here 
also the wonderful trains and loco- 
motives that distinguish French toy- 
making are turned out, while airships — 
following the lead of the nation — are a 
favorite product. 

The Paris toyland in many respects is 
equally as quaint as that of old Nurem- 
berg itself. To reach it the -traveler 
must turn out of the rue Saint Martin 
into a maze of little streets with curious 
old world names. Thus you travel 
the Street of the Breadknife into the 
Street of the Stone-and-the-Rasher-of- 
Bacon until you come to the Street of 
the Broken Loaf. Then you turn down 
by the old black Gothic church of 
Saint Merri and go on until you come 
out on the most wonderful little cross- 
roads in Paris. 

Here the signs of toyland protrude 
from every window. Clear up to the 
little beehive windows in the slanting 
roofs are the tokens and emblems of 
the toymaking industry — great wooden 
sabres slung on a building's wall, guns 
that stick out menacingly, monstrous 
drums that swing back and forth in 
the breeze, trumpets, a gigantic Punch 
swaying in the air in evident quest of 
Judy. Or else, perhaps, a window full 
of v/oolly sheep or queer walking men. 

The largest house of all — the one 
with the blue doors — is where the 
wonderful Paris dolls are made. Here 
the idols of the young girls' hearts find 
their beginning in a great trough where 
workmen knead up into a dingy paste 
old cardboard, even old gloves, old 
rags and gum tragacanth. Then, in an 
adjoining room, the paste is pounded 
into moulds for the busts, the legs and 
the arms of the dolls innumerable. 
There is a special machine for stamp- 
ing out the hands, and a really grue- 
some sight it is as the tiny hands come 
forth — each perfect in itselfj^but ter- 
ribly detached. 

I \ 

'^;;^ The Doll of the Czar's 
I \ Little Daughter Who 
I j Travelled in State to 
\ L. Petersburg 

Paris dolls, of course, carr>' the fash- 
ions around the world and all their 
dainty things are copies of those of the 
great lady who drives down the Avenue 
des Champs-Elysees in her w^ell ap- 
pointed rig. Even the exclusive designs 
of a Poiret find their way speedily to 
the house with the blue doors and are 
mimicked to perfection by the deft 

The demand for French dolls is 
tremendous throughout the world and 
not long ago one of the Parisian models 
found its way to St. Petersburg where 
it became the cherished plaything of 
the little daughter of the Czar, this 

fortunate doll taking with her twenty 
trunks filled with the very latest Paris 
clothes and being accompanied by a 
Russian official throughout its trip. 

Practically all of the world's toys 
come from Germany, France, Hungary 
and Japan. The industry in Canada 
and the United States is, proportion- 
ately, almost negligible. Three mil- 
lion dollars' worth of toys are imp rted 
from Germany by Canada and the 
United States each year and the rest 
come almost entirely from the other 
three nations named. 

From Hungary come almost all the 
animals and figures in rubber and also 
the little sets of delicate furniture and 
the wonderful papier-mache toys which 
were invented by an old musician, 
Ferdinand Mangsch, for the amuse- 
ment of his grandchildren and which 
have since amused a world-wide genera- 

Japan provides the toys of paper 
and bamboo, of ivory and the little 
dolls with the shining, enameled faces 
and black tufts of hair. She has 
recently, however, begun to manu- 
facture in large quantities such toys as 
those made in Germany and France 
and will doubtless become, in a few 
years, one of the leading toy-making 
nations of the world. 

Russia also has taken a recent inter- 
est in the making of toys and the much- 
abused Russian government now main- 
tains rural district schools and muse- 
ums for toy makers and aids them in 
finding suitable markets for their wares. 


Games and Kindergar- 
ten Toys Are Made Over 
Here in Factories 



Though we are far in the rear of 
other countries in the manufacture of 
toys, great strides have been made in 
recent years and the industry has 
received a wonderful impetus in both 
Canada and the United States. 

This is largely due to the fact that 
it has now become recognized that 
toys of an educational and constructive 
nature have a decided value in the 
teaching of children. 

Some of the largest manufacturers 
of kindergarten supplies in the world 
are located in the United States and 
make a specialty of manufacturing 
toys and playthings of an educational 
value. Probably the greatest circus- 
animal factory in the world is also 
situated in the United States, while 
other gigantic establishments turn out 
toy trains, building blocks, toy steel 
beams and girders, wagons, sleds, dolls . 
and games the United States leading 
other nations in the last named branch 
of toy-making. 

Great opportunities undoubtedly 


exist in Canada for the manufacture 
of toys and many individuals have 
made small fortunes through inde- 
pendent factories. One woman has 
an establishment which has made a 
specialty in the manufacture of dolls 
and during the past year has found it 
necessary to employ many helpers to 
keep up with the demand placed 
upon her. 

Doll houses and doll furniture also 
offer a profitable field both for the 
individual and the manufacturer. A 
young man living in a small American 
city entered this field a short time ago. 
His first effort was made in the con- 
struction of a doll house for a small 
niece of his, which was so widely 
appreciated that he decided to enter 
upon the business of fashioning small 
houses. houses he made in 
exact proportions on the scale of one 
inch to one foot, and was thus able to 
obtain attractive designs from maga- 
zines that featured house plans as 
well as from the architects themselves. 
Selling direct he was enabled to secure 
$8.00 apiece for the completed houses, 
against which was charged the time 
consumed in their manufacture. 

In his first year he was able to make 
and market for the Christmas trade 
ten such houses, but so great was the 
demand that he gradually secured 
helpers and in his second year over one 
hundred such houses were sold by 
him. To-day he has a prosperous 
little factory of his own which is 
devoted entirely to the manufacture 
of these juvenile homes. 

Equally successful businesses have 
been created in the manufacturing of 
doll furniture and doll dresses — a firm 
that started in the former business now 
doing a national trade, while several 
women who have devoted their time 
to the latter business have made 
satisfactory incomes from it. 

Every wood-working plant is a 
potential toy factory and several such 
plants have found it profitable to take 
up the business as a side-line. One 
such firm now does an enormous busi- 
ness in the manufacture of sleds, 
another has devoted itself to wagons, 
while others have gone into the making 
of wooden building blocks, ten pins, 
et cetera. 

It is a singular fact that, though 
America is probably the greatest mar- 
ket for toys in the world, compara- 
tively little attention ,has been given 
to their manufacture. Yet, in spite 
of this fact, many fortunes have been, 
made from toys on this side of the 

The firecracker business, which is an 
ofTshoot of the toy industry, has made 
its owners rich; though in the United 
States the "sane Fourth" crusade has 
cut the profits seriously, and, although 
the agitation has not reached equal 


proportions here, it is probable that 
Victoria Day will show less gunpoweer 
celebration as the years go on. 

Novelties such as the Billiken doll, 
the Kewpies, and their like have 
travelled all over the world, and net- 
ted thousands of dollars. 




The King of the Side- 
Walk Fakers Who Sell 

vi the Freak Novelties of 

X Holiday Time 

In the last few years, for instance, 
Robert Cunningham, of New York, has 
made a fortune from the buying and 
marketing of toy novelties. In busi- 
ness circles Cunningham is known 
as the "faker king" and his head- 
quarters on Ann Street in New York 
is one of the most picturesque busi- 
ness establishments in the United 
States. Yet, outside of the trade, 
few people have the slightest concep- 
tion of the extent or organization of the 
business of which he is the head. In 
fact it is dollars to doughnuts that 
you never heard of Robert Cunning- 
ham or his partner, Samuel Basch, in 
your life. 

In reality Cunningham's business 
is extensive. It is generally admitted, 
in fact, that he has laid away a fortune 
that runs into the hundreds of thou- 
sands of dollars. Each year he sells 
millions of novelties — particularly 
'freak' toys — through street venders. . 

These range all the way from the 
''angry mother-in-law" to the more 
stately dancing bears. His greatest 
success, however, was probably cen- 
tered in the familiar little dog with a 
spring tail. Undoubtedly you have 
seen the type of canine to which I 
refer, but if you have not your small 
boy has. It was the invention of a 
Japanese, who has earned royalties 
that ran into the tens of thousands, 
and since Cunningham tcwk hold of 
it the toy has become known from one 
end of the world to the other. 

Nearly all of the toys sold by Cun- 
ningham are vended from the curb- 
stone and in the great cities of America 
he has, during the busy holiday season, 
thousands of his men busily engaged 
in "barking" their wares and taking in 
the quarters and dimes. 

The extent of the sale of some of the 
toy novelties of recent years is well 
nigh amazing, it being claimed — for 
instance — that the "Teddy Bear" has 
earned well over a million dollars, 
while other similar toys are not far in 
the rear. 

Millions upon millions of dollars 

are invested in the toy industry and 

millions are spent for toys each year. 

The big stores report that it is no* 

Cohtinued on page 135. 


Illustrated Qyy 
Katherine Southzoick 


THE sun shone high in the heavens 
looking as if it had been melted 
into the clear blue of the sky. 
No one who had not been born 
and bred in the south could have with- 
stood the heat of its noonday glare. 

Robert Sinclair, his golden curls just 
a little bleached, his clear English skin 
tanned to a smooth brown, was sitting 
by the great Trevi fountain, watching 
the water spouting from the Tritons' 
mouths. Only to look at it made him 
feel cooler; and coolness was his great 
need for the moment. Boy-like, he 
had been running, although the month 
was August and the place Rome. 

All about him was the busy hum 
of the street. A melon-seller came 
by, and offered him great slices of red, 
luscious fruit freckled with black pips. 
Robert looked covetous for one moment, 
xind then shook his head. 

"I have not enough money," he said 
to the man in the vernacular. 

"Basta ! it is enough," said the 
melon-seller with a flashing smile, and 
handed the lad a huge slice. He knew 
the little English signor quite well, and 
it was a pleasure only to look at his 
golden curls. It is only an Italian 
vagabond who would take beauty as 
part payment. 

"How is the voice, signor ?" he asked 
confidentially. "It gives no sign of 
breaking yet ?" 

"I can sing the C in alt easily," said 
the boy between bites. 

"Ah !" said the melon-seller, "it is a 
gift, yours. You will be famous one 
day, and I shall come and hear you 

"And give me melon," said Robert, 
laughing gaily. 

"You will not want melon," said the 
man. "You will come on the stage 
dressed in shining armour, like the 
knight Lohengrin, and we shall all listen 
and applaud." 


"You will hiss me," said Robert. 
This melon-seller was a great chum of 

"If you sing badly, without doubt," 
said the man, as he shouldered his bar- 
row and made off. 

The lad sat quite still, watching the 
water and listening to the sound of its 
plashing. Suddenly he began to hum 
and then to sing very softly. It was 
as if he were singing to the fountain 
and for a little while, time was not 
with him. He rose at last and made 
his way through the square. 

"There were not many people abroad 
but those he met looked after him 
admiringly — he was so very good to 
look at, there was something so noble 
and so lovable in his bearing. In about 
half an hour's time, he reached a quiet 
street with high stone houses. It 
bore the impress of having once been 
a good street, although now it was 
evident that fashion had passed it by. 

An open door showed a courtyard 
in which there was a little garden and a 
broken statue of Apollo in the centre. 
Pink and white oleanders rioted in this 
courtyard, their great blossoms making 
beautiful spots of color. Robert looked 
at them affectionately. 

He climbed up many steep stairs, 
but he did not notice their steepness 
and his breath was not coming fast as 
he pushed open tiie door of a large 

There were two people in the room — 
one a woman, although if Captain 
Sinclair had been asked for a descrip- 
tion of the people in the room, it is quite 
certain that he would not have put 
his wife first. For the whole world to 
him was centered in himself, Geoffrey 
Sinclair, late of Her Majesty's army. 

But omitting the captain's prefer- 
ences, Jean Sinclair claims our atten- 
tion — a tall slight woman with wavy 
hair like Robert's and a pale, tired face 
with eyes of deep blue. It was the 

face ol a woman who had suffered and 
who could keep silence, the face of a 
woman who set her teeth and bore 
what was put upon her without making 
, a moan. 

Her long pale hands were busy with 
a little clay figure, which she was 
holding at arms' length. She wore 
over her usual dress a blue sculptor's 
blouse which became her well, and 
was examining the little statuette 
which she had just finished. One 
exactly like it stood on the shelf close 

Jean Sinclair earned her living and 
her husband's and son's as well by 
making little terra-cotta copies of the 
great statues in the Vatican, which she 
sold to the shops who sold them again 
to the strangers that came to Rome. 
She did not claim to be an artist — 
indeed she had never had an artist's 
training, having come from a good 
Scotch family to whom the thought of 
'images' would have been anathema — 
but she was a correct copyist and 
unconsciously she gave to these little 
figures some of the grace of her own 

Geoffrey Sinclair was lying full- 
length in a deck chair, smoking a 
cigarette. He was a tall man and his 
face had originally been handsome. 
He had been unquestionably handsome 
when, to her eternal misfortune, Jean 
MacDonald had been captivated by 
him and had married him. She had 
been so captivated, that she declined 
to have her fortune settled upon her- 
self, which un-Scotch proceeding she 
had reason to deplore within six 
months of her marriage. 

But the beauty of the captain's face 
was also now a thing of the past. 
Dissipation had done its work — the 
face was too red in color, and the 
mouth and jaw, which could never 
have been benign, now had a look of 
cruelty which made little children and 

even dogs he met in the street evade 
him as quickly as they could. 

Robert came straight up to his 
mother and a smile broke over her 

"That is nice, mother," he said to 
her in English, and took the little 
figure in his hand. "There is a little 
Love in the Vatican that you would 
do perfectly." 

"Your mother 
does not under- 
stand Love," said 
Geoffrey Sinclair, 

Jean flushed, for 
although she had 
been a wife for 
upwards of twelve 
years, yet her hus- 
band's tongue had 
power to wound 
her still. 

Robert looked 
at her and smiled. 
It was a smile of 
perfect under- 
standing and it 
infuriated the 
man in the arm- 

"Oh, you two," 
he cried, "you are 
in league together 
- — your mother 
would refuse me 
the necessaries of 
life and shower 
her money on 

"It is for the 

rent," said Jean 

quietly, "you 

would not have us 

turnetl out of the 

house, GeofT ?" 
"You would fall 

on your feet if we 

were," he snarled, 

"you and the 

boy!" Jean made 

no answer and 

took up the fin- 
ished statuette 

and looked at it. 

Robert went to 

the window and 

began singing to 

himself softly. 

Then to break the 

awkward silence 

which had follow- 
ed his father's 

speech, he turned 

round and said, "I shall I;e a singer 

when I am a man, mother." 

"You will be what ?" thundered his 

"A singer, father." 
"A singer ! I tell yuu, you shall be 
nothing of the sort, one artist in the 
family," with a look at his wife, "is 


enough ! You shall not sink to the 
level of that ! You will be a soldier, 
the only profession that a gentleman 
can have. No son of mine shall be a 

Robert, wise for his years, said 
nothing, but Jean turned away, her lip 
curling a little and then Robert said 
innocently enough. 

H)R rHK RENT. SAID JKAN tj^A^il^W VOi: \\ •"' " 


"But why did vou leave the army, 
father ?" 

"Why ? Why ?" The man spr ng 
from his chair and his face turned 
livid. "I'll teach you to ask impert- 
inent questions," he cried. "You little 
dog, you ! Go straight to your room." 

The lad l(«)kcd Mt his mother, and 


obeyed without a sound. The captain 
dashed after him and Jean, listening, 
could hear the sound of sharp blows, 
but not the sound of a cry. 

She sat down on a chair by the 
window, for she was trembling in every 
limb. "My God ! my God !" she 
moaned to herself, "how long, how 
long ? Is he mad or only bad ? My 
boy, my boy." 

It might have 
been hours as far 
as she was con- 
cerned before the 
captain was back 
in the room again. 
She heard him 
come, but i she 
lacked the 
strength to get up 
or to move her 
hands from her 
face. The captain 
was muttering to 
himself,"ril teach 
him." Jean knew 
that he had utter- 
ly lost control of 

For the space 
of five minutes 
neither spoke to 
the other, then 
the captain's 
voice broke the 
silence. "Snivel- 
ling?" he asked. 
Jean lifted her 
head, "No," she 
said, simply, "I 
have left off weep- 
ing—I don't think 
I have any tears 

"No, you luue 
no tears, but you 
spur that boy of 
yours on to be 
insolent to me — 
but he shall rue 
it. I am still cap- 
able of punishing 

"Yes," she said, 
throwing pru- 
dence to the wind , 
"yes, you are still 
bigger than he is." 
Geoffrey Sin- 
clair looked at her 
with darkling 
eyes — he sprang 
. ^ to his feet, and 

for a moment she 
iihiiikIii he was coming towards her. 
Again the contemptuous smile was on 
her face and he began to curse at 
her under his breath. It would have 
been doul)tful how the scene would 
have ended, if there had not been a 
sharp rap at the door. 
"Conic in," cricil lean. 


The door opened quickly, and a pale- 
faced boy looked in. That he was 
English was quite evident from his 
general appearance, although there 
was nothing striking at all about him. 
He had sandy straight hair, nice brown 
eyes and a rather slight figure. His 
mouth was wide and very good-tem- 
pered and his teeth irregular. With all 
its defects, it was a lovable face and 
Mrs. Sinclair smiled at him. 

"Have you come to find Robert ?" 
she asked. 

■'Y-yes, Mrs. Sinclair, I have c-c- 
come to ask you if he can come out 
with me. Mother wants to know if he 
may stay to tea." 

He had directed his speech at Jean, 
but it was the captain who answered. 
"Tell Lady Merton we shall be very 
glad to let Robert come." 

"And m-may he sing to us? M- 
mother loves to hear him." 

The lad had a little stammer, not so 
much from shyness as from the eager- 
ness with which his words tumbled 

"Of course he may sing ! he has a 
beautiful voice, has he not?" asked the 
captain suavely. 

"M-mother says it is the most beauti- 
ful voice in the world, and I don't 
think there was ever anyone so hand- 

The captain's- amiability was not 
proof against all this praise. "When 
I was young, boys did not think about 
that kind of thing," he snapped. 
"Maybe not," said the boy, and then 
he turned again to Mrs. Sinclair. 
"Shall I go and find Robert?" 

"I will go myself," said Jean. She 
knew that Denzil Merton hated being 
left alone with the captain, but she 
wanted to go and see her boy, and she 
went up quickly to his room. Robert 
was standing by the window, his hands 
thrust into his trousers pockets. 

"Mother," he cried, eagerly scanning 
her face, "Mother, you have not been 

"No," said Jean unsteadily and then 
she did what she had declared that she 
could not do any more, she fell to 

The boy had his arm round her 

"Never mind, mother," he said, 
trying to comf )rt her, "I don't really 
mind, you know, only," he burst out, 
"it is so beastly unfair, is it not ? Why 
should he hit me ? I did no wrong and 
I meant no wrong, and I wish he were 

"Hush laddie," she said gently. 
"I won't say it if you don't want me 
to," he said stubbornly, "but mother, 
it is not fair, is it ? And I know you 
mind, and that hurts doubly." 
"Did he hurt you?" 
The boy grinned. "Did he hurt ? 
Rather. He meant to hurt. Of 


course he was half drunk. Mother, 
I am fairly sick of pretending. If it 
were not for you, I would run away." 

"If there were any place in this 
world you could run to," said Jean 
"you should go." Then she was 
silent. "Denzil is waiting below," she 
added. "I came to tell you." 

"Denzil, good old fellow," said the 
boy and then he looked at his mother 
anxiously. "If I go, you will be alone 
with him." 

"I don't mind, laddie." 
"Mother, why did you marry him ?" 
"Why ? Oh laddie, I married him 
for the only reason that a woman or a 
man should marry. I loved him." 

The boy looked at her. "He must 
have been beastly to you," he said, 
"if you had to leave off loving him." 

She did not answer, but busied her- 
self in getting out a clean collar and 
smoothing out his tumbled curls, which 
would never be quite smooth what- 
ever was done to them. And as she 
did it she smiled, for he was very bonny. 
"You make it worth while," she said 
in her tender mother-voice. 

He flashed a look of love at her. 
"You won't mind my being a singer?" 
he asked. 

"There is only one thing I want you 
to be," she answered simply, "and that 
is a gentleman." 

"I know." He did not look at her 
now. He always felt shy when he was 
about to say something that might 
sound what he called "soft." "I know, 
but mother, your son ought to be a 

"You have good Scots blood in 
you," she said proudly. 

"I have your blood in me," he 

answered and there was a little pause. 

"We ought to make haste," she 

said, "poor Denzil is downstairs with 

your father." 

"Poor Denzil," Robert laughed. The 
misery of a boy is after all a transitory 
affair, "how he will stammer." 

Jean smiled too — she loved the ugly 
insignificant little lad. "I would not 
have left him, only I did not care to 
send him up to you." 

"You thought I might have been 
crying ?" 

"No, but I thought you would be 

He understood quite well. "But I 
should not have talked, mother," he 
said, "I should not like them to be 
sorry for you." • 

"That is it, laddie," she answered. 
"Robert, you are not limping ?" 

"He hurt my leg," said the boy 
shortly — "not much, it will be all 
right presently — don't look like that, 
Mum — it does not matter." 

Jean pressed her lips together, but 
said nothing more and Robert walked 
down the stone stairs just a little 
slowly for him. When they came 

back into the living-room, they found 
Denzil curled up in^a big chair looking 
out of the window. The captain was 
lying back in his chair idly twisting 
a cigarette. It came to Jean suddenly, 
how she hated his cruel hands. 

Robert greeted his chum, "I'm 
ready, Denzil," he said. 

"Come along then." Denzil had 
been waiting anxiously for Robert's 
appearance, "Hello, you are lame," he 

"I hurt my leg," said Robert. "Come 

The boys went out of the room to- 
gether, Robert a head and shoulders 
taller than his companion. Jean went 
to the shelf where the little statues 
stood and began with trembling fingers 
to swathe them in linen cloths, which 
she damped. 

"What are you doing ?" asked her 
husband shortly. 

"Packing up," she answered laconic- 

"What fool's trick is this ?" 

"I have had enough of this," she 
said in a low voice. 

"Enough of what ?" 

"Of this life together with you. I'm 
going, I tell you, with my boy." 

"And what do you propose that I 
should live on ?" 

"On someone else, not on me." 

His face grew livid. "You will not 
do anything of the kind," he said, "I 
have the law on my side. You may go, 
but the boy is mine." 

"The law may have been on your 
side once," she said with a quietness 
that he felt to be dangerous, "but it is 
on my side flow — if you attempt to 
invoke the law, I will tell how you 
lamed that boy. I have been silent long 
enough — now my silence and my endur- 
ance are both at an end — I am going — 
to-night — ■" 

"You may go to hell for all I care," 
said Captain Sinclaii-. He got out of 
his chair and opened the door and Jean 
heard him go down the stairs noisily. 
For all that, her trembhng hands went 
on with her packing. 


"Where is your mother, Valerie ?" 

"Where ? where should she be, Jona- 
than ? With her new toy— her secre- 

Monro came in gingerly and sat 
himself down at the very edge of the 
Louis-the-fourteenth chair — one of the 
famous suite that had lately been 
added to the collection at 102 Park 
Lane. He was a tall, thin man with a 
high forehead, a pair of very beautiful 
blue eyes and a slightly receding chin, 
that had in reality been a factor in the 
building up of his huge fortune. 

For Monro was the last new thing 
in millionaires, and he had made his 
fortune in railways, with the help of 



his guileless chi i and the wonderful 
train, that gave the lie to the weakness 
•of the lower part of his face. 

Valerie, his daughter, who was 
also his greatest chum, watched him 
■come into the room. She laughed a 
rippling girl's laugh, full of enjoyment 
■and good-humored malice. "It is all 
Tight, she is in her boudoir revising lists 
of invitations." 

"I'll have a pipe," 
said Monro and 
drew out of his 
pocket the shabby 
■ companion of his 

Valerie laugh- 
•ed again, "You 
have no sense of 
fitness, Jonathan," 
she said to her 
■father. "You spend 
thousands on the 
furniture of this 
room and then you 
smoke a pipe in it. 
You ought to know 
better after all the 
education mother 
and I have been 
trying to giveyou." 

"I suppose I 
• ought," he said, 
there was just a 
note of wistfulness 
in his voice as if 
he wondered 
whether he were so 
very much lacking. 

Valerie looked 
at him lovingly. 
"What does it mat- 
ter, dad ?" she 
asked — she called 
him Jonathan only 
when she was chaf- 
fing him. What 
does it matter ? 
You are just as 
happy if you don't 
know the exact 
date and suitabili- 
ty of the furniture 
■of a room." 

"I should con- 
sider it more suit- 
able if the legs of 
the chairs weic 

She laughed and 
walked across to a 
much decorated 
ormolu table ujwn 
which were i)laced 

several silver articles that l(X)ked valu- 
able. "Mere is a modern match-bo.x," 
she said. "Light up, Jonathan." 

Monro lit up and when he was puffing 
contentetlly, he looked at his beautiful 
daughter. For Valerie was beautiful 
although her features were not regu- 
lar, and her figure almost to<j slight. 

It was her expression that captivated 
you — her whimsical, half sad, half gay 
expression. She had her father's 
beautiful lustrous blue eyes and a 
quantity of light brown hair, a very 
red mouth, a little nose which she 
wrinkled up when she thought and a 
delicate white skin. 

"W'hy is your mother so busy ?" 




he asked after a pause. 

"She is inviting the peerage to 
several entertainments, including a ball, 
a dinner party, and a meeting to pro- 
vide funds for some fanatical society. 
It is mostly the female peerage who 
are invited to the meeting; the male 
peerage is invitcfl to f(vxl, that being 

supposed to be a weakness of the n»ale 

Monro laughed, as she meant him 
to do. 

"I'm not much gone on the male 
peerage myself," he said in a tone full 
of reminiscence, "there are a few of 
course with brains, but we don't see 
them at teas." 

"No," said the 
girl, "they don't. 
It mostly depends 
on the state of 
their pockets, I 
think. Quite right 
too. I don't see 
why they should 
mix up with us. We 
are too new. We 
have our own 
value — let them 
keep to them- 

She spoke al- 
most passionately. 
Monro looked at 
his daughter 

"Are you think- 
ing of any peer 
in particular ?" he 

"No," she an- 
swered quickly, "I 
am not, all the 
same, I can't help 
lieing conscious of 

"Oh, that," he 
said, "is a matter 
of course." 

"Given an heir- 
ess, not bad-look- 
ing, and the peer- 
age is ]of course 
represented; but 
as for me — well I 
should like to mar- 
ry a pork-butch- 

"A pork- butcher, 
why a pork- 
butcher? There is 
Chinnery, of 
course. He made 
his pile in bacon. 
But why a pork- 

"Well, they do 
marry, don't 
they?" asked the 
girl laughing," 
they are not celi- 
bates, are they ? 
And butchering seems to me, to be a 
good solid employment, no pretense 
about it. A pork-butcher would not 
ct-me to you and swear that money 
was of no conscfiuence white all the 
time he was looking round to see how 
many millions you had. Marriage 
C'ontinued on page 1-10. 


OUR little Steamboat, the Seeker, 
was already provisioned. The 
hunkers were full and alas ! so 
was the captain. We had wait- 
ed vainly at the little pier while the 
fair tide ebbed. It was half run out 
now so I decided to leave the rummy 
one behind and steer the wee craft 
myself. Off we set with a merry toot 
of the whistle — outward bound for a 
month's adventurous life. I am 
strictly within the bounds of truth 
when I say adventurous, for I had only 
made the outer coast trip once. But 
my mate was a good sailor, the young 
engineer a regular waterman, and 
Fritz ! ah what was Fritz not? We 
proposed, that as he was getting very- 
stout, he could play the part of a life 
Iireserver, and also fill the loss of the 
captain in one particular — by treating 
a doul)le share of rations. To the last 
Fritz joyfully agreed and on we went. 
There was quite a sea running out- 
side the Pass, and the Seeker sought 
too deeply. We took a clean green sea 
plump into the well of the foredeck 
that soaked Fritz and sent him spin- 
ning, amid kegs, and oars, and other 
jetsam. The wind was west-so' west, 
so we hoisted the rag the mate so 
proudly called "the canvas" and it 
steadied the plunging, rolling Seeker 
quite a bit. But the Straits were 
pretty lumpy, so we made everythiii 
secure below and above decks, aii' 
soon reached the United States sidt 
Here it was blowing rather stiff so wu 
came about and tacked clear across 
and went up in the lee with the sail 

Night fell with "white horses" ever> 
where. The wind was increasing, s. 
we decided to take shelter under Sher- 
ingharn Point, and coast along after 

Down Where the 
"Sea-Serpent" Blows 

By Bonnycastle Dale 

Illustrated from Photographs 

daylight. I knew the bay line fairly 
well, even in the gathering gloom, so 
taking advantage of some short, low 
seas, I came around and headed shore- 
wards. Bump ! Bump ! ! The whole 
solid hull of the boat shook as if we 
had run aground. We were almost a 
mile from shore and I knew there 
were no reefs here. Just by guess- 
work we struck the cause. We had 
run right on top of one of the fir piles 
of an abandoned salmon trap — and 
luckily had not punched a hole in our 
ship's bottom. Later I wanted Fritz 
to let us keel haul him to see if she was 
damaged, but the selfish boy declined. 
Bright and early next morning, with 
the "short run out" we were puffing 
our way down the Straits. Ahead, a 
column of smoke told of another coal- 
burner somewhere. We soon ran her 
down, as she was tied to the big salmon 
trap and here Fritz had his first sight 
of this great industry. A fence of long 
stout fir trees had been driven into the 
bed of the Straits. It had been hung 
with wire netting until the four maze 
like inclosures were reached. Three of 
those had also been hung with wire, 
but the fourth, or the spiller, as the 
men called it, was a regular forty foot 
square and deep-net. In this, in the 
clear green water of the Pacific, swam 
an almost countless host of fishes. The 
fish company's manager estimated for 
us that there were fullv fifteen thou- 

sand salmon swimming in that cease- 
less circle at our feet. Among them we 
saw the big brown body of a ground 
shark, a harbor seal, a sea-lion, many 
halibut, an enormous skate — it would 
go near the two hundred pound mark — 
hosts of herrings, many a big cod and 
sea bass, and hundreds of those lesser 
sharks, those torments of the halibut 
and cod fisher, the dogfish. Soon the 
fishing tug started the steam brailer 
and a glittering host of spring and 
sockeye salmon and a few cohoes and 
dog salmon, with an occasional steel- 
head trout, fell thumping on the hot 
deck of the scow alongside. These 
good chaps gave us a few hundred 
pounds of rare fish and soon the dis- 
secting knives were busy and Fritz 
and I in our glory. 

The devil fish fell to me. This big 
soft squid — the Terror of the Seas ! 
according to some magazine and story 
writers is, according to all of our investi- 
gations, and the modern writers, just a 
big harmless shellfish eater. We went 
ashore and photographed the speci- 
men, for its arms were too long for pur 
decks. Imagine a body of reddish, 
purplish gristle, about the size of a 
football, containing two big suction 
valves, two syphons by which it draws 
water in and ejects it and progresses 
by the strange method. In this body 
there was a few ounces of the dark 
brown sepia fluid by which this animal 




discolors the water to hide it from its 
•enemies. Under the necklike part lies 
the head proper, two white eyes, cin- 
namon spotted, about as big as a human 
«ye, but with the pupils opening and 
•closing in the centre — the devil fish 
winked at me as I wrote this in my 
note book — and its wink is the only 
repulsive thing I saw about it. Right 
below the eyes there was an opening 
that looked like roll upon roll of leaves 
of lard, and in the centre of this, an 
inch long black bill, exactly like a 
parrot's, but only large enough to tear 
small shell fish open. The shoulders— 
as we might call them — were the bases 
of eight long arms, each seven feet in 
length, covered with just a few over 
two hundred suction discs each. Time 
after time these arms became attached 
to our clothes, but they were just as 
readily ripped off again by us. The 
-odd gristly mass lay perfectly^ inert 
and useless on the sands — and it was 
as full of life as ever it was. From 
■observations taken at other times it 
has no power of lifting the arms or 
tentacles above the water, in fact it 
lets them all drag closed behind it, 
■while it syphons its way along. I have 
known little Indian lads unaided to 
•capture a forty or fifty pounder in 
under the lowest low tide rocks. A 
few swift passes of the sharp knives 
and the subject was ready for dissec- 
tion and later for the cooking pot of 
some passing Indian's canoe. 

The next morning, while the Seeker 
bobbed at anchor, Fritz rowed me 
into a low tide bay and we collected 
many varieties of anemones and crabs 
and sea spiders and rare shellfish. The 
most interesting thing we found was a 
■wolf ell. This big, distorted looking 
link between the true fishes and those 
of more ell-like form was more repul- 
•sive than the octopus of yesterday. 

We laid the pocket knife beside it 
for comparison. This rare creature 
had a body and long dorsal fin all 
«potted and toadlike. Its six foot long 
body was rough and warty. Its fins 
were all seemingly misplaced and mal- 
formed. Its great eye glared forth a 
menace and its mouth was truly a 
chamber of horrors, for it was all, roof 
and sides and bottom, one mass of 
big flat-topped crushing teeth. So 
powerful is this most curious looking 
minimal in its grinding and crushing 
that it can — and does — eat the big 
thick shelled crustaces, shells and all. 
I think Fritz will be a naturalist yet. 
I just ixieped into his note book. "The 
wolf ell is as long as a man, with teeth 
like a dog, head like a turtle and the 
body of a fish" — not a bad description 
for a sixteen year old boy. 

Fritz, next morning, as he clung with 
< tossed legs at the throateye of the 
mast called out "Wreck ahoy ! dead 
ahead ! Men clinging to it !" 


Of course we all rushed to the bow 
pell mell. Even (ius, the Swedish 
mate, left his dearly beloved smoked 
herrings and now stood staring out 
over the calm Pacific — for we' were 
leaving the Straits by now. To the 
unaided eyes appeared an almost calm 
sea, a big black hull, and on it several 
dark figures, evidently human beings. 
Fritz was frantically tugging at the 
Norwegian fishing flory on deck. Gus, 
who was cook as wi-ll as mate —and 
fisherman extraordinary — and steve- 
dore — and wheelsman and stoker and — 
well everything else aboard, was get- 
ting gruel an(i tea ready in the wee 
cal)oosc. Ginger, the engineer, named 
after this hot spice by having snuffed 

some up by mistake and thereafter 
immediately sneezed his nose into a 
shape rarely worn by mortals — was 
stuffing the firebox full to over-fiowing. 
I rushed for my glasses and ordered 
all lifesa\'ing preparations to cease, as 
the dark figures were six big black cor- 
morants drying their wings after too 
[)rol()nged a s])ell of fishing. 

Now, as wo skirted the shore, inside a 
slu'ltcring projecting ()()int, we came 
alongside of that ancient mariner of 
the coast — the Kcslral — the fishery 
protection cruiser. It is understood 
on good authority that, with all can- 
vas drawing, and a full head, a fair tide 
and quite a heavy wind abaft, she ran 
Continued on pa^c 1.30 

Dame Fortune's Daughter 

By Lindsay Denison illustrated by R. A. Graef 


he stared ahead of him doggedly, looking 

away from the other two. then 

"it's rose." he blurted out 


ALONG about two thousand 
years ago a Little Child came 
into this world through a stable. 
Probably stables weren't very 
clean and sweet two thousand years 
ago — not nearly as nice as they are 
to-day. But the things that Little 
Child brought to the world were so dear 
and beautiful and good that most of us 
have come into the way of thinking 
His memory and ever-living presence 
and influence are exclusively the prop- 
erty and the privileges of the righteous, 
of those who abide in wajs and places 
which are clean. 

But it is nevertheless true that the 
soft tug of the Little Child's baby 
hands is felt to-day by folks who are 
not very nice and who live in places far 
more deplorable than ever was that 
Nazarene stable. Wherefore: 

Cowles and Roberts watched the 
waiter set down the glasses and turn 
away. Then they laughed, each at the 
other, but without gladness. 

"Bobs," said Cowles, "you don't 
seem to yearn for your medicine." 

"No. Charley," sneered Roberts, 
"and I don't observe an absorbent 
haste on your part. What do you sup- 
pose is the matter with us ?" 

"We're 'fraid, Bobs," said Cowles. 
"That's what's the matter with us. 
We're 'fraid. 'Fraid of starting in. 
You've seen the kids on that slide 
thing down at Scarborough Beach. 
They hunch themselves along toward 
the start and then hang there until 
somebody from behind pushes them 
ofT. That's the way I feel. Lm waiting 
for somebody to come along from 
behind and give me a start. 'Cause I 
know, just as those kids know, that I 


am going to get bumped, and scraped, 
maybe good and plenty before I reach 

"Right !" said Roberts. "That's 
just the way I feel, too." He looked 
around the room critically. "And as 
yet nobody seems at all inclined to 
start us along on the descent. What's 
the matter with the old place, Charley ? 
Here it is half past nine o'clock, Christ- 
mas Eve, and there are less than 
twenty people here — and all. of them 
cross. What are you looking at ?" 

"There's a bronze-haired, brazen- 
faced little person sitting right back of 
you, Bobs—don't turn; she's looking 
right at you. I've seen her before. I 
ought to know who she is. But I can't 
remember for the life of me." 

"One of those 'Where-have-I-seen- 
that-face-before' situations ?" Roberts 
cautiously looked obliquely into the 
mirror and studied the woman's face. 

"I'll bet you know her, too," re- 
torted Cowles. "She is probably the 
lady Cashier who used to smile across 
her desk at us languishingly when she 
gave us our change for our beef and 
beans — before you got plutocratic and 
married and shook all your friends. 
By the way, how is the family ? This 
is a lovely joint for a six months' bride- 
groom to be in on Christmas Eve. 
But I've been so long watching you 
young men, 'reformed by marriage' — 
beg your pardon, old man !" he cried, 
as he looked away from the liauntingly 
reminiscent face of the woman opposite 
and caught the hurt look of his friend. 
"What's the matter ? You're not hav- 
ing any trouble at home, are you ? 
You haven't been scrapping with 
Rose ?" 

"Why do you think I'd ask you to 
meet me at a joint like this, to-night of 
all nights, if there wasn't trouble with 
Rose ?" growled Roberts. "I'm not fit 
to be married to a girl like Rose, or any 
girl, anyway, Charley, and I — " his 
voice broke a little; he caught himself 
and went on. "Let's drop it, Charley!" 

They both stared at the table, for a 

"Bobs," said Cowles, after a while, 
speaking slowly and low, "you can 
kick me for being fresh, if you like. I 
know it's none of my business. But I 
like you too much not to tell you that 
I hate to see you starting out on a tear 
because you've got a grouch on your 
wife. Now, I'm hopeless and my 
grouch isn't with anybody I care a hoot 
about, anvway. But vou, Bobs " 

"Drop it, Charley ! JDrop it !" Rob- 
erts laughed bitterly. "Let us proceed 
with that stirring melodrama which I 
suppose you would call 'The Souse's 
Christmas Eve.' " He glanced again 
at the girl whose face he could see in the 
mirror. "I know who she is, Charley," 
he said. "The girl opposite you, I 
mean. Do you remember Sadie Car- 
gill ? The girl who sang 'Coraline' and 
'If you wouldn't — then I would !' at 
Shea's about five years ago ? Don't 
you remember that everybody was 
crazy about her ?" 

Cowles looked up cautiously. 
"Sure !" he said. "That's who she 
is. But what in the world is she in this 
place for ? Sadie Cargill in Big Jim- 
my's ! Whew, what a come-down !" 
"I seem to remember somebody was 
saying the other day that she had gone 
pretty well to pieces," said Roberts. 
"Didn't take care of herself. W^hoever 



il was said he had seen her in the chorus 
of a fly-by-riight musical comedy out 
Calgary way and that he saw her here 
in Toronto after that and she seemed to 
have hit bottom." 

"Yes," said Cowles, studying the 
girl's face, "it is Sadie, all right. She 
seems to have kept all her good looks, 
too, except that her face has hardened 
terribly. Don't you remember what a 
soft-cheeked, innocent, merry little 
thing she always was ?" 

Roberts nodded and looked again 
into the mirror. He shook his head at 
what he saw. "Yes," he murmured, 
"she was. And now, before j'ou 
recognized her, you called her 'bronze- 
haired and brazen-faced,' and she is." 
"I hope," spoke up the young 
woman, with startlingly distinct voice 
and with unlimited acidity of intona- 
tion, "that the next time you two see 
me, you'll remember me ! Take a 
good look." 

Both men sprang to their feet, catch- 
ing off their hats. 

"I beg your pardon," said Roberts, 
earnestly, "but really I didn't realize 
that you could see from the mirror 
how I was staring at you. I'm awfully 
sorr>' and very much ashamed. Really 
I am — we both are." 

Miss Cargill looked him over with 
approval and was obviously mollified. 
"Oh, that's all right," she said, with 
a tired smile. "I'm sorry I barked at 
you that way. A woman is a good 
deal of a fool to make a kick when a 
man looks at her in Big Jimmy's. But 
I'm sore on the world to-night and 
kind of cranky. Come on over here 
and bring your drinks with you, botli 
of you. Perhaps you can talk me out 
of it. I'm not trying to work you for a 
drink," she ad<lcd hastily. "I paid for 
this one when I ordered it, and I 
haven't touched it yet. I was too 
much afraid that one would taste like 
another — and then anf>thpr and then 

>vjV j 



some. I don't like to take the plunge." 

Cowles and Roberts looked at each 
other and laughed. And because Sadie, 
despite the hardening, was undeniably 
charming with the old graciousness of 
the Casino days, tliey carried their 
glasses to her table. Cowles smiled as 
they set them down, still full, beside 

"Same here," he explained. 

"You in trouble, too ?" She sighed. 
"Well, I'm used to it. Better tell your 
old Auntie your poor little sorrows. 
Maybe I really can do you some good." 
She turned to Roberts. "First off, 
what's biting you ?" 

Cowles interrupted precipitately. 

"Let me tell mine," he urgetl. "I'm 
the worst case. I've just lost my jolj. 
I'm a newspaper man and I've saved 
about as much of my princely weekly 
stipend as most of them do." 

Miss Cargill nodded with a smile 
which seemed reminiscent. Almost 
involuntarily she hitched her chair over 
a little closer to Cowles. The instinct 
of the stage lady to cuddle up to the 
youth who may some time "get her 
name in the papers" is as imperishable 
as the instinct of self-preservation. 

"Well," continued Cowles, "my rent 
comes due in a week. Also all the bills. 
.Also it is the Merry Yule Tide when the 
\-oung l)iood gets square with all the 
nice girls who have l)cen especially nice 
to him. And I've been canned ! Fired! 
Lost my job ! And In- the latest count 
I havu on my person just thirteen dol- 
lars and forty cents good and lawful 
coin of King George's realm and nothint; 
more coming to me. That's all." 

Roberts took up the story. 

"No, it isn't all, Miss Cargill— I beg 
your pardon," he cried, as he saw her 

"It's all right," slie said wearily. 
"Don't bother. It's all right. I haven't 
used that name for some time and I 
kind of hoped nobody would remember 
it. Fact, I'd rather like you boys to 

call me that to-night. Christmas Eve's 
kind of different. Go on." 

"Charley didn't tell you how he lost 
his place. He lost it because he wouldn't 
help his photographer" — Cowles 
put up a menacingly warning hand— 
"wouldn't help his photographer do a 
dirty yellow trick about a starving 
baby and its mother over in the Ward. 
The city editor blamed the photo- 
grapher and the photographer blamed 
Charley and — -that's why !" 

The woman laid her hand ever so 
lightly on Cowles' sleeve. 

"Nice boy," she said softly. "Nice 
boy !" And then, after a moment: 
"And, anyway, this is the first job you 
ever lost, isn't it ? Thought so. It's 
nothing when you get used to it. I 
know." Her voice was even; but her 
foot was tapping the floor under the 
table. "It's when you get used to it, 
and think you can always get another 
and one day find that nobody will 
believe you when you say that you're 
going to steady down and be good — 
that's what hurts. This time next year 
you'll be laughing at yourself for feeling 

"No, I won't !" growled Cowles. 
"I've done my best for three good years 
and I've been decent when I didn't 
have to be decent and I've been straight 
with myself and the paper. It don't 
pay. I'm going to cut loose now and 
take things as they come." 

Miss Cargill studied the ugly blaze 
in his eye intently and shook her head. 
The hard lines in her face became more 

t'owles reached for his glass. S!u- 
stopped him. 

"No," she said, "let's all start even. 
I want to know your friend's troubles." 

"Never mind alwut mine," said 
Roberts, iot)kingaway from them both. 
He was almost, but not quite, surly. 



Cowlcs shook his head at her surrepti-- 


"Don't be afraid," she murmured. 
"I won't make any l)reaks. And he 
needs help more than you do." She 
turned to Roberts again. "Married ?" 
she asked him. 

"How did you know that ?" he 
asked, his face still turned away. 

"Oh, I knew," she said. "There's 
things about you that — oh, well, I 
know. And I'll tell you some more 
about yourself. This is the first time 
you've been out of the town since. 
Fellows who look as white and clean as 
you do, don't come 
mousing around 
joints like this — • 
and keep on look- 
ing clean and white. 
Now I don't want 
3'ou to think I'm a 
buttinsky , but real- 
ly I wish you'd tell 
me about it." She 
glanced over her 
shoulder. "I know 
it isn't the place 
or the crowd to 
talk about anything 
like this. But honest 

him. Anyway — she said things and 
I said things and both of us were nasty 
■ — and bitter. This was all going up- 
town in a cab. And when we got to the 
door she said she wasn't going to get 
out — that she was going back to her 
own people — and I said I <iidn't care. 
And I don't !" His voice broke, even 
on the defiant note. "But it hurts . . 
and don't you think I was right?" 

Cowles was staring at him some- 
where between amazement and amuse- 

"And is that all ?" he began "that—" 
"Stop !" Miss Cargill said to him 





wish you'd 
tell me !" There was a compelling 
ring of nearly mothering kindness 
in her voice. Roberts bowed his chin 
almost sullenly on his chest. 

"Well ?" he said. 

"You've been having trouble at 
home ?" 

Roberts nodded. 

"Tell me ! What about ?" She 
leaned across the table towards him, 
speaking very softly with misty eyes. 
Roberts did not raise his head. 

"Christmas presents," he said. 

She threw back her head and 
laughed, just three or four pearly notes 
and then became grave again — sin- 
cerely grave. 

"Now, see here," Roberts blurted 
out, looking straight into the woman's 
pitying eyes. "I am going to tell you 
about it. I know it isn't decent. But 
I haven't told anybody and I know I'm 
right — anyway, more right than she is 
— and you've been up against things a 
lot — and I want to tell you about it." 
"That's right," she whispered as 
gently as though she had been petting 
a curly head at her knee. 

"Well," he recited in a monotone, 
"she asked me to meet her at Ryrie's 
to-day and I did. And she picked out 
a ring and I told her I couldn't come 
within five hundred dollars of paying 
for it — unless I broke my promise to 
increase my brother's college allowance. 
And she was hurt and then she was 
angry and she said things. You 
don't know — but there was a man — a 
rich man — an old man — out in Winni- 
peg and — when we first met she had 
almost made up her mind to marry 

sternly. "It's enough 1 Let me tell 
you two something. Now this isn't to 
print." She looked at Cowles. He 
nodded. "It never got out why I left 
Shea's. But it was because I was 
married on the sneak." She looked up 
and saw the waiter standing near. She 
plucked a pencil from Cowles's waist- 
coat, tore the margin from a news- 
paper sticking out of his pocket and 
wrote a name on it. 

"Married to him," she said, showing 
the slip to Roberts and Cowles in turn. 
Cowles whistled in his astonishment. 
Roberts stared at the paper with dim- 
med eyes; they cleared and he looked 
up quickly. "It didn't get out," she 
explained, because I really cared. I 
didn't want any press agent foolishness 
about him. Besides, I was going to 
quit the business, anyway. I did, all 
right, all right !" She laughed sourly 
and went on. "He was just out of col- 
lege, and I was a lot younger than I am 
now and different — ^I was sort of differ- 
ent from anybody around there, I 
guess." Her voice caught, but she 
tossed her head and continued: "And 
that made him like me. And I liked 
him and we were married and went 
away. But as soon as he came to know 
me better he found (what I'd known 
all along) I wasn't up to his family 
standard. He knew he »\'ouId hav-e to 
tell them about our being married, and 
that when the time came and they 
looked me over I wouldn't exactly 
stack up with his people — manners, 
you know, and when to do things and 
how to do them and the sort of people 
I liked. And he tried to tell me. And 
I got mad — and we came back on dif- 

ferent boats. And if I'd Ujld him how 
much I wanted to learn to be the way 
he wanted me — if he'd told me that he 
wanted me to tr>' — why then — why 
then it would have been just one of 
those funny little married tiffs. But I 
was mad. I said I didn't care. Not 
even when they came and took my 
baby. I didn't care. I've never cared." 
She spoke straight into Robert's 

"If I were you," she said, "I don't 
care how mean you think she was or 
how right you think you were, I'd go 
find her and tell her that she was right 
and you were wrong 
and that you are 
sorry. And if I was 
her I'd do the same 
thing. But it's easier 
to say than to do, I 
know. But can't 
you ?" 

\\o," he said. 
"You don't know 
the things she said. 
If she'd send word 
that she was sor- 


"Poor boy !" said 
the woman. "Poor boy and poor girl. 
You are up against it, bad !" 

There was a silence. It became 
embarrassingly long. Cowles broke it. 
"It's your turn. Miss Cargill," he 

She shook her head, and brushed at 
her eyes. 

"Honest," she said, "I don't think 
mine is worth telling. It isn't anything 
either of you would understand. 
Mine's just sentiment and darn foolish- 
ness. Let's take this drink !" 

Cowles reached out to protect the 

"We'll try to understand," he said. 
"And perhaps we might. Give us the 

Miss Cargill's head dropped between 
her hands as she slid her elbows farther 
across the table. 

"All right," she said. "But I'm mak- 
ing a fool of myself. I don't exactly 
understand, myself, why it hits me so 
hard. I told you just a little about 
what I'd been up against. Well, it was 
worse than that. That was just a 
starter. And after the very first, I 
didn't care any more. I didn't. 
Something broke and all the care drop- 
ped away from me. You've got your 
troubles of where to eat and sleep and 
drink," she said to Cowles. "And 
you've got a heart that's pretty near to 
iDreaking — and maybe will," she said 
to Roberts. "But as for me, I've had 
all those troubles for years and I 
haven't cared. Because I haven't any 
heart." Her eyes began to shine and her 
eyelashes became wet suddenly. "At 
least I thought I didn't, until to-day. 
"I live about twenty blocks uptown. 

You know what these rooming houses 
are. In the room next me there's some 
respectable married people, with a baby. 
A little girl about five. And she's been 
sick. And I guess the father hasn't had 
a job in a long time. Anyway, the 
other day I saw him taking a china 
clock out under his coat — it looked like 
a wedding present — and I guess people 
don't hock their wedding presents until 
pretty near the last. And the walls are 
so thin you can hear e%-crything that 

goes on in there. And the baby 

anyway, the little girl began asking 
two weeks ago about a Christmas tree. 
And yesterday they told her that 


Santa Claus was getting snobbish now- 
adays and wasn't interested in poor 
people — or poor people's little girls — 
not even when they were sick. And she 
cried all day. She was crying when I 
came out last night. She was still cry- 
ing when I got home this morning. 
She's cried all day to-day. And I'm 
broke. I've only got ten dollars 
between me and the bay. And iny 
rent's two weeks overdue and I've ^ot 
to pay that before I quit, because the 
landlord's been dead white to me. And 
I've never cared before for four years, 
but — I care now — I care — I can't help 
it. I do. I do." 


She dropped her hands to the table 
and her head on them. She sobbed; 
they were long, dry, heartbreaking 

"Don't cry, Miss Cargill," urged 
Cowles, patting lier shoulder clumsily. 
"Don't cry — Sadie !" She jerked away 
from under his hand and cried on. 

"Miss Cargill," said Roberts, leaning 
over toward her and speaking very 
softly, "you have been very kind to 
both of us. Will you let us be kind to 
you? Please stop crying. Please ! 
And then try to tell me just how much 
money you need." 

Continued on page 133. 

Dust to Dust 

THll architecture of the Grand 
Union Hotel was imposing for 
the district. Cathedrals and 
hospitable taverns, the photo- 
graphs of which look well on post cards, 
are among the attractions of new west- 
em towns. 

The Grand Union was a three 
story building; its expanse of 
native wood was painted an in- 
offensive gray, and jt had a 
verandah running the length, of 
the building on every flat. These 
coigns of vantage were always 
rescrsed for the women-folk, 
girls and matrons who hung over 
the edge of the railing in various 
stages of dishabille and took 
critical stock of the new arrivals 
or made feminine comparisons 
as to the prosperous state of the 
returned old ones. The railwa\ 
had not yet come to the landing. 
The lowest porch was sup- 
ported by half a dozen pillars 
making a for'e cochere for the 
bar which was directly upon the 
street. This important portion 
of the hotel was well in keeping 
with the surrounding grandeur, 
having ornate fixtures in plenty 
— an<l to the uninitiated let it be 
known that these same gold bars 
and shining knobs, to say noth- 
ing of the mirrors, had been 
brought one hundred miles by 
stage, from Kldmonton. It was 
always a pleasure to parties 
returning from months in the bush to Inid so well equip- 
pwl a hostelry ready to welcome them. Perhaps it is not 
irrelevant to mention that in one morning lictween the 
hours of six and eight the Cran'd Union took in a small 
matter of seven hundred dollars; so it is obvious that 

fivt iin ■-; rmnn ' 

By J. Dignam and 
Madge Macbeth 

Illustrations by 
Rufus E. Stolz 

"nos'T TVKIt OK SO. JACK," '■MO BOB, WATi in\ 
■■< 2XLE. "can't YOI TAKB a JOK' 

The drinks were on Hank Maguirc,. 
the latest arrived tenderfoot in Atha- 
basca Landing. He had laid a dog- 
eared five dollar bill on the counter, 
hoping to have returned a modicum 
of "chicken feed" in spite of the dozen 
mouths ranged along in line, 
when the approach of the Ed- 
monton stage emptied the bar. 

Amidst uproarious laughter, 
Albert Kerrigan, the diminutive 
stage-driver, annouinced' that this 
was the dryest bunch of White 
Ribbons he had ever carried — a 
remark he made each trip — and 
lost no time in making his way to 
tlie bar which immediately filled 
up again with the new-comers 
and the usual hangers-on. 

Amongst those who accepted 
Kerrigan's hospitality there were 
two men who bore the inimitable 
and unmistakable stamp of the 
:«;old seeker; who, willy nilly, 
nuist answer that call of the 
north — that lure of the gold in 
comparison with which all other 
oljjectivc in life seems but a 
waste of time. They were evi- 
dently partners. 

"Back again, Bob ?" called the 
bartender with a bottle poised 
in air. "Howdy, Jack," he added 
IS the smaller of the two men 
made a place for himself in the 
line. "Where to, this time ?" he 
found time to ask. 

"We hear they've struck it up 
on the Liartl, ' IJob replied, pouring himself out a generous 
horn. "Have we heard ?" 

Wheeler nodded. "Somethin'; but there ain't nobody 
gone down from here." The smaller man .spoke for the 
first time. "We'll have a shy at it, anyway. Look for 

1TC ♦"111'- ftin*. n,.y1 \ I ^1 : i ^ . r* >( | lljill llir. ntlllx* Jncl-,. ' 


Their good luck was drunk far into 
the night. 

The following morning found the 
partners busily engaged in the pur- 
chase of their outfit, Bob Calloway 
assuming all the rcsponsii)ility in the 
matter. His companion, Jack McRac, 
deferred to him in the smallest detail, 
and their respective positions as "boss" 
and "bossed" seemed to be amicably 
recognized by each and resented by 

After a week's preparations they 
were ready for their venture and left 
Athabasca Landing with the vociferous 
go6d wishes of the crowd. They were 
unaffected ; this was by no means their 
first experience. They had set out 
under similar circumstances many times 

Alternately paddling and floating 
they made their first camp at Six Mile 
Island, but the two days following 
saw them much farther ahead with the 
help of a good breeze and a sail. 

(jrand Rapids presented the first 
difficulty. Instead of taking advantage 
of the tram-way across' the portage 
(which would have necessitated much 
shifting of provisions) Calloway and 
McRae decided to run the Rapids — 
they being expert rivermen. Half way 
down, Jack, who was bowman, struck an 
ugly rock and the canoe would have 
capsized but for the skill and presence 
of mind of Calloway. These two quali- 
ties were without doubt valuable assets 
for a man of his calling, but their worth 
was somewhat counterbalanced bv an 


exceedingly bad temper, which vented 
itself at this point. 

His stream of expletives continued 
until they reached a less turbulent spot 
where he gathered himself for a final 


"If you can't do better than that," 
he thundered, embroidering his speech 
with curses, "I'll Ix; wishin' I had left 
you behind, you moonias, and have 
took that feller from Edmonton who 
was so dead set on goin'." 

The injustice of the attack stung and 
Jack retorted, 

"You ain't bringin' me ! Whose 
notion was this whole outfit ? Mine !" 
He thumped himself on the chest. "And 
who knows the country ? iV e 1 Why, 
you great big slob, where will you be 
when we pass Simpson, if I don't take 
you by the hand and lead you ?" 

Realising the aptness of this query 
Calloway forebore an answer; McRae 
also relapsed into sullenness and they 
did not thrash out the quarrel with hot 
words or with fists as had once been 
their custom. Instead, each harbored 
a grudge against the other for speaking 
unpleasant truth and bad feeling for 
the first time crept into this ill-assorted 

The journey continued monotonously 
down the river, past McMurray, Chip- 
pewyan, and on by F^ort Smith to Reso- 

At each of these settlements they 
looked anxiously for rosy news of the 
Liard gold find. But in spite of disap- 
pointment in this respect, in spite of 
the vague and indefinite information 
they received, determination to follow 
their journey to the end was strong. 
For they belonged to the type of man 
so common in that country, whose 
greed for gold leads him through untold 
hardship, miles from 
his fellow beings, up- 
on the slightest ru- 
mour and far beyond 
the reach of human 

The wait during 
the month of June at 
Fort Resolution was 
tedious, for although 
the Great Sla^•e Lake 
was not usually free 
from drifting ice until 
July, it had been 
known to open sooner 
and both McRae and 
his partner had hoped 
that this year would 
see an early thaw. 

The second week 
in July came before 
they started. Their 
long delay had whet- 
ted their desire for 
the promised land al- 
most to the break- 
ing point. Paddling 
unceasingly night and day they 
eventually reached Fort Simpson 
where the first view of the river which 
was to make them millionaires was 
obtained. It was at Simpson that 
their ardour was decidedly dampened. 

for absolutely no report of gold had 
been brought in by the Indians, and the 
Simpsfjn settlers thought the two 
prospectors worse than crazy to spend 
the winter up on the Liard. 

A few minutes' persuasion would have 
satisfied McRae that his cliase was a 
wild one and he would have Ix^en con- 
tent to return to the south. But'Callo- 
way, goaded almost to frenzy by delays 
and disappointments, grew stubborn 
and claimed that he saw trickery in the 
silence about Liard gold; he insisted 
that they push on, for, said he, 

"We've never come out loser yet, 
have we? And it's a funny thing that all 
the people around Exlmonton know 
there is gold yonder, and the Indians 
and half breeds won't say nothin' about 

Jack was timorously dubious; he 
disliked raising the pitch of Bob's 

"Aw, well," sneered the big man, 
"you go back if you're a mind to, you 
quitter I" then, as an afterthought he 
added, "You can go to the devil, too, 
for all I care — I'm a-goin' on !" 

"There ain't no reason for you to 
talk like that. Bob," answered the 
other, "I ain't no quitter, either. You 
can eat that ! I'm goin' with you, all 
right, only from what I can hear, they 
ain't nothin' to it." 

Unconsciously, McRac slipped into 
his o\\Ti place, after \ery brief oppo- 
sition, and submitted to the stronger 
will. From that moment everything 
which Calloway said, went. 

Two weeks upon the Liard failed to 
put them in possession of any great 
find, but they did not turn back, there 
was excitement in the chase, and even- 
tually they went up so far, that they 
were faced by the certainty of spending 
the winter there. The last south-bound 
boat would leave Fort Simpson before 
they could make the trip back. 

By November both Calloway and 
McRae had a few small "tails" of gold, 
but the past weeks of searching con- 
vinced them that the precious rhetal 
was not to be found in paying quanti- 
ties. In any event the chill of the days 
urged them to leave gold washing for 
the time, and set about building a 
shack for the winter. 

Game was plentiful, and this not 
only augured well for their physical 
comfort but by trapping they could make 
something out of a venture which 
proved a failure from a prospector's 
standpoint. So they built their shack 
and set their traps, not forgetting a 
strychnine bait for wohes upon which 
the government pays a bounty. 

About this time the mail carrier 
passed on his way to the Arctic— thus 
breaking the last link which bound 
them to human intercourse until the 
spring, which means in that countrv, 




For a couple of months the weekly 
round of a forty-mile circuit to their 
traps proved a timely diversion; fur 
was plentiful and a few wolves had 
unsuspiciously eaten the strychnine 
flavored meat. But toward February 
a cold snap accompanied by fierce wind 
struck them — the thermometer only 
stopjjing on reaching the sixty-five 
below mark, and this bad weather con- 
fined them to the shack. 

During the first week cards were an 
interesting pastime; the second found 
Calloway and little McRae trying to 
invent games or to improve ones they 
had known. From daylight until dark 
they sat in the cramped house, if the 
crude structure built out of unsquarcd 
timber can be so dignified in the name, 
with no \'ariation other than cooking 
their food. 

After another fortnight a subtle 
change crept into the isolated shack; 
the men lay in their blankets most of 
the day, each begrudging the perform- 
ance of the ordinary tasks which hith- 
erto had been cheerfully undertaken 
by them in turn. If Calloway went out 
to bring in some wood, he inwardly 
cursed his partner who liad the pleas- 
ant job of cooking the dinner; if McRae 
went for water — a pail full of snow — 
he felt certain that his partner had so 
managed that he, himself, could escape 
this disagreeable duty. 

Gradually the brunt of the work fell 
upon the little man, until one day he 
ventured a sharp protest. It happened 
in this way; Calloway rising from his 
bunk saw that the water pail was 
empty. "You might, at least, have 
water in the shack," he growled. 

"Huh ! If you want water, you might 
get it fer yerself — I've done all of my 
share durin' the past three days !" 

"I thought you would have seen how 
sick 1 'vc been, without nie a-tellin' you ," 
muttered Bob, in an aggrieved voice, 
and falling heavily back on the bed. 

"Not too sick to set up an' take 
nourishment reg'lar," commented the 
other without deep sympathy. He did 
not put excuses past his partner, where 
wf>rk was concerned. 

'All right, sir ! If you talk like that, 
I'll get up an' cook the grub, sick as I 
am, s'long's the extry work's fallin' so 
heavy on you !" Calloway flung back 
at him. 

"Start right in with yero%vn, then," 
suggested iMcRae tauntingly. "None 
of yer messes fer me, thanks !" He 
banged the door after him as he went 
out with the water pail. 

Perhaps he had meant to forget the 
quarrel, perhaps not; however, circum- 
stances forced him to remember it, for 
upon returning to the shack, he found 
Calloway helping himself to tobacco 
from his tin. 

The sight enraged him; dozens of 
instances flashed before him of times 



he had bciii sciit oucr-ide uiion various 
pretexts, and durini.; those moments 
Bob had without doul)t been "stealing 
off him !" It might not only be tobacco 
either ! That this was the first tima 
the "loan" had been effected, angels in 
heaven could not have persuaded Jack 
to believe. 

"Drop it !" he commanded, sharply, 
letting a bl.-ist of icy wind blow in. 
"You sneakin' hound, you ! You put 
me on the dirty work while you lie 
alied like a lord, and help yerself to my 
tobacco an' - 

"I'm takiu' wluii's lavvl'ully mine," 
snarled (Calloway furious at McRae 
for coming back; it was perfectly plain 
to him that Jack suspoctetl him and 
had sneaked in on" You 
took mine — you know you did ! This 
time last week my box was up to herj 
— " he designated a particular spot 
with a dirty thumb — "an' now look 
at it ! Where's it gone to, I want (o 
know ?" 

Jack turned ciialky wliiic 
never Ixvn in the shack alone 
working hard for Calloway. 

iie iiad 
He had 


never lain around idle and inert like 
his partner. He set the pail of snow 
down and his hand almost without his 
own volition sought for and found his 
revolver. Anger blazed from his eyes, 
hut liis voice was low, so low that it 
sounded unfamiliar to Calloway. 

"Drop it, Bob," coaxed McRae, 
"an' eat them words, you liar !" Hob 
looked into the muzzle, dropped the 
tobacco and laughed a little uncer- 
tainly. At the same time his eye never 
wavered from the muscles 'n Jack's 

"Don't carry on so. Jack," he said, 
"can't you take a joke ?" 

"I can take a joke all right, all right," 
Jack replied grimly, "but you can't 
take my tobacco !" 

Their reversed positions ate like a 
canker into Calloway's soul. Never, 
in all their acquaintance had Jack 
McRac dictated to him ! His opin- 
ions or advice had been taken or dis- 
carded as Calloway saw fit; his ill- 
temper, shortlived though it was, 
vanished after a word or two from the 
big man. But now, in every sentence 
Jack uttered his partner fancied he 
detected a subtle reference to their 
changed conditions, he fancied that 
Jack still held the gun over him, met- 
aphorically speaking. To be accused 
of laziness instead of being sympathized 
with, to be accused of stealing when he 
was asserting his authority and doing 
what he had often done before, and 
last of all to be ill, so ill that he feared 
to'let the extent of his malady be known 
to McRac — this burned into his 
smarting wounds like fire. 

Through the long still night these 
bitter thoughts rankled; resentment 
and anger and fear coupled with a 
very real pain kept him from sleep- 
ing, and the sound of Jack's regular 
breathing so frenzied him that he 
seriously weighed the pain of rising 
and striking the sleeper, against the 
agony of lying inert all night listen- 
ing to those heedless snores. This 
state of affairs continued for a 
week; each night ended in an uneasy 
sleep made hideous with dreadful 
dreams. Invariably, Calloway saw 
McRae cunningly gather their joint 
savings and resources before deserting 
him, and he, a helpless caricature of a 
man could only shriek curses after the 
retreating form which made a lilack 
blot upon the endless wastes of un- 
trackecl snow. 

Obfcssed by these thoughts when 
he awoke one morning he lost no time 
in making sure that his possessions 
were safe. Until the meaning of this 
inventory dawned upon bim, McRae 
looked upon his partner with tolerant 
speechlessness. Then a murderous 
rage burst over him ! He advanced 
iilJon Calloway savagely and — stopj^ed! 

Bob's arm was black with scur^•v ! 


Bit by bit it dawned upon McRae; 
Bob's lack of ambition, his shrinking 
from the snow laden draughts and his 
terror of the colder ice breathing winds 
which sought out the cracks; his shirk- 
ing of the daily tasks, his increasing 
moodiness and irritability. What 
McRae had mistaken for laziness was 
pestilent illness and his anger melted 
suddenly into remorse and deep com- 

"How do you feel, old boy ?" he 
asked awkwardly, groping for a means 
to bury past differences. 

The words had a sinister significance 
to Calloway. He immediately read in 
them Jack's realization of his helpless- 
ness and his satisfaction in the knowl- 

All day he brooded over this and 
r(;pelled any advances the younger man 
made, distorting his sympathy into 
malignity, searching amongst his dark 
suspicions for a malevolent motive in 
this sudden friendliness. 

Jack felt his partner's hostility and 
tried harder to break the barrier of 
distrust; and so they played at cross 
purposes for two days. 

The follov\ing morning Calloway was 
alarmingly worse, and heedless of the 
hardship of a lonely journey to the 
nearest settlement — Fort Simpson — 
Jack resolved to make the trip and 
secure assistance. His idea to procure 
men and dog teams and remove Bob 
to the Fort where he could have proper 
medical attention. Scurvy in an 
advanced state will not cure itself. 

Unfortunately the humoring of Bob 
these last few days had resulted in 
being turned over to him for "safe 
keeping" all their valuables and money, 
and money Jack was obliged to have 
for the purposes of his journey. 

He broached the subject of his re- 
solve hesitatingly. 

"I reckon you'll need a little help 
from Simpson, Bob," he began, "an' a 
little exercise will put new life into me." 

"It's about time you thought of it," 
growled Calloway not understanding 
the purpose he had in mind. 

"I could get to the Fort an' back in 
about a week, "McRae went on, intent 
upon his project and not realizing 
what effect his words were having 
upon the sick man, but I'll need 
some money,." 

Craven fear amounting to madness 
kept Bob dumb; suddenly he saw his 
dream coming true — saw himself 
deserted by his partner and left to die 
a loathsome death like a rat in a hole. 
But with the cunning which is associ- 
ated with insanity he controlled him- 
self and asked evenly, 

"What d'you want money for ?" 

Relieved that he had taken to the 
project kindly, McRae answered 

"Whv, f>r medicine an' stuff, an' 

to buy dog foofi, an' to dangle in front 
of the men who will have to come 
back with mc to carry you in. I can 
fix up the shack an' the grub, here, so's 
you'll manage first rate till I get back 

"Get back ?" shrieked Calloway, 
unable to restrain his terror, "get back ? 
You ain't a notion of comin' back ! 
You needn't think I am that big a fool ! 
I know you — you're plannin' to desert 
me, an' an rob me, an' to leave me here 
to die like an Indian dog — you — 
hound ! But by G^ I'll show you — " 
he continued wildly, raising himself on a 
swollen and blackened arm, "if I die — 
you'll die too ! Take that, an' lha> !" 

The revolver fell from Calloway's 
hand, having first done its work. Jack 
McRae's body made two or three 
senseless contortions and then lay 
quite still. 

Cold sweat broke out upon Callo- 
way as he looked at the thing which 
remained huddled in a hideous position 
before him; the neck bent sidewise 
under the shoulders and the arms flung 
loosely out upon the greasy floor. 

As he looked Bob Callow^ay dreaded 
lest it should turn and thus reveal the 
face which was now mercifully hidden. 

He watched it breathlessly, for a 
while, leaning half out of his disordered 
bunk: alternately he hoped that it 
would, and dreaded lest it should, 
move. Once he wondered if it did. 
Surely the body heaved 1 

He fainted ! 

Hours later when he returned to 
consciousness the shack was dark, and 
Bob, lying in a dazed state wondered 
vaguely why there was no light. 
Remembrance came with a shock and 
horror robbed the blankets of their 

Daylight was an added torture; dur- 
ing the darkness he had thought he 
would go mad knowing it was there 
but being unable to see it. Now, he 
could see, and tried with all his fading 
strength not to look. But the thing 
drew his gaze with fatal sureness ta 
itself and the daylight was worse than 
the night. 

Although Calloway had no delusions, 
regarding his serious condition, he 
resolved that he would rise and remove 
the body from the shack, no matter 
what the effort cost him. Beside, he 
must ha\^e food and water, to say 
nothing of fire. 

Weakly pushing back the blankets 
he put his feet to the floor and tried to 
stand. The effort was tragic in its 
futility — scurw does its work thor- 
oughly ! 

Twice during the day he made the 
attempt and failed, the failure forcing 
another aspect of his position upon 
him. He could not reach the wood, 
the food or the water; the cold was 
Continued on page 132. 

The Girl Who ''Got There" 

By Edward C. Moore 

ALTHOUGH Helen Stanley had sung in "Cendrillon" 
the part of Prince Charming, and knows by heart 
the wistful fairy-tale, nobody ever waved a fairy 
godmother's wand over her. The nearest thing to a 
godmother she ever saw was Mary Garden, who came 
to her last spring as the special train bearing the wearied 
Grand Opera Company was pulling out of Dallas on 
its way west, and 
asked, "Miss Stanley, 
would you like to sing 
with me in 'Natoma'?" 

Miss Stanley's heart 
turned over suddenly; 
but she responded with 
brevity, "I should be 
very glad." 

"Do you know the 
role of Barbara?" in- 
quired Miss Garden. 

Miss Stanley's heart 
sank into her boots. 
"I do not," she admit- 
ted. But the fairygod- 
mother didn't seem 

"Well, can you learn 
it in three days ?" 
said she. "I am sorry 
that the notice is so 
short, but we are go- 
ing to give the opera 
the second night we 
are in Los Angeles, 
and Carolina White," 
the former incumbent 
of the role, "is away 
-on a concert tour. 
Can you do it ?" 

"I can," said Miss 

And so the matter 
was settled. Miss 
Stanley disappeared 
into her stateroom, 
first sending out word 
that the social diver- 
sions of the trainload 
of artists held no at- 
traction for her, and 
that she was on no 
account to be dis- 
turljed. Then she applied herself to a study of the role. 

At the end of the appointed three days she apiwared 
on the Los Angeles stage and gave a performance of 
Barbara which the critics of that city without dissenting 
\oi(:e hailed as flawless. 

That is a specimen of the way she has gone through 
her artistic career. She puts little belief in luck as an 
■element of success, for luck, except the kind of luck which 
always attends talent and industry in every walk of 
life, has had little share in her development. In fact, the 
fates have not always been kind to her, and there 
have been times when she thought that life was rather 
hard and uncertain. What never failed her was a large 


Tlie prima doiuia who b (inging grand opera in Montreal this season 

amount of grit and an indefatigable determination to 
"make good." 

Helen Stanley was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. Her 
family name is McGrew. She is the daughter of William 
Wilson McGrew, a well to do business man. Even as a 
child her voice showed remarkable sweetness and purity. 
As she grew to be a young girl her voice took on even 

more lovely qualities, 
and her parents decid- 
ed that her talent 
should be cultivated. 
Her voice quickly re- 
sponded to the train- 

At the suggestion 
of Mrs. Philip D. Ar- 
mour, a wealthy wo- 
man who has played 
fairy godmother to 
more than one aspiring 
young artist, Helen 
went to Chicago in 
1905 and began serious 
study of the art of 
singing with Mrs. Jo- 
hanna Hess-Burr. Only 
fifteen years old at the 
time, it was only a few 
months before she be- 
came the soloist at the 
University Congrega- 
tional Church. She 
studied incessantly, 
perfecting her German, 
French, and Italian, 
and spending several 
hours each day on her 
\oice. Results came 
quickly; she became 
known throughout the 
city as the possessor 
of unusual talent. 

The next year she 
went to New York, 
where she continued 
her studies with Isadore 
l.uckstone. She sought 
and found another 
church position, that 
of soloist in St. Bar- 
tholomew's Episcopal 
Church. At that time she was the youngest church 
soloist in New York. She remained three years. 

Her studies then carried her to Paris, where she 
came under the tuition of the well known specialist, 
Frank King Clark. -After six months' work with him 
there arrived the engagement which is always one of the 
milestones in a singer's life, her operatic debut. 

The event was accomplished at Versailles, as Mimi, 
the heroine of Puccini's opera, "La Boheme." Miss Stanley 
made an undeniable "hit" in the part, and the opera 
was given twice more that week. 

Bidding a temporary farewell to the glamour of per- 
Continucd on page 127. 

The" Heel 

^ WL/^eyAmy. 

lUu-strations by J. ABayne 

back in his Morris chair, look- 
ing thoughtfully over his 
finger tips into the blazing 
grate. That in itself was significant. 
For Warry was a bachelor, and few 
bachelors stop to think — and remain 
bachelors. Ordinarily the thoughtful 
bachelor possesses a past.'or wants one. 
But Warry Mansell had no past worth 
recalling, and no future worth pictur- 

An uninterescing life, Warry's, to 
talk about, but, according to Warry, 
a very satisfactory one to live. Physic- 
ally he was supremely content. In all 
his imagination there was nothing to 
tempt him from his two-roomed suite. 
Solitude in a Morris chair before a fire 
of cannell coal, and surrounded by a 
wall of sectional book cases, was 
unshared bliss. Years of untormented 
happiness had livened his sense of 
luxury, and Suite 52, Warwick Apart- 
ments, told of its gratification. A five 
year lease was to Warry the acme of 
felicity and comfort, the limit of his 

On any other day than the second 
before Christmas Warry could honestly 
have assured you that he was just as 
comfortable mentally as physically. 
Vocally he would not have excepted 
that day, but — well, that's where his 
present attitude belied him. Without 
a past or a future worth recording, 
there was a present — two long hours 
on the second night before Christmas 
of every year — when Warry's other- 
wise undeviating line of content 
wavered a little. ♦ 

Around the tabourette which he 
used as a footstool, lay a disarray of 
books and magazines. By that litter 
the apartment house maid was assured 
the following morning of an evening 
spent at home. After a night in, the 
symptom of a replaced magazine 

would have alarmed the girl. But with 
his evening newspaper the case was 
difTerent. In the midst of a diffusion 
of book and magazine, it had been a 
bachelor rule of his — the most infrang- 
ible kind— carefully to fold his paper 
when he had completed the page of 
sports and place it thus on the under 
shelf of the tabourette. It was the 
last half of the rule that the maid as 
carefully transferred it in the morning 
to the wastepaper basket. Failure on 
her part would have justified com- 
plaint of inattention; on his would have 
brought timid enquiry concerning his 

To-night the abnormal condition of a 
bachelor's thoughtfulness was best 
exhibiting itself in the condition of his 
paper. In three distinct and separate 
sections it lay around his chair, where 
it had fallen from his hands. Also, the 
top of the desk beside his elbow was 
heaped with broken envelopes and 
creased letter-paper. Plainly it was 
cause and elTect. 

They were not love letters; in justice 
to Warry that must be admitted im- 
mediately. He had received love 
letters, but he never knew it. It 
required more than the daring of even 
the modern marriageable maiden to 
penetrate his bachelor brain. And yet 
the letters were in female chirography. 
But Warry's defence was completed 
by the businfess letter-head on each. 
And such headings as "The Sick 
Children's Hospital," "The Old Folks' 
Home," "The Convalescent Hospital" 
on letters dated at Christmas time 
betrayed the gist of their contents. 
All these institutions knew Warry. 
To the wealthy such charities provide 
a simple means of satisfying Christ- 
mas inclinations and traditions without 
altering any scheme of life. Warry's 
Christmas, therefore, came two days 
before the red figures on the calendar, 

about the time the plum puddings and 
spiced roasts took the place of tarts 
and red meats in the show windows. 
For it was then he read and reread the 
acknowledgments of his gifts of pre- 
vious years and decided how to re-earn 
them through the blank checks that 
lay before him. 

We who have graduated from bach- 
elor self-deception know the signs of 
that thoughtful gaze over finger tips 
into a blazing grate. Warburton 
Mansell was Jiot supremely content. 
He knew the checks before him were 
doomed not to satisfy the ideas of 
Christmas that persisted in clinging 
to him through all these years. He 
didn't know why; he could even argue 
beautifully with his instincts that 
nothing was lacking. But, you know, 
instincts are feminine, and above argu- 
ment. Warry, being a bachelor and 
never really having understood women, 
was not aware of this. 

One letter in particular would not 
yield to argument. The superinten- 
dent of the Hospital for Incurable 
Children, being a mere wayward 
woman, was unable to follow the gov- 
ernment-surveyed roadway of a 
bachelor's mind. She had stepped 
aside for a moment from the formal 
path of thankfulness in her acknowl- 
edgment of Warry's check, and had 
tripped into a little by-path were 
Warry could not follow her. What's 
more, he didn't want to; he wouldn't. 
She had broken the custom of bene- 
ficiaries, and, just because she was so 
heterodox, Warry was irritated. He 
wouldn't wander with her. No, indeed! 
But he couldn't help straining his 
eyes a little to keep her in sight. She 
had walked along beside him to the 
extent of due thanks; and she had 
stepped so daintily and prettily that 
Warry was keenly conscious of her 
deviation when she branched off. 



This woman had actually suggested 
that the addition of his presence to his 
gift would make the latter a joy as well 
as a benefaction. Later she had per- 
sisted in her waywardness by hinting 
that Warry himself missed the real joy 
of Christmas by confining his gifts to 
the inanimate part of his resources. 

And Warry tried to hold up his head 
stiffly and argue. He tried to sustain 
himself by a consciousness of his 
orthodoxy. He knew nothing of chil- 
dren — he, a bachelor. Only in his 
ccket was there community of inter- 
est with kiddies. That was common 
sense, he said. He knew no better; he 
was a bachelor from inclination. 

The telephone at his elbow tinkled 
sharply. Warry grabbed the letters 
and crammed them into a drawer 
before he took down the receiver. His 
"yes" was a ludicrous mixture of the 
business man occupied with his morn- 
ing mail and of the gentleman unable 
to protest at outrageous interruption. 

His face brightened when he recog- 
nized who was speaking; and as he 
listened and answered, listened and 
answered, a peculiar play of feeling 
flitted across his face, a flicker that 
was breaking new lines and creases. 
And when he hung up the receiver he 
was happier. You could tell that by 
the carefully folded paper that lay in 
its accustomed place on the lower shelf 
of the tabourette a few minutes later. 
Then he sat back again and allowed 
himself the liberty of thought without 
self-consciousness. Warry was break- 
ing all the rules of bachelorhood that 
night — because some of them had been 
broken for him. 

That telephone message had been 
his first Christmas invitation since he 
had attained to the dignity of inde- 
pendent bachelorhood ; and there was 
in it the surprise of a pleasant little 
by-way opening invitingly from the 
beaten track. Jack Lester, a friend 
with whom he ate a daily grape-fruit 
at the club, had included his wife in a 
request for Warry's presence at their 
home on the following evening, Christ- 
mas eve. Warry tried to drown the 
consciousness of a new smile at the 
corners of his mouth. The personal 
touch craved by the superintendent of 
the Hospital for Incurable Children 
was coming into his own Christmas. 

Having digested the new feeling in 
three minutes he picked up his book, 
settled himself in the position long 
experience had proven best for light 
and comfort, and forgot things in 
general until the silence of the phono- 
graph overhead announced bedtime. 

At the club next day he ate his grape 
fruit alone. Lester always made a 
holiday of the day before Christmas. 
Last year Warry had been lonesome on 
that day, but before him now was a 
new celebration, his first real Christmas 

eve. He revelled in the feeling without 
stopping to analyze it, for fear that 
wonderful common sense of his would 
dispel it. 

At four he left the office, walked 
over to a department store, and began 
to shift the worries of Christmas buying 
to the shoulders of overloaded clerks. 
He had only a vague idea of the extent 
of Lester's family. He could remember 
a bang-up dinner Lester had given at 
the club more than a year ago to cele- 
brate the latest arrival. And some- 
where in his memory he scraped up an 
old argument between Lester and 
another papa concerning the merits of a 
boarding school for girls of twelve or 
thirteen. Beyond that he could col- 
lect but the frayed edges of smart 
sayings of youngsters at various ages 
and degrees of development. 

He felt certain of covering all the 
possibilities between one year and 
thirteen by ten presents. Ten could 

be divided between three or four, but 
reverse the numbers and — give up all 
hope of another invitation. 

•So, starting with a pair of shoe 
buckles set with brilliants — a sugges- 
tion of the saleslady's — and an Irish 
lace collar — an idea of his own upon 
which he dwelt to the weariness of the 
clerk — he ran through a varied list of 
hair-ribbons, dolls, a teddy bear, a 
jack-knife, a toy flying-machine, a 
steamboat that ran on water and a foot- 
ball. He ended with a silver and ivory 
rattle. By the time he had completed 
the list he was so proud that at least 
three items of it had originated in his 
own brain that the saleslady was 
peevishly sorry she had made a sug- 

Chuckling along those new lines in 
his face he managed to board a car 
homeward, piled to the hat with 
parcels. Passengers stepped on his- 
toes, dug their elbows into his unpro- 



tccted sides, and pushed him helplessly 
about. But so long as they did not 
crush his bundles those new lines never 

Two hours later, when he had 
settled his white tie into a bow that 
almost satisfied him, it came to him 
with a sudden, panicky gasp that he 
knew no more of the location of 
Lester's residence than that it was 
somewhere in the west end. A woman 
w< uld have relieved the situation via 
the telephone book. Being a man, and 
a bachelor, he could think only of the 
directory in the drug store across the 
corner. Anyway, he had to 
get flowers there for Mrs. 

When Warry Mansell 
stepped from the elevator 
of the Warwick Apartments 
and picked his way carefully 
■down the front steps to 
the street, there was little 
opportunity for doubting 
his errand . Ten Christmasy 
parcels in clean white tissue 
paper and red baby ribbon 
■wonderfully tied, with holly 
and Santa Claus stickers as 
conspicuous ornaments, gave 
him something of the ap- 
pearance of a modern Santa 
whose wife has neglected 
her duties of the night in 
a suffrage discussion down 
town. His opera hat clung 
precariously to the back of 
his head to leave room for 
the^brow that any man ex- 
pects to be warm under 
such conditions. The par- 
cels had been disposed 
throughout his arms with 
studied care, and a loop from 
each to a desperate finger 
assured their safety. 

While the drug clerk was 
tying the new, awkward 
parcel of roses, Santa Claus 
consulted the directory nder 
conditions that were un- 
favorable to reliable search. 
Over the top of the load 
he found the name of "Jack 
Lester," and to the best 
of his ability followed a 
straight line to the address "338 
Hoskin Street." Twenty minutes 
later he stepped from the street 
car, a mussed-up, dishevelled Santa, 
but proud of the orovision he had 
made in those loops from his parcels. 
He was surprisingly happy. He had 
chuckled into the faces of the tumbling 
crowd, calmly letting his parcels drop 
one by one to dangle from the loops, 
and low only, the parcel of flowers 
remained above his arms. The effect 
was a little bizarre, but it seemed to 
give Warry lots of satisfaction. 

Hoski . Street gave him a shock. It 


did not impress Warry with respect for 
his friend's judgment, for it was dark 
and not overclean, and the houses 
were evidently of the middle-working- 
class style. And 338 was no different 
from the rest. 

The darkness of the house was 
another surprise. Except for a faint 
glimmer from a room beyond, the hall 
was unlighted, and the feeble tinkle 
that came from a bell far back in the 
house added to Warry's misgivings. 

On the instant four tousled heads 
arrived together in the open doorway 
at the back of the hall. The scramble 

There's nothing you can do," murmured mrs. iester. "he's so : 


to get through was forcibly interrupted 
by a larger girl of thirteen or fourteen 
who made a' way for herself by simply 
dragging back the whole four. Then 
she stepped into the hall and shut off 
the light by pulling the door after her. 
A flicker of light was applied to a lamp 
on a small table, and then the front 
door opened a few inches. 

"Is — is your father in ?" asked 
Warry, in confusion. 

The little girl looked him up and 
down at her leisure before she answered. 
Then her eyes settled back on the 
dangling parcels. 

"No, sir. He ain't in now, but he 
promised to be back in a little while." 
She evidently wished it to be dis- 
tinctly understood that she assumed no 
responsibility for her father's promises. 
"This is where Mr. Lester lives, is it 
not ?" 

"Yes, sir. Though mother says 
she don't know how soon we'll have 
to move again." 

Warry's eyes puckered in surprise- 
"May I see your mother, then, little 

The girl opened the door wide enough 
for him to enter, her eyes all the time 
fixed on the parcels. Warry 
stepped into the bare hall 
and followed the girl into 
the plain and rather bare 
front room. Then the girl 
left him and a moment later 
the visitor heard two people 
pass , quietly up the front 
stalio. ■.' Evidently Mrs. Les- 
ter was not prepared for 
company. There certainly 
was some mistake, but he 
could only await the older 
woman's appearance for 

Gradually as he waited 
he became conscious of a 
spasmodic, semi-subdued 
whispering behind a pair of 
folding doors leading to a 
room behind. Consultation, 
dispute and curiosity rose 
and fell in children's voices. 
Suddenly the doors rattled 
sharply, and a narrow crack 
grew between them, slowly 
widening in little jerks until 
Warry could look into 
another bare room beyond. 
There was intense silence 
for several seconds. Then 
two hands with fat fingers 
came around the edge of one 
of the doors and took a 
tight hold. Immediately a 
regular shaking of the door, 
and as regular a loosening 
and renewal of the hold, 
told of someone tugging 
desperately at the owner of 
the fingers. 

Warry began to be in- 
Nothing but the fingers 
had appeared as yet, and they 
were having a strenuous time to 
keep in sight. Slowly the fingers 
secured a stouter hold, and Warry 
set his teeth in sympathy for a 
more energetic pull. That must have 
helped some, for a tousled head of fair 
hair bobbed in and out of sight over the 
fingers, followed by a chubby face, red 
with exertion but otherwise oblivious 
of the opposition. 

Warry stamped his feet in applause 
and smiled at the face and fingers. 
The head kept going and coming in 


obedience and resistance to the tugging 
of someone unseen, but always advanc- 
ing a little further at each re-entry. At 
last, without an answering smile to 
Warr>-'s widening beams, it spoke. 

"Why" — jerk — "didn't you" — jerk 
— "come down the chimley ?" 

The unseen tugs ceased, as if the 
worst had already happened. There 
was a scramble. The body belonging 
to the head dropped suddenly into 
view, and three other children — two 
boys and a girl — crowded for the open- 
ing. But Chubby Face had the advan- 
tage and continued to hold it by plant- 
ing himself squarely between the 
doors. Warry'smiled encouragement. 

"Why didn't you come down the 
chimley, Santa ?" persisted the boy. 

The man began to understand. 
First of all he laughed — laughed out 
loud with those new lines and creases 
in a way that would have startled his 
friends. Then he began to feel a little 
bit startled; likewise foolish and un- 
comfortable. His Christmases had 
never been specially noted for their 
laughs. But he couldn't lose sight of 
the situation; and the laugh came 
again. His opera hat dropped to the floor 
and rolled around in wobbly circles. 

Chubby Face did not repeat the 
question, but he kept his eyes on 
Warry's face and waited for the answer 
he knew would come as soon as these 
preliminaries of this very funny Santa 
Claus were completed. 

"Well, you sec," began Warry, a 
wave of giggles running over him, 
followed by a panicky hope that his 
answer would fit the situation — "you 
see, I'm getting too fat to crawl down 
that little 'chimley' with this load. It 
isn't often I've so much for one house." 

Chubby Face stepped boldly into 
the room and eyed the parcels specu- 

"Got anything to eat ?" nodding at 
the parcels. 

"No," admitted Warry shameface- 
edly, vowing to know better there- 
after. "That's coming in the next 
load. But" — he winked impressively 
at the boy — "I've something else you 
want more than that." 

"Nothin' bctter'n eats," firmly 
declared the boy, '"less — 'less it's a 
flyin' machine." 

Warry's smile came so sudden and 
wide that the new lines found it hard 
to get into action on such short notice. 

"Little lK)ys sometimes get what 
they want if they're good," he declared 

Only the smallest lad appeared to be 
impresstid by such triteness. 

"If me dood, me det sumpin ?" he 
enquired timidly. 

Warry bent his head speculatively. 
"Now, that depends. What would 
you like best of anything ?" 

"Teddy Bauh !" shouted the young- 


ster, dropping his sister's dress with 
unheard of rashness. 

Warry blinked. He looked down 
doubtfully at one of the largest parcels 
dangling from his fingers. And then 
he laughed. And the parcels rustled 
and scraped each other, and bumped 
into the rungs of the chair. He knew 
that parcel of teddy bear too well; it 
had insisted in getting between his 
knees as he walked. 

"Would it be a teddy bear with long, 
brown fur, and legs that twist all 
round, and a head that nods, eh, 
what ?" And he nodded his head vio- 
lently. Then he broke into a sudden 
perspiration at the awful test to which 
he had put his selection. 

"Santa's dot it. Santa's dot it," 
shrieked the little fellow, clapping his 
hands and hopping on one foot. 

"You just trust your uncle Santa," 
exclaimed Warry, with an exaggerated 

The older boy, a shade taller than 
Chubby Face, began to see possibilities 
that demanded immediate encourage- 
ment. He stepped before his brothers, 
shoved his hands fiercely in his pockets 
and braced himself on spread legs. 

"I want a jack-knife and a football," 
he demanded bluntly. 

The make-believe Santa looked 
startled. It wasn't fear of the boy. 
Oh, no ! He was just afraid he'd 
wake up. Then the new lines, by this 
time more accustomed to use, lent 
their services. Warry got up from the 
chair and laughed. He ran around it 
and sat down again with a crash of 
laughter. Plainly he was enjoying 
himself and making up for lost time. 
Of a sudden he sobered and tried to 
feel the bundles as best he could with 
his hands and knees; he was going to 
make sure before he let loose again. 

"Dear, dear !" he rippled. "Any- 
thing funny about that knife, now ? 
Has it— " 

"A pearl handle and two blades. 
And the football's big's that," with a 
rounding of his hands. 

The improvised Santa bubbled and 
chortled and sparkled with mirth. 
"That's them to a T," he declared in 
reckless English. 

Then he got up and tried a trick he 
hadn't done for years. He placed his 
foot in the brim of his opera hat, gave 
it a sudden flip upwards, and landed it 
over-one ear but on Iiis head. 

And right then, while Santa was 
looked extravagantly bizarre and the 
children were grinning with joy at his 
new trick, a tall, pale, tired woman 
came through the hall door, a weary 
sadness around her eyes that sobered 
Warry in an instant. 

"Is this" — embarrassed cough — 
"Mrs. Lester ? " he cnquirctj. 

"It is," very soberly. 

" Mrs. Jack Lester ? " 



"But your husband — he's not Lester 
of Lester & Hammond, is he ?" 

The woman smiled. "My husband 
works in the foundry on Mason Street. 
I'm sorry — I've kept you. You're in 
the wrong house." Her eyes were 
fixed on the dangling parcels and on the 
happy anticipation of the children. 

"It's not the Lester I was looking 
for," admitted Warry thoughtfully. 
"But it's the Lester I wanted, I think." 

In fact he was sure of it. He remem- 
bered the football, and the teddy bear, 
and the flying machine and knife. He 
was so sure of it that he promptly 
went oflf into peals of laughter, the 
parcels bumping and crackling and 
rustling. The woman looked on in 
half-laughing embarrassment. 

"Excuse — excuse me, Mrs. Lester," 
chuckled the man. "I never had so 
much fun. I'm not so crazy as I'm 
acting. I'm Santa Claus, you see. 
I've just been meeting your children." 
Then a look of bewilderment swept 
over his face. "By Jove !" he mut- 
tered. "It's Christmas Eve ! Never 
caught me like that before. Kind o' 
touching a new spot, you know, being 
a real Santa Claus." 

The woman's face softened. "You're 
someone's Santa Claus," she said, 
pointing at the tissue-paper bundles. 
Then she stiffened as stranger to 
stranger. "You'll find a directory at 
the drug store on the corner. You've 
got the wrong address." 

But Warry wasn't interested in the 
directory. "I guess I just thought I 
was looking for some other Lester, 
but — Providence has funny ways." 
He stepped closer to the woman. 
"These parcels are for your children; 
I've promised them. You wouldn't 
have Santa Claus break his promises, 
would you ? And" — his voice was full 
of pleading — "I've never been a real 
Santa Claus before. It's even my first 
real Christmas." 

The woman smiled sadly, and the 
struggle in her face caught the man's 

"I don't believe it's much of a Christ- 
mas for you," he said, hesitating lest 
he should overstep the border of their 
short acquaintance. 

The woman made no answer but 
turned her head that her trouble might 
not reveal itself. 

"It's your husband." For a bachelor 
Warburton Manscll was progressing. 
"I'd like to be your Santa Claus, too, 
if I could." The dangling parcels one 
Ijy one were dropping from his fingers 

"There's nothing — you can do," 
murmured the woman. "He — he — 
I've been expecting him home for an 
hour. He's out buying the children's 
presents, and — and sometimes he — 
Continued on page 136. 


'E grow peanuts, sweet pota- 
toes, broom corn, quinces, 
peaches, tobacco, Catawba 
grapes — " 

"Hold on ! I thought you said you 
lived in Canada." 


"Nonsense ! Even a real estate 
agent wouldn't tell fairy tales like that, 
and you aren't trying to sell anything. 
Where do you live ?" 

"On Pelee Island. Do you want to 
hear about it ?" 

"If you went to any little old red 
schoolhouse in Ontario in your youth, 
you learned the islands of the Great 
Lakes the same term that you struggled 
with the counties and county-towns 
along Lake Huron, along Georgian Bay 
and chanted 'Essex-Sandwich; Kent- 
Chatham; Norfolk-Simcoe," all to- 
gether on review day. It was in that 
third-book year you learned Pelee 
Island's name, and the chances are that 
you have not heard it since unless you 
live along the shores of Lake Erie. 
Whatever may have been your ignor- 
ance in the past there will be no excuse 
for it in the future for little Pelee is 
coming into her own after years of 
comparative obscurity. Indeed, my 
own ignorance, barring those geog- 
raphy lessons more years ago than is 
good to think about, lasted up to a 
recent summer's vacation. 

Look on your map of Ontario, and 
in Lake Erie you will find it — a little 
plot of land eight or nine miles from 
north to south and about three or 
four wide. It is fifteen miles from the 
Canadian mainland, twenty-five from 


By Florence Lediard 

Illustrated from Photographs 

the Ohio shore and five hours' most 
pleasant sail from Windsor and De- 

It labors under an unceremonious 
nickname. The French half-breed 
voyageurs and trappers, paddling their 
laden canoes in the early days the 
length of the Great Lakes to Montreal, 
called it Point au Pelee Island, a more 
dignified and musical name but a sad 
misnomer, for "Pelee" means "barren," 
and if there is one thing Pelee isn't, it 
is that. The error arose from giving the 
same name to the island that they had 
already given to the ragged, sandy 
point straggling out from the Canadian 
mainland where they often camped at 
night. Barren it surely was and is and 
may ever be. 

Up to 1788, the Indians — Chippcwas 
and Ottawas mostly — had undisturbed 
possession of the island, but in that 
year, as learned from a record still 
extant, it became the property of one 
Thomas McKee, a gift from the chiefs 
of the LakeiErie tribes. That the gift 
might be binding, it was put in the 
form of a lease, conveying the island — 
some 11,000 acres— to McKee for 999 
years, the annual rent to be "three 
bushels of Indian com, or the value 
thereof, on demand." 

There are no real estate transactions 
like that in these degenerate days. 

McKee lived till 1815 but it is not 
known that he made any use of his 
bountiful gift. His son did not regard 
it as a very desirable heritage and sold 

it to William McCormick in 1832 for 
five hundred dollars. This McCor- 
mick's father had been adopted into 
an Indian tribe, and found his mate in 
an American girl whom he rescued from 
another tribe of Indians who-had kid- 
napped her — a thrilling story but too 
long for this space, as is also the story 
of the buying by William McCormick 
from the Indians of a young white 
couple (great grand-parents of Mr. 
Gordon Levi of Pelee Island), whom 
they had stolen. 

Mr. McCormick's home had been in 
Essex county, but it was already fairly 
well settled, and the gentleman had 
eleven children to provide for. The 
whole of Pelee for five hundred dollars 
solved his problem nicely. 

Still, 11,000 acres for eleven children, 
though simple mental arithmetic, did 
not mean a thousand acres each of 
cultivated land, for there was about 
five thousand acres of it apparently 
permanently under water. Almost the 
whole centre of the island was marsh, 
as low as or lower than the lake level, 
covered with a rank tangle of wild rice, 
rushes, marsh grasses and wild vines. 
There were about 2,000 acres of timber- 
land which was also apt to be under 
water in rainy seasons and the rest was 
upland, some small extent of which was 
in the interior, and the rest composed 
a sandy or rocky rim all round the 
island, which kept the lake water out 
and the marsh water in. 

The best idea you can get of the 
island is to compare it to a big soup- 
plate with a wide rim, which rim is 
ornamented with beautiful trees, lux- 

uriant vines, and, in these days, with 
cosy homes and prosperous red barns 
set on the white sands. In the bowl of 
that plate is all delectableness, mostly 
liquid in those old days, — say oyster 
soup with an oyster here and there to 
represent a hump of solid land with its 
head out of water. For instance, there 
was a piece of upland of 600 acres, set 
in a 4,000-acre marsh, so isolated by 
its moist surroundings that it was, and 
is yet, called Middle Island, and in its 
very heart was another marsh of several 
hundred acres. Pretty lonesome, that, 
even for oyster soup ! 

Family strife and an imperfect title 
kept the eleven from making good use 
of their land, and prevented settlers 
from coming to the island to make 
homes. It was not till 1867 that the 
difficulties were settled, but Pelee 
Island's development was retarded 
thirty years and is just beginning now 
to recover from the setback. 

As soon as patents could be obtained, 
some settlers came, who discovered 
that the best varieties of grapes would 
grow on the sand and limestone. Here 
the Catawba grape comes to perfec- 
tion, the only place in Canada where it 
will ripen perfectly. On the uplands 
was much good timber, oak, hickory, 
€lm, basswood, maple, ash, and a few 
groves of real red cedar. Small game 
was plentiful, and fish also. So, for 
many years the population consisted 
of trappers, fishermen, lumbermen, 
grape growers, with conventional 
farmers scattered here and there. 

In 1878 a man named Brown — an 
ordinary name but not an ordinary 
man — came over and bought Middle 
Island with that soft spot in its heart. 
There had been several dry seasons and 
the marsh was high and dry in places. 

Mr. Brown sowed some seed there- 
on and it flourished that year, but the 
next spring he came back to find his 
cultivated land two feet under water. 
He was naturally annoyed but not dis- 
couraged and determined to put that 
marsh out of its destructive business; 
to reform that swamp and convert it 
by compulsion, if necessary, to a useful 

He interested Dr. Scudder, of Cin- 
cinnati, in his project, choosing a 
worthy colleague, for the doctor had 
made a study of the canal system of 
Holland. The two bought the big 
marsh surrounding Middle Island and 
set to work to drain the whole section. 
The wet spots were subjected to a 
process of agricultural surgery that 
drained off the stagnant fluid by 
canals to a centre and from there lifted 
it by steam pumps into the lake. 

This achievement is really Pelee 
Island's biggest event, and history 
dates back and forward from that 
victory over nature. 

A few yeara later the township took 


over the canal system, redredged the 
ditches then in use and extended the . 
drainage throughout the whole island 
where there was any marsh. Now there 
is practically no more swamp, over- 
grown with grass and vines, but in its 
place, black soil from one to two feet 
deep resting on a fine, clay sub-soil and 
that again laid on a sure foundation 
of solid limestone. The soil excavated 
in making the ditches has been levelled 
slightly and provides good dyke roads 
along all the canals. 

Little Holland it is sometimes called, 
but there is too much of tropical lux- 
uriance along those dykes to recall 
tidy Holland. In autumn there is a 
blaze of wild aster and golden-rod 
bordering every road, and jewel-weed 
almost to your shoulders, and back of 
that young ash and flaming sumach and 
elderberry bushes, and wild grape or 
Virginia creeper or convolulus twining 
wherever there is a bit of space. 

Where wild things attain such 
growth, the cultivated should show 
proportionate abundance of __ growth 
and they do here. 

•. Grape-growing, as the first real 
attempt at specialized agriculture on 
the island, should have first mention. 
A few years ago almost every one had 


their grape stakes into kindling wood" 
Still, there are plenty of grapes left for 
home consumption and some baskets 
are shipped but not many. 

Peaches do excellently but the 
dreaded San Jose scale has ravaged 
here, and many orchards have had to 
be destroyed. 

A unique fruit crop is raised by Mr. 
Colin Quick, who has a thimble-berry 
patch that is bringing him sp'endid 
returns. Perhaps you know the kind, 
— big, black, shiny mouthfuls of sweet- 
ness and delicious flavor — you pay 
anywhere from eighteen to thirty cents 
a box for them in Toronto and Winni- 
peg. Envy me, I've eaten them off the 
vines on a fine Sunday morning, dis- 
carding any berry that wasn't at least 
an inch long and correspondingly cor- 
pulent. Mr. Quick's patch, an acre 
and a half in extent, gave him $400 
profit last year, three years after it 
was set out, and fair returns for young 
bushes the year before. He says that a 
man with four acres of drought-proof 
marsh and can make a good living by 
growing black thimble-berries. 

Onions make a good crop on small 
acreage. Here they have run from 
400 to 700 bushels to the acre, and the 
onion market is usually pretty sure, for 


^^Hi^'^ '"''^'^^'''^X^^^^HI 

^K ^m 


more or less vineyard and tons of 
grapes were grown and sent to the 
wine-cellars. All the varieties that 
will grow anywhere in Canada have 
been grown here, and, as said before, 
the luscious Catawba finds here its 
only congenial Canadian home. But, 
for some reason, the price of grapes in 
bulk, fell and fell and kept on falling, 
till it was below a cent a poun<i, and 
Pelee Islanders d;'cided that their 
splendid soil coulfl ho used for some 
more productive < roj), so they turned 
their vine lands into com fields and 

people will have onions even if the 
orthodox beefsteak has soared too high 
to accompany them to the table. 

Corn is one of the chief crops. 
Growing from ten to seventeen feet 
higli, the massed stalks look like a 
young forest, and the fruitage is corres- 
pondingly large. A hundred bushels 
to the acre is not at all uncommon, and 
there is a record of 150 bushels tiiat 
hasn't been touched yet off the island. 

But the big money-making crop, the 
crop that buys new pianos and builds 
new bams and sends the children 


away to school, is tobacco. Whether 
one approve3 entirely of my Lady 
Nicotine or not, these are some of the 
results of her as exhibited on Pelee. 
It is hard woric growing tobacco, and 
steady from early, early spring till 
well on in October, and even then an 
ill-ventilated or poorly protected to- 
bacco barn may bring the year's hard 
work to nothing. Five acres of the 
plant is calculated to take all of one 


man's time and he doesn't idle much 
either. The reward is fair, though, the 
crop running from 1,500 to 2,000 
pounds to the acre and the trust keeps 
the price up sufficiently — twelve to 
eighteen cents a pound — to encourage 
people to plant it every year. Mr. John 
Lucas is said to have made the record 
of a ton to the acre on ten or twelve 
acres for the last three years. 

Loyalty is a fine crop on Pelee 

Island, too. The majority of the 
people love the place as if it were 
human. There are very few grouchers, 
and they do not take kindly to hearing 
complaints from other people. A recent 
newcomer made.some remarks about his 
new home that were much resented, a 
slip of a girl voicing the sentiments of 
the whole population when she said, 
"Why, you might as well kill one of U5 
as say mean things about Pelee Island. 

The Gifts That Failed 

By George Ade 

full of the bitterness of Christ- 
mas-tide. Mr. Payson was 
the kind of man who loved to 
tell invalids that they were not looking 
as well as usual, and who frightened 
young husbands by predicting that 
they would regiet having married. He 
seldom put the seal of approval on any 
human undertaking. It was a matter 
of pride with him that he never failed 
to find the sinister motive for the act 
which other people applauded. Some 
of his pious friends used to say that 
Satan had got the upper hand with 
him, but there were others who indicat- 
ed that it might be bib. 

Think of the seething wrath and the 
sense of humilation with which Mr. 
Sidney Payson set about his Christmas 
shopping ! In the first place, to go 
shopping for Christmas presents was 
the most conventional thing that any- 
one could do, and Mr. Payson hated 
conventionalities. For another thing, 
the giving of Chri~,tmas presents carried 
with it some testimony of afTection, 
and Mr. Payson regarded any display 
of afTjction as one of the crude symp- 
toms of barbarous taste. 

If_ he could have assembled his 
relatives at a Christmas gathering and 
opened a few old family wounds, 
reminding his brother and his two 
sisters of some of their youthful follies, 
thus shaming them before the children, 
Mr. Sidney Payson might have man- 
aged to make out a rather merry 
Christmas. Instead of that, he was 
condemned to go out and purchase 
gifts and be as cheaply idiotic as the 
other wretched mortals with whom he 
was being carried along. No wonder 
that he chafed and rebelled and vainly 
wished that he could hang crape on 

Illustrated by Frederic M. Grant 

every Christmas tree in the universe. 

Mr. Sidney Payson hated his task 
and he was puzzled by it. Afte. wan- 
dering thiough two stores and looking 
in at twenty windows he had been 
unable to make one selection. It 
seemed to him that all the articles 
offered for sale were singularly and 
uniformly inappropriate. The cus- 
tom of giving was a farce in itself, and 
the storekeepers had done what they 
could to make it a sickening travesty. 
Everybody was out on the street, busy 
and merry with their Christmas buy- 
ing, and Mr. Sidney Payson glared re- 
sentfully at them. 

"I'll go ahead and buy a lot of things 
at haphazard," he said to himself. "I 
dcn't caie a hang whether they are 
appropriate or not." 

At that moment he had an inspira- 
tion. It was an inspiiation which 
could have come to no one except Mr. 
Sidney Payson. It promised a speedy 
end to shopping hardships. It guaran- 
teed him a Christmas to his own 

He was bound by family custom to 
buy Christmas presents for his rela- 
tives. He had promised his sister that 
he would remembei every one in the 
list. But he was under no obligation 
to give presents which would be wel- 
come. Why not give to each of his 
relative, some present which would be 
entirely useless, inappropriate and 
superfluous ? It would serve them 
right for involving him in the childish 
performances of the Christmas season. 
It would be a burlesque on the whole 
nonsensicality of Christmas giving. It 
would iiritate and puzzle his relatives 
and probably deepen their hatred of 
him. At any rat,, it would be a satire 
on a silly tradition, and thank good- 

ness, it wouldn't be conventional. 

Mr. Sidney Payson went into the 
first department store and found him- 
self at the book counter. 

"Have you any work which would be 
suitable for an elderly gentleman of 
studious habits and deep religious con- 
victions ?" he asked. 

"We have here the works of Flavins 
Josephus in two volumes," replied the 
young woman. 

"All right, I'll take them," he said, 
"I want them for my nephew Fred. He 
likes Indian stories." 

The salesgirl looked at him wonder- 


"Now, then, I want a love story, 
said Mr. Payson. "I have a maiden 
sister who is president of a Ruskin 
club and writes essays about Bud- 
dhism. I want to give her a book 
that tells about a girl named Mabel 
who is loved by Sir Hector Something- 
or-Other. Give me a book that is full 
of hugs and kisses and heaving bosoms 
and all that sort of rot. Get just as 
far away from Ibsen and Howells and 
Henry James as you can possibly get." 

"Here h a book that all the girls in 
the store say is very good," replied 
the young woman. "It is called 'Vir- 
gie's Betrothal; or The Stranger at 
Birchwood Manor.' It's by Imogene 
Sybil Beauclerc." 

"If it's what it sounds to be, it's just 
what I want," said Payson, showing 
his teeth at the young woman with a 
devilish glee. "You say the girls here 
in the store like it ?" 

"Yes; Miss Simmons, in the hand- 
kerchief-box department, says it's just 

"Ha ! All right, I'll take it." 

He felt his happiness rising as he 
went through the store. The joy shone 

in his face as he stood at the skate 

"I have a brother who is forty-six 
years old and rather fat," he said to 
the salesman. "I don't suppose he's 
been on the ice in twenty-five years. 
He wears a No. 9 shoe. Give me a 
pair of skates for him." 

A few minutes later he stood at the 
silk counter. 

"What are those things ?" he asked, 
po'nting to some gaily colored silks 
folded in boxes. 

"Those are scarfs." 

"Well, if you've got one that has all 
the colors of the 
rainbow in it, I'll 
take it. I want 
one with lots of 
yellow and red and 
green in it. I want 
something that you 
can hear across the 
street. You see, I 
have a sister who 
prides hersalf on 
her quiet taste. 
Her costumes are 
marked by what 
you call 'unobtru- 
si\e elegance.' I 
think she'd rather 
die than wear one 
of those things, so 
I want the biggest 
and noisiest one in 
the whole lot." 

The girl didn't 
know what to make 
of Mr. Payson's 
strange remarks, 
but she was too 
busy to be kept 

Mr. Payson's 
sister's husband is 
the president of a 
church temperance 
society, so Mr. 
Payson.bough t h im 
a buckhorn cork- 

There was one 
more present to 

"Let me see," 
said Mr. Payson. 
"What is there that could be of no 
earthly use to a girl of six years old ?" 

Even as he spoke his eye fell on a 
sign: "Bargain sale of neckwear." 

"I don't believe she would care for 
cravats," he said. "I guess I'll buy 
some for her." 

He saw a box of cravats marked 
"twenty-five cents each." 

"Why are those so cheap ?" he asked. 

"Well, to tell the truth, they're out 
of style." 

"That's good. I want eight of them 
— oh, any eight will do. I want them 


for a small niece of mine — a little girl 
about six years old." 

Without indicating the least sur- 
prise, the salesman wrapped up the 

Time passed. Mr. Sidney Payson 
received the customary acknowledg- 
ments. Let us look over his shoulder. 

"Dear Brother: Pardon me for not having 
acknowledged the receipt of your Christmas 
present. The fact is that since the skates 
came I have been devoting so much of my 
time to the re-acquiring of one of my early 
accomplishments that I have not had much 
time for writing. I wish I could express to 


fun. My ankles were rather weak and I fell 
down twice, but without hurting myself, 
managed to go through the motions, and before 
I left I skated with a peach of a pretty girl. 
Sid, I have you to thank. I never would have 
ventured on skates again if it had not been for 
you. I was a little stiff yesterday, but this 
morning I went out again and had a dandy 
time. I owe this renewal of my youth to you. 
Thank you many times, and believe me to be, 
as ever, your affectionate brother, 



you the delight I felt when I opened the box 
and saw that you had sent me a pair of skates. 
It was just as if you had said to mo: 'Will, 
my boy, some people may think you are get- 
ting on in years, but I know that you're not.' 
I suddenly remembered that the presents which 
I have been receiving for several Christmases 
were intended for an old man. I have received 
easy-chairs, slippers, mufflers, smoking-jackets, 
and the like. When 1 received the pair of 
skates from you I felt that twenty years had 
been lifted from my shoulders. How in the 
world (lid you ever happen to think of them ? 
Did you really believe that my skating days 
were not over ? Well, they're not. 1 went to 
the pond in the park on Christmas day and 
worked at it for two hours and I had a lot of 

"Dear Brother: The secret is out. I 
suspected it all the time. It is needless for 
you. to offer denial. Sometimes when you 
have acted the cynic I have almost believed 
that you were sincere, but each time I have 
been relieved to oij- 
serve something in you 
which told me that 
underneath your as- 
sumed indifference 
there was a genial 
current of the roman- 
tic sentiment of the 
youth and the lover. 
How can I be in doubt 
after receiving a little 
book — a love story ? 
"I knew, Sidney 
dear, that you would 
remember me at 
Christmas. You have 
always been the soul 
of thoughtfulness, es- 
pecially to those of 
us who understood 
you. \ must, how- 
ever, confess that I 
expected you to do the 
deadly conventional 
thing and send me 
something heavy and 
serious. I knew it 
would be a book. All 
of my friends send nie 
books. That's what 
comes of being pre- 
sident of a literary 
club. But you are 
the only one, Sidney, 
who had the rare and 
kindly judgment to 
apjieal to tfie woman 
and not to the club 
president. Because I 
am interested in a 
serious literary move- 
ment it need not fol- 
low that 1 want my 
whole life to be over- 
shadowed by the 
giants of the kingdom 
of letters. Although 
I would not dare con- 
fess it to Mrs. Pea- 
body or Mrs. Hutch- 
ens, there are times 
when I like to spend 
an afternoon with 
an old-fashioned love story. Vou are a 
bachelor, Sidney, and as for me, I have 
long since ceased to blush at the casual 
mention of 'old maid.' It was not for us to 
know the bitter-sweet experiences of courtship 
and marriage, and you will remember that we 
have sometimes pitied the headlong infatuation 
of sweethearts, and have felt ratncr superior 
in our freedom. And yet, Sidney, if we chose 
to be perfectly candid with each other, I dare 
say that both of us would confess to having 
known something about that which men call 
love. We might confess that we had felt its 
subtle influence, at times and places, and with 
a stirring uneasiness, as one detects a draught. 
We might go so far as to admit that sometimes 
we pause in our lonely lives and wonder what 
Continued on iwge 137. 


iJy Lxobort^ArnQs iXemu, 

Author of 

,?brthG White 
^hich On9?'Qic 


Percy Edward ^Anderson, 


Three people, Genevieve Leslie, a society girl; Cecil Winthrope, an Englishman in the diplomatic service ; and Tom Blake, a Canadian civil 
engineer, are wrecked on the most desolate and wildest stretch of the Mozambique coast. Blake's admiration for Miss Leslie has been 
squelched by Winthrope on board the steamer, but shortly after the storm subsides, Blake proves himself the strongest and most resourceful 
of the three, and assumes command of the party. A headland shows some ten miles to the south, with promise of water and safety from the 
malarial swamps. This the party heads for, and in the journey Winthrope sprains his ankle, which forces Blake to carry him. Almost spent 
with thirst, they reach a river, and Blake, pushing ahead, finds that it is salt with the sea-water of high tide. Meantime, Winthrope discovers 
an uprooted cocoa-palm, and the nuts serve as both food and drink. They spend the night in a baobab tree, hearing wild beasts about them, 
but safe from their attacks. Next morning, Blake starts out to find a way to cross the river and so reach the headland. On reaching it the 

._ pick _^ _ __ - = r - . - . - ' . 

which solves their fire and food problem. They burn out the leopards, eat roast kitten and start to create a dwelling place in the den. Miss 
Leslie determines to show she can help, and takes hold of the work bravely. Then she overhears a conversation between Blake and Win- 
thrope in which Blake states angrily, "I'd like to know where in hell you come in ? She's not your mother, nor your sister, nor your aunt, and 
if she's your sweetheart, you've both been dammed close-mouthed over it." Terror-stricken, she hastens back to camp. She tells Winthrope 
of her fear, and he urges her to marry him, but she refuses. Then Winthrope comes down with the fever, and Blake is poisoned by eating fish. 
While he is gone, the jackals attack the camp, but the girl manages to beat them off, and when Blake returns in the morning, he shows 
open admiration of her bravery. When Winthrope recovers from his attack of fever, the three make a trip back to the cocoanut grove. Miss 
Leslie goes to pick an amaryllis, and finds a huge poison adder. Blake kills it, but not before it has apparently struck Miss Leslie on the knee. 
Unceremoniously he flings back her skirt and puts his lips to a small red wound to suck out the poison, only to receive a furious repulse from 
the girl who says it is only a thorn wound. Winthrope takes her away, in hysterics, and Blake, after extracting the snake's venom to poison 
arrows, picks the amaryllis as a p^ace offering for Miss Leslie. By this time both men are in love with her, Blake silently, Winthrope con- 
stantly urging his suit. Blake begs forgiveness for his blunder about the snake and is forgiven. Then he makes her a strong bamboo door 
for her cave, neavy, armed with sharpened stakes, and yet set so ingeniously on a hinge that a child can swing it. Winthrope, in Blake's 
absence, hints to Miss Leslie that Blake is afflicted with paranoia, and has made this door to protect her from himself in his irresponsible 
moments. A tropical storm of terrible fury bursts over the camp while the men are away. Cowering in her cave for shelter, Miss Leslie sees 
by a lightning flash that Winthrope is stealthily crawling in upon her, his face like that of a beast. The sharp bamboo door, caught by a gust, 
whirls on its axis, and strikes him down. She manages to bolt the door, and faints. In the morning Blake staggers in, calling her name. 
When he learns of Winthrope's attempt he is furious, but she restrains him, and they find that Winthrope has been struck by the door, and 
is already dying. He confesses in his last moments that he is only a valet masquerading as a gentleman, with a lot of stolen emeralds sewn 
up in a stomach-pad. Left alone they put Winthrope's body up on the headland, hide the emeralds and clear up the debris of the storm. Not 
until Miss Leslie is again alone does she realise that under the stress of the day she has called Blake "Tom." They set off exploring south- 
ward beyond the headland, in the hope of finding a town, but on surmounting the height, see nothing but a vast stretch of swampy marsh. 
Miss Leslie breaks down and cries with disappointment. 

CHAPTER XXIII.— Continued. 

"Well, I don't know. If it wasn't 
for the fever that's bound to come 
with the rains, I, for one, would just 
as leave stick to this camp right along, 
providing the company don't change." 

She turned upon him flashing eyes, 
all thought of caution lost in her anger. 
"How dare you say such a thing ? 
You are contemptible ! I despise 
you !" 

"My, Miss Jenny, but you are pretty 
when you get mad !" he exclaimed. 

The answer took her completely 
aback. He was neither angry nor 
laughing at her, but met her defiant 
glance with candid, sober admiration. 


There was something more than 
admiration in his glowing eyes; yet 
she could not but see that her alarm 
had been baseless. His manner had 
never been ftiore respectful. Suddenly 
she found that she could no longer 
meet his gaze. She looked away 
and stammered lamely, "You — you 
shouldn't say such things, you know." 
"Why not ? Hasn't everything 
been running smooth the last few days ? 
Haven't we been good chummy com- 
rades ? Of course you've got the 
worst of the deal. I know I'm not 
much on fancy talk; but I like to hear 
it when I've a chance. I've led a 
lonesome sort of life since they did 

for my sisters — No; I'm not going 
to rake that up again. I'm only try- 
ing to give you an idea what it means 
to a fellow to be with a lady like you. 
Maybe it isn't polite to tell you all 
this, but it's just what I feel, and I 
never did amount to shucks as a liar." 

' ■ I believe I understand you, Mr. 
Blake, and I really feel highly com- 

"No, you don't, any such thing. 
Miss Jenny. Own up, now ! If I 
met you to-morrow on your papa's 
doorstep, you'd cut me cold." 

"I should if you continued to be so 
rude. Have you no regard for my 
feelings ? But here we are, talking 



nonsense, when we should be going — " 



he broke in. 

"What does life mean, anyway ? Here 
we can be true friends and comrades, — 
real, free living people. It can't be 
that you want to go back to all those 
society shams, after you've seen real 
life ! As for me, what have I to gain 
by going back to the everlasting grind ? 
I don't mind work; but when a man 
has nothing ahead to work for but a 
bank account, when it's grind, grind, 
grind till your head goes stale and all 
the world looks black, then there's 
no choice but throw up your job and 
go on a drunk, if you want to keep from 
a gun accident. Maybe you don't 
understand it. But that's what I've 
had to go through, time and again. 
Do you wonder I like to fancy an 
everlasting picnic here, with a little 
partner who wouldn't let me come 
within shouting distance of her in the 
land of lavender trousers and peek-a- 
boos ?" 

"Mr. Blake, really you are most 
unjust ! I could not be so — so ungrate- 
ful, after all your kindness. I — we 
should certainly be glad to number you 
among our friends." 
''Drink and all. eh ?" 
"A man of your will-power has no 
need whatever to give way to such a 

"Course not, if he's got anything in 
sight worth while. Guess, though, my 
folks must have been poor white trash. 
I never could go after money just for 
the fun of the game. No family, no 
friends, no — what-you-call-it ? — cul- 
ture — What's the use ? I have a 
fair head for figures; but all the 
mathematics that I know I've had to 
catch hot off the bat. It's true I 
grubbed my C. E. out of a correspond- 
ence school; but a fellow has to have 
an all-round, crack-up education to 
put him where it's worth while." 

"You still have time to work up. 
You are not much over thirty." 

"Twenty-seven ! I should have 
thought — What a hard life you must 
have had !" 

"Hard work ? Well, I suppose 
Panama did do for me some. But il 
wasn't so much that. Few fellows 
could hit up the pace I've set and come 
out at all." 

"I do not understand." 
"Just what you might expect of a 
fellow in my fix — all kinds of gamble 
and drink and — ^he rest of it." 

Miss Leslie looked away, visibly 
distresscxl. She had not been reared 
after the French method. Young as 
she was, she had fluttered at will about 
the borders of the garden of vice, 
knowing well that the gaudy blossoms 
were lures to entice one into the pit- 
fall. Yet never before had she caught 
60 clear a glimpse of the slimy depths. 

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"That's it 1" growled Blake. "Throw 
me down cold, just because I'm square 
enough to tell you straight out. You 
make me tired ! I'm not one of the 
work-ox sort, that can chew the cud 
all the year round, and cork the blood 
out of their brains. I've got to cut 
loose from the infernal grind once in a 
while, and barring a chance now and 
then at opera, there's never been any- 
thing but a spree — " 

"Oh, but that's so dreadfully shock- 
ing, Mr. Blake !" 

"And then like all the other little 
hypocrites, you'll go and marry one 
of those swell dudes who's made that 
sort of thing his business, and every- 
body knows it, but it's all politely 
understood to 've been done sub rosa, 
so it's all right, because he knows how 
to part his name in the middle and — " 

"Please, please stop, Mr. Blake ! 
You don't know how cruel you are !" 

"Cruel ? Suppose I told you alxjut 
the millionaire cur that — Oh, now, 
don't go and cry ! Please don't cry, 



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Miss Jenny ! I wouldn't hurt your 
feelings for the world ! I didn't mean 
anything out of the way, really I 
didn't ! It's only that when I get to 
thinking of — of things, it sets me half 
crazy. And now, can't you see how 
it's going to be ten times worse for me 
after — with you so altogether beyond 
me — " He stopped short, flushed, and 
stammered lamely, "I — I didn't mean 
to say that !" 

She looked dowTi, no less embar- 

"Please let us talk of something 
else," she murmured. "It has been 
such a pleasant morning, until you — 
until we began this silly discussion." 

"All right, all right ! Only mop up 
the dew-drops, and we'll turn on the 
sun machine. I really didn't mean to 
rip out that way at all. But, you see, 
the thing's been rankling in me ever 
since we came aboard ship at the Cape, 
and VVinthrope and Lady Bayrose had 
my seat changed so I couldn't see you 
— Not that I hold anything against 
them now — " 

"Mr. Blake, I suppose you know 
that this African coast is particularly 
dangerous for women. So far I have 
escaped the fever. But you yourself 
said that the longer the attack is 
delayed, the worse it will be." 

Blake's face darkened, and he turned 
to stare inland along the ridge. She 
had flicked him on the raw, and he 
thought that she had done so inten- 

"You think I haven't tried — that 
I've been shamming !" he burst out 
bitterly. "You're right. There's the 
one chance — But I couldn't leave 
you till the barricade was finished, and 
it's been only a few days since — All 
the same, I oughtn't to 've waited a 
day. I'll start it to-morrow." 

"W hat ? Start what ?" 

"A catamaran. I can rig one up, in 
short order, that, with a skin sail and 
an outrigger, will do fairly well to 
coast along inside the reefs — barring 
squalls. Worst thing is that it's all a 
guess whether the nearest settlement 
is up the coast or down." 

"And you can think of going, and 
leaving me all alone here !" 

"That's better than letting you risk 
two-to-one chances on feeding the 

"But you'd be risking it !" 

Blake uttered a short harsh laugh. 

"What's the difference?" He 
paused a moment; then added, with 
grim humor, "Any way, they'll have 
earned a meal by the time they get me 
chewed up." 

"You sha'n't go !" 

"Oh, I don't know. "We'll see 
about it to-morrow. There's a grove 
of cocoanuts yonder. Come on, and 
I'll get some nuts. I can't sec 
any water around here, and it would 

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It is well to get your doctor's advice, however, and if 
he is a wise counsellor he will tell you that the prac- 
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chapti:r XXIV. 


The palm grove stood under the lee 
of the ridge, on a stretch of bare ground . 
Other than seaward, the open space 
was hemmed in by grass jungle, inter- 
spersed with clumps of thorn-brush. 
On the north side a jutting corner of 
the tall, yellow spear-grass curved out 
and around, with the point of the hook 
some fifty yards from the palms. 

Elsewhere the distance to the jungle 
was nearly twice as far. 

Blake dropped the bag and his 
weapons, flung down his hat, and 
started up a palm shaft. The down- 
pointing bristles of his skin trousers 
aided his grip. Though the lofty 
crown of the palm was swaying in the 
wind, he reached the top and was down 
again Ix^fore Miss Leslie had arranged 
the contents of the lunch bag. 

"Guess you're not extra hungry," 
he remarked. 



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She made no response. 

Mad, eh? Well, toss me the littli: 
knife. Mine has got too good a meat- 
edge to spoil on these husks." 

"It was very kind of you to climb 
for the nuts, and the wind blowing so 
hard up there," she said, as she handed 
over the penknife. "I am not angry. 
It is only that I feel tired and depressed. 
I hope I am not going to be — " 

"No; you're not going to have the 
fever, or any such thing ! You'ru 
played out, that's all. I'm a fool for 
bringing you so far. You'll be all 
right after you eat and rest. Here; 
drink this cocoa milk." 

She drained the nut, and upon his 
insistence, made a pretence at eating. 
He was deceived until, with the 
satisfying of his first keen hunger, he 
again became observant. 

"Say, that won't do !" he exclaimed. 
"Look at your bowl. You haven't 
nibbled enough to keep a mouse alive." 

"Really, I am not hungry. But I 
am resting." 

"Try another nut. I'll have one 
ready in two shakes." 

He caught his hat, which was drag- 
ging past in a downward eddy of the 
wind, and weighted it with a cocoanut. 
He wedged another nut between his 
knees, and bent over it, tearing at the 
husk. It took him only a few moments 
to strip the fibre from the end and 
gouge open the germ hole. He held 
out the nut, and glanced up to meet 
her smile of acceptance. 

She was staring past him, her eyes 
wide with terror, and the color fast 
receding from her face. 

"What in — Another snake ?" he 
demanded, twisting warily about to 
glare at the ground behind him. 

"There — over in the grass!" she 
whispered. "It looked out at me with 
terrible, savage eyes !" 

I'Snake ?— that far off ?" 

"No, no ! — a monster — a huge, 
fierce beast !" 

"Beast ?" echoed Blake, grasping 
his bow and arrows. "Where is he ? 
Maybe only one of these African 
buffaloes. How'd he look ? — horns ?" 

"I — I didn't see any. It was all 
shaggy, and yellow like the grass, and 
terrible eyes — Oh !" 

The girl's scream was met by a 
ferocious, snarling roar, so deep and 
prolonged that the air quivered and 
the very ground seemed to shake. • 

"God ! — a lion !" cried Blake, the 
hair on his bare head bristling like a 
startled animal's. 

He turned squarely about toward the 
ridge, his bow half drawn. Had the 
lion shown himself then, Blake would 
have shot on the instant. As it was, 
the beast remained behind the screen- 
ing border of grass, where he could 
watch his intended quarry without 
being seen in turn. The delay gave 

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Blake time for reflection. He spoke 
sharply, as it were biting ofl his words: 
"Hit out. I'll stop the bluffer." 
"I can't. Oh, I'm afraid !" 
Again the hidden beast gave voice 
to his mighty rumbling challenge. 
Still he did not appear, and Blake 
attempted a derisive jeer: "Hey, 
there, louder ! We've not run yet ! 
It's all right, little woman. The 
skulking sneak is trying to bluff us. 
'Fraid to come out if we don'tstampede. 
He'll make off when he finds we don't 



scare. Lions never tackle men in the 
daytime. Just keep cool a while. 

"Look ! — there to the right ! — I saw 
him again ! He's creeping around ! 
See the grass move !" 

"That's only the wind. It eddies 
down — God ! he is stalking around. 
Trying to take us from behind — curse 
him ! He may get me, but I'll get 
him too, — the dirty sneak !" 

The blood had flowed back into 
Blake's face, and showed on each cheek 
in a little red patch. His broad chest 
rose and fell slowly to deep respirations; 
his eyes glowed like halls of white-hot 
steel. He drew his bow a little tauter, 
and wheeled slowly to keep the arrow 
pointed at the slight wave in the grass 
which marked the stealthy movements 
of the lion. Miss Leslie, more terrified 
with every added moment of suspense, 
cringed around, that she might keep 
him between her and the hidden 

Minute after minute dragged by. 
Only a man of Blake's obstinate, sullen 
temperament could have withstood 
the strain and kept cool. Even he 
found the impulse to leap up and run 
all but irresistible. Miss Leslie 
crouched behind him, no more able to 
run than a mouse with which a cat has 
been playing. 

Once they caught a glimpse of the 
sinuous, tawny form gliding among 
the leafless stems of a thorn clump. 
Blake took quick aim; but the out- 
lines of the beast were indistinct and 
the range long. He hesitated, and the 
opi)ortunity was lost. 

Vard by yard they watched the 
slight swaying of the grass tops which 
betrayed the cautious advance of the 
grim stalker. The beast did not roar 
again. Having failed to flush his 
game, he was seeking to catch them off 
their guard, or perhaps was warily 
taking stock of the strange creatures, 
whose like he had never seen. 

Now and then there was a pause, 
and the grass tops swayed only to the 
down-puffs of the heightening gale. 
At such moments the two grew rigid, 
watching and waiting in breathless 
suspense. They could see, as dis- 
tinctly as though there had been no 
screening grass, the baleful eyes of the 
huge cat and the shaggy forebody as 
the beast stood still and glared out at 

Then the sinuous wave would start 
on again around the grass torder, and 
Blake would draw in a deep breath 
and mutter a word of encouragement 
to the girl: "Ix)ok, now — the dirty 
sneak ! Trying to give us the creeps, 
is he ' I'll creeps him ! 'Fraid to 
show his (jretty mug !" 

Not until the lieast had circled half 
around the glade did his pur[x>se flash 
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savage hunters, the animal had marked 
outithe spur of jungle on the north side, 
where he could creep closer to his 
quarry before leaping from cover. 

"The damncfi sneak !" growled 
Blake. "You there, Jenny ?" 

She could not sjK'ak, but he heard 
her gasp. 

"Brace up, little woman ! Where's 
your grit ? You're out of this deal, 
anyway. He'll choke to death swal- 
lowing me— But say; couldn't you 
manage to shin up ;i palm, twenty feet 

or so, and hang on for a couple of 
minutes ?" 

"I — can't move — I am — " 

"Make a try 1 It'll give me a run 
for my money. I'll take the next 
elevator after you. That'll bring the 
l)luffer out on the hot-foot. I slip a 
surprise between his ribs, and we view 
the scenery while he's passing in his 
checks. Come; make a spurt ! He's 
around the turn, and getting nearer 
every step." 

Continuc<l i>n |..ii.c 113. 



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T~'HE reprieve of Charles Gibson, 
murderer, at the eleventh hour, 
reminds us again that capital punish- 
ment grows more and more repulsive 
to Canadians. The minister of justice 
declared that a careful reconsideration 
of all evidence had developed nothing 
to warrant a change of sentence. Then 
a petition with 60,000 signatures was 
rushed to Ottawa, and Hangman Ellis 
lost another opportunity to add to his 
list of skilful stranglings. The likeli- 
hood is that Mr. Ellis will not officiate 
very often again, and it may not be 
necessary to look for a successor when 
he retires. 


COON the man without an automo- 
bile will be the exceptional indivi- 
dual; already our per capita motorists 
lead all other countries. This fact 
lends interest to a book recently from 
the press entitled, "A Motor Tour 
Through Canada." The author, 
Thomas W. Wilby, tells of a trip from 
Halifax to Vancouver, in vivid and 
entertaining style. This was. the first 
journey of the sort ever attempted, 
and Mr. Wilby found himself fre- 
quently in the role of pathfinder. He 
escaped mishap of any kind, but had 
many thrilling experiences which hold 
the reader's attention, whether the 
latter owns a car himself or is in the 
diminishing class of those who "hope 


-some day. 



"TRUCKING for apples" is doubtless 
as much of a Christmas pastime 
in South Africa as it is in Canada. 
This year our little compatriots in Cape 
Town will play the old game with red- 
cheeked, juicy fruit from the Niagara 
Peninsula. A leading Cape Town 
merchant, who visited Ontario awhile 
ago, was so dazzled by one of the 
orchards of George H. Gooderham, 
M.P.P., that he purchased the entire 
yield. The first cargo of three thou- 

sand bushels has just arrived oversea. 
An interesting feature of the trans- 
action is the fact that Cape Town 
bought our luscious fruit at a price 
twenty per cent, better than the home 


T^HE Canadian West, where the prize 
wheat grows, sprouts progressive 
movements as well as champion grain. 
Winnipeg is taking the lead in voca- 
tional training for its youth. The 
industrial bureau's business lecture 
course is proving very successful in 
putting budding manhood on the 
track to fortune and, better still, con- 
tentment. "Efficiency" is the goal of 
teacher and pupil. When the latter 
gets to doing that for which he is best 
adapted, advancement is easy. 


"TALES of the new Peace River 
country are reminiscent of the 
stories of Manitoban wonders brought 
to the folks "down east" by the hardy 
adventurers of the '80's. A Vancouver- 
ite who recently returned from a trip 
to Grouard, the capital, tells of its 
growth in a few months from 500 to 
2,000. He relates that the soil of this 
far-off region of illimitable extent is as 
fertile as the best in Canada. Before 
the land was opened for homesteading, 
it was taken up by scores of squatters, 
three hundred miles beyond the end of 
steel. Thus do the boundaries of the 
Last West widen and grow with the 
passage of time and the persistence of 
the adventurous homeseeker. 

The last reports indicate a rush to 
Fort McMurray, far up on the Atha- 
basca, where the eager homeseekers are 
trekking with all their possessions to 
the new land, in the hope of fortune. 

Not even the grizzly bear and the 
daring trapper of the utmost wilder- 
nesses are safe from the encroachments 
of the plow and the reaper. Man in 
his search for food is the strongest 
animal of all. 



Unwilling Eve 

Continued from page 111. 

"I can't — Tom, — there is no need 
that both of us— You climb up — " 

He turned about as the meaning of 
her whisper dawned upon him. Her 
eyes were shining with the ecstasy of 
self-sacrifice. It was only the glance of 
an instant; then he was again facing 
the jungle. 

"God ! You think I'd do that !" 

She made no reply. There was a 
pause. Blake — crouched on one knee, 
tense and alert — waited until the 
sinister wave was advancing into the 
point of the incurved jungle. Then he 
spoke, in a low, even tone: "Feel if 
my glass is there." 

Her hand reached around and pres- 
sed against the fob pocket which he 
had sewn in the belt of his skin trousers. 

"Right. Now slip my club up under 
my elbow — big end. Lick on the 
nose'll stop a dog or a bull. It's a 

She thrust the club under his right 
elbow, and he gripped it against his 

At that moment the lion bounded 
from cover, with a roar like a clap of 
thunder. Blake sprang erect. The 
beast checked himself in the act of 
leaping, and crouched with his great 
paws outstretched, every hooked claw 
thrust out, ready to tear and mangle. 
In two or three bounds he could have 
leaped upon Blake and crushed him 
with a single stroke of his paw. As he 
rose to repeat his deafening roar, it 
seemed to Blake that he stood higher 
than a horse — that his mouth gaped 
wide as the end of a hogshead. And 
yet the beast stood hesitating, restrained 
by brute dread of the unknown. Never 
before had any animal that he had 
hunted reared up to meet his attack in 
this strange manner. 

"Lie Hat !" commanded Blake; "lie 
flat, and don't move ! I'm going to 
call his bluff. Keep still till the poison 
gets in its work. I'll keep him busy 
long as I can. When it's over, hit 
out for home along the beach. Keep 
inside the barricade, and watch all you 
can from tiie cliffs. Might light a fire 
up there nights. There's sure to be a 
steamer before long — ■" 

"Tom !" she cried, struggling to her 
knees,— "Tom !" 

But he did not pause or look around. 
He was beginning to circle slowly to the 
left across the open ground, in a spiral 
curve that would bring him to the 
edge of the jungle within thirty yards 
of the lion. There was red now show- 
ing in his eyes. His hair was bristling 
no longer with fear, but with sheer 
brute fury; his lips were drawn back 
from the clenched teeth; his nostrils 
distended and quivering; his forehead 
wrinkled like that of an angry mastiff. 

The cook of Spotless Town s away. You'll guess what makes the guests so gay. 
It cleans the pots and pans in haste. It cannot scatter, harm or waste. 
It cuts expenses, so you know 
It's sharp to use 


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{Silver txirapper 
— blue banJ) 



SArabiQ ! 


On request, we will mail a Spotless Town Cut-Out for 
children. It consists of the Spodcss Town background, 8^ 
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His look was more ferocious than that 
of the snarling beast he faced. All 
the primeval in him was roused. He 
was become a man of the Cave Age. 
He went to meet death, his mind and 
body aflame with fierce lust to kill. 

The lion stilled his roars, and 
crouched as if to spring, snarling and 
grinning with rage and uncertainty. 
His eyes, unaccustomed to the glare 
of the mid-day sun, Itlinked incessantly, 
though he followed the man's every 
movement, his snarls deepening into 

growls at the slightest change of 

In his blind animal rage, Blake had 
forgotten that the puri)ose of his lateral 
advance Wcis to place as great a dis- 
tance as possible between him and the 
girl before the clash. Yet instinct 
kept him moving along his spiral 
course, on the chance that he might 
catch his foe off his guard. 

Suddenly the lion half rose and 
stretched forward, sniffing. There was 
an uneasy whining note in his growls. 



jyWlH BI SC UIT. CWtfjI 


IrouowmG inoredi 


\pmtfHAn BixAiia 












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Blake let the club slip from beneath 
his arm, and drew his bow until the 
arrow-head lay upon his thumb. His 
outstretched arm was rigid as a bar of 
steel. So tense and alert were all his 
nerves that he knew he could drive 
home both arrows, and still have time 
to swing his club before the beast was 
upon him. 

A puff of wind struck against his 
back, and swept on to the nostrils of 
the lion, laden with the odor of man. 
The beast uttered a short, startled 
roar, and whirling about, leaped away 
into the jungle so quickly that Blake's 
arrow flashed past a full yard behind. 
The second arrow was on the string 
before the first had struck the ground. 
But the lion had vanished in the grass. 
With a yell, Blake dashed on across to 
the nearest point of the jungle. As 
he ran, he drew the burning-glass from 
his fob, and flipped it open, ready for 
use. If the lion had turned behind 
the sheltering grass stems, he was too 
cowardly to charge out again. Within 
a minute the jungle border was a wall 
of roaring flame. 

The grass, long since dead, and 
bone-dry with the days of tropical 
sunshine since the cyclone, flared up 
before the wind like gunpowder. Even 
against the wind the fire ate its way 
along the ground with fearful rapidity, 
trailing behind it an upwhirling vortex 
of smoke and flame. No living 
creature could have burst through 
that belt of fire. 

A wave of fierce heat sent Blake 
staggering back, scorched and blistered. 
There was no exultance in his bearing. 
For the moment all thought of the 
lion was swallowed up in awe of his 
own work. He stared at the hell of 
leaping, roaring flames from beneath 
his upraised arm. To the north sparks 
and lighted wisps of grass driven 
by the gale had already fired the jungle 
half way to the farther ridge. 

Step by step Blake drew back. His 
heel struck against something soft. 
He looked down, and saw Miss Leslie 
lying on the sand, white and still. 
She had fainted, overcome by fear or 
by the unendurable heat. The heat 
must have stupefied him as well._ He 
stared at her, dull-eyed, wondering if 
she was dead. His brain cleared. He 
sprang over to where the flask lay 
beside the remnants of the lunch. 

He was dashing the last drops of the 
tepid water in her face, when she 
moaned, and her eyelids began to 
flutter. He flung down the flask, and 
fell to chafing her wrist. 
"Tom !" she moaned. 
"Yes, Miss Jenny, I'm here. It's 
all right," he answered. 

"Have I had a sunstroke ? Is that 
why it seems so — I can hardly 
breathe — " 

"It's all right, I tell you. Only a 



little bonfire I touched off. Guess you 
must have fainted, but it'sall right now." 

"It was silly of me to faint. But 
when I saw that dreadful thing leap — " 
She faltered, and lay shuddering. 
Fearful that she was about to swoon 
again, Blake slapped her hand between 
his fialms with stinging force. 

"You're it !" he shouted. "The 
joke's on you ! Kitty jumped just 
the other way, and he won't come back 
in a hurry with that fire to head him 
off. Jump up now, and we'll do a jig 
on the strength of it." 

She attempted a smile, and a trace 
of color showed in her cheeks. With 
an idea that action would further her 
recovery, he drew her to a sitting 
position, stepped quickly behind, and, 
with his hands beneath her elbows, 
lifted her upright. But she was still 
too weak and giddy to stand alone. 
As he released his grip, she swayed and 
would have fallen had he not caught 
her arm. 

"Steady !" he admonished. "Brace 
up; you're all right." 

"I'm — I'm just a little dizzy," she 
■murmured, clinging to his shoulder. 
"It will pass in a minute. It's so silly, 
but I'm that way — Tom, I — I think 
you are the bravest man — •" 

"Yes, yes— but that's not the point. 
Leave go now, like a sensible girl. 
It's about time to hit the trail." 

He drew himself free, and without a 
glance at her blushing face, began to 
gather up their scattered outfit. His 
hat lay where he had weighted it down 
with the cocoanut. He tossed the nut 
into the skin bag, and jammed the hat 
on his head, pulling the brim far down 
over his eyes. When lie had fetched 
his club, he walked back past the girl, 
with his eyes averted. 

"Come on," he muttered. 

The scarlet in the girl's cheeks swept 
over her whole face in a burning wave, 
which ebbed slowly and left her color- 
less. Blake had started off without a 
backward glance. She gazed about 
with a Ix'wildercd look at the palms 
and the barren ridge and the fiery 
tidal wave of flame. Her gaze came 
jack to Blake, and she followed him. 

Within a short distance she found 
df out of the sheltering lee of^the 

Jge. The first wind-gust almost 
irerthrew her. She could never have 
^ ralked against such a gale; but with 
"the wind at her back she was buoyed 
up and borne along as though on wings. 
Her sole effort was to keep her foot- 
hold. Had it been their morning trip, 
she could have cried out with joy and 
skipped along before the gusts like 
a school-girl. Now she walked as 
solK'ily as the wind would [lermit, and 
took care not to lessen the distance 
between herself and Blake. 

Mile by mile they hastened back 
across the plain, — on their right the 

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blue sea of water, witli its white-cajis 
and^spray; on their left the yellow 
sea of fire, with its dun fog of smoke. 

Once only had Blake looked back 
to see if the girl was following. After 
that he swung along, with down-bent 
head, his gaze upon the ground. Even 
when he passed in under the grove and 
around the pool to the foot of the cleft, 
he began the ascent without waiting 
to assist her up the break in the path. 
The girl came after, her lips firm, her 
eyes bright and expectant. She drew 
herself up the ledge as though she 

had been bred to niuuntaiu iluiibiag. 

Inside the barricade Blake was 
waiting to close the opening. She 
crept through, and rose to catch him 
by the sleeve. 

"Tom, look at me," she said. "Once I 
was most unjust to you in my thoughts. 
I wronged you. Now I must tell you 
that I think you are the bravest — the 
noblest man — " 

"Get away !" he exclaimed, and he 
shook off her hand roughly. "Don't 
be a fool ! You don't know what 
you're talking about." 



The Centre of the Great 

Windsor Manufacturing 


Lies between Windsor pro- 
per and Sandwich. It is only a 
mile and a half from the Wind- 
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Post Office. It is in the centre 
of this great manufacturing 
belt which holds a record of 
increase at present at the rate 
of two industries a month. 

Sewers, Water and Gas 
Mains will be laid. Electric 
Power and Light will be ob- 
tainable, and all possi ble im- 
provements will soon be com- 

Windsor's Greatest Need is for 
homes. Thousands of men u ho 
work in Windsor have to cross the 
river to Detroit every day as there 
are'not homes enough to accommo- 
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The time to invest in real estate 
is at the commencement of a rise 
in the prices. Real estate values 
in this particular district are in- 
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realize the commercial development 
here, real estate activities will be 

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You cannot make a mistake invest- 
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Owned by 


1 Ouellette Avenue 


"But I do, Tom. I believe that you 

"I'm a blackguard — do you hear ?" 

"No blackguard is brave. The way 
you faced that terrible beast — " 

"Yes, blackguard — to've gone and 
shown to you that I — to've let you say 
a single word — Can't you see ? Even 
if I'm not what you call a gentleman, 
I thought I knew how any man ought 
to treat a woman — but to go and let 
you know, before we'd got back among 
people !" 

"But — but, Tom, why not, if we — " 

"No !" he retorted harshly. "I'm 
going now to pile up wood on the cliff 
for a beacon fire. In the morning I'll 
start making that catamaran — " 

"No, you shall not — You shall 
not go off, and leave me, and — and 
risk your life ! I can't bear to think 
of it ! Stay with me, Tom — dear ! 
Even if a ship never came — " 

He turned resolutely, so as not to see 
her blushing face. 

"Come now. Miss Leslie," he said in 
a dry, even tone; "don't make it so 
awfully hard. Let's be sensible, and 
shake hands on it, like two real com- 
rades — " 

She struck frantically at his out- 
stretched hand. 

"Keep away — I hate you !" she 

Before he could speak, she was 
running up the cleft. 



When, an hour or more after dawn 
the next morning, the girl slowly drew 
open her door, and came out of the 
cave, Blake was nowhere in sight. 
She sighed, vastly relieved, and hast- 
ened across to bathe her flushed face 
in the spring. Stopping every few 
moments to listen for his step down 
the cleft, she gathered up a hamper of 
food and fled to the tree-ladder. 

As she drew herself up on the cliff, 
she noticed a thin column of smoke 
rising from the last smouldering brands 
of a beacon fire that had been built in 
the midst of the bird colony, on the 
extreme outer edge of the headland. 
She did not, however, observe that, 
while the smoke column streamed up 
from thQ fire directly skyward, beyond 
it there was a much larger volume of 
smoke, which seemed to have eddied 
down the cliff face and was now rolling 
up into view from out over the sea. 
She gave no heed to this, for the sight 
of the beacon had instantly alarmed 
her with the possibility that Blake was 
still on the headland, and would 
imagine that she was seeking him. 

She paused, her cheeks aflame. But 
the only sign of Blake that she could 
see was the fire itself. She reflected 
that he might very well have left 

before dawn. As likely as not, he had 
descended at the north end of the cleft, 
and had gone off to the river to start 
his catamaran. At the thought all 
the color ebbed from her cheeks and 
left her white and trembling. Again 
she stood hesitating. With a sigh she 
started on toward the signal staff. 

She was close^upon the border of the 
bird colony, when Blake sat up from 
behind a ledge, and she found herself 
staring into his blinking eyes. 

"Hello !" he mumbled drowsily. 
He sprang up, wide awake, and flushing 
with the guilty consciousness of what 
he had done. "Look at the sun — way 
up ! Didn't mean to oversleep. Miss 
Leslie. You see I was up pretty late, 
tending the beacon. But of course 
that's no excuse — " 

"Don't !" she e.^claimed. There 
were tears in her eyes; yet she smiled 
as she spoke. "I know what you mean 
by 'pretty late.' You've been up all 

"No, I haven't. Not all night — " 

"To be sure ! I quite understand, 
Mr. Thomas Blake ! . . . Now, sit 
down, and eat this luncheon." 

"Can't. Haven't time. I've got 
to get to the river and set to work. 
I'll get some jerked beef and eat it on 
the way. You see — " 

"Tom !" she protested. 

"It's for you," he rejoined, and his 
lips closed together resolutely. 

He was stepping past her, when over 
the seaward edge of the cliff there came 
a sound like the yell of a raging sea- 

"Siren !" shouted Blake, whirling 

The cloud of smoke beyond the cliff 
end was now rolling up more to the 
left. He dashed away towards the 
north edge of the cliff as though he 
intended to leap off into space. The 
girl ran after him as fast as she could 
over the loose stones. Before she had 
covered half the distance she saw hira 
halt on the very brink of the cliff, and 
begin to wave and shout like a mad- 
man. A few steps farther on she 
caught sight of the steamer. It was 
lying close in, only a little way off the 
north point of the headland. 

Even as she saw the vessel, its siren 
responded to Blake's wild gestures with 
a series of joyous screams. There 
could be no mistake. He had been 
seen. Already they were letting go 
anchor, and there was a little crowd 
of men gathering about one of the 
boats. Blake turned and started on a 
run for the cliff. But Miss Leslie 
darted before him, compelling him to 

"Wait !" she cried, her eyes spark- 
ling with happy tears. "Tom, it's 
come now. You needn't — " 

"Let me by ! I'm going to meet 
them. I want to — " 



But she put her hands upon' his 

;^"Tom !" she whispered, "let itibe 
now, before any one — anything can 
possibly come between us ! Let it be 
a part of our life here — here, where 
I've learned how brave and true a 
real man can be .'" 

"And then have him prove himself a 
sneak !" he cried. "No; I won't, 
Jenny ! I've got you to think of. 
Wait till I've seen your father. Ten 
to one, he'll not hear of it — he'll cut 
you off without a cent. Not but what 
I'd be glad myself; but you're used to 
luxuries, girlie, and I'm a poor man. 
I can't give them to you — " 

She laid a hand on his mouth, and 
smiled up at him in tender mockery. 

"Come, now, Mr. Blake; you're 
not very complimentary. After sur- 
viving my cooking all these weeks, 
don't you think I might do, at a pinch, 
for a poor man's wife ?" 

"No, Jenny !" he protested, trying 
to draw back. "You oughtn't to decide 
now. When you get back among your 
friends, things may look different. 
Think of your society friends ! Wait 
till you see me with other men — gentle- 
men ! I'm just a rough, uncultured, 
ordinary — " 

"Hush !" she cried, and she again 
placed her hand on his mouth. "You 
sha'n't say such cruel things about 
Tom — my Tom — the man I trust — 
that I— " 

Her arms slipped about his neck, 
and her eyes shone up into his with 
tender radiance. 

'Don't !" he begged hoarsely. 
"'Tain't fair ! I — I can't stand it !" 

"The man I love !" she whispered. 

He crushed her to him in his great 

"jMy little girl ! — dear little girl !" 
he repeated, and he pressed his lips to 
her hair. 

She snuggled her face closer against 
his shoulder, and replied in a very 
small voice, "I — I suppose you know 
(hat ship captains can — can m-marry 

"But I haven't even a job yet !" he 
exclaimed. "Suppose your father — " 

"Please listen !" she pleaded. There 
was a sound like suppressed sob- 

"What is it ?" he ventured, and he 
listened, greatly perturbed. The muf- 
lled voice sounded very meek and 
plaintive: "I'll try to do my part, 
Mr. Blake,— really I will ' I— I hope 
we can manage to struggle along — 
somehow. You know, I have a little 
of my own. It's only three — three 
million; but — " 

_^"What !" he demanded, and he held 
her out at arm's length, to stare at her 
in frowning bewilderment. "If I'd 
known that, I'd—" 
, "You'd never have given me a 

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chance to — to pro[)ose to you, you dear 
old silly !" she cried, her eyes dancing 
with tender mirth. "See here !" 

She turned from him, and back 
again, and held up a withered, crump- 
\cd little flower, that showed the 
evidence of much handling, and was 
sadly faded from its original red. He 
looked, and saw that it was the ama- 
ryllis blossom. 

"You— kept it !" 

"Because — because, even then, down 
in the bottom of my heart, I had begun 

to realize — to know what you were 
like — and of course that meant — 
Tom, tell me ! Do you think I'm 
utterly shameless ? Do you lilarne 
me for being the one to — to — " 

"Blame you !" he cried. He paused 
to put a finger under her chin and 
raise her down-bent face. His eyes 
were very blue, but there was a twinkle 
in their depths. "Oh, yes; it was 
dreadful, wasn't it ? But I guess 
I've no complaint to file just now." 




in doubt 

what to buy for Mother, Wife, 
Sister or Friend, remember that a 


■■(')vu' uAi.i, 1',i;akin<: 

Carpet Sweeper 

iiev.T fails to plm»««iKl will boa d«ily reminder of the giver for 
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alJl>ropriate gift. She needs a second sweeper to keep npstalra. 
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From AU Causes, Head Noises and Other Ear 

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This department is under the direction of "Kit" who under this familiar pen 
name has endeared herself to Canadian women from Belle Isle to Victoria. Every 
month she will contribute sparkling bits of gossip, news and sidelights on life as 
seen through a woman's eyes. 

Drum "^ 
In Posilioa 


When clustered round the fire at night, 
Old William talks of ghost and sprite. 
And, as a distant out-house gate 
Slams by the wind, they fearful wait. 
While some each shadowy nook explore; 
Then Christmas pauses at the door. 

When Dick comes shiv' ring from the yard, 
A nd says the pond is frozen hard. 
While from his hat all white with snow. 
The moisture trickling drops below; 
While carols sound, the night to cheer. 
Then Christmas and his train are here. 

T^HE months seem to fly round the 
circle to bring Christmas to us 
again. We are but recovering from the 
assaults of last Noel on our purses 
when here comes the jolly old Feast 
again, ready to empiy them once more. 
So terrible, indeed, of late years has 
the craze for giving presents at Christ- 
mas become, that many view the 
approach of the generous season with 
fear and trepidation. Nor are such 
necessarily of niggardly disposition, 
but the fact that we make the great- 
est feast of the year an absolute 
nuisance in the matter of buying 
expensive gifts to give to persons for 
whom we have little affection but who 
we feel would despise the cheaper and 
more humble gift which we can afford 
to give with real pleasure, robs Christ- 
mas of its spirit, which is one of good 
cheer and joy. The delicacy which at 
one time made the Christmas gift a 
thing of compliment and charm is no 
longer apparent. Our giving has 
become as common and as commercial 
as the over-done exploitation of poor 
old Santa Claus in the advertising 
columns which the big stores are too 
fond of displaying during the weeks 
before Christmas. Every bit of legend 
has been torn to tatters. Every 
gracious and charming sentiment has 
been used until it is shop-worn. Our 

giving is mean, tawdry and cheap. 
The price ticket is all that concerns us 
in offering or receiving. "How much 
did it cost ?" "Pshaw ! we saw that 
advertised at so much." "If we could 
not give something better than that, 
we would give nothing." How vulgar 
all that is ! 

The whole business is false, wrong. 
Think of what a gift should carry with 
it. Friendship and affection, if not 
love itself, but perhaps, best of all, 
that feeling for which I can but find 
one word — caringness. To have had 
remembered by some old friend or 
affectionate relation one's little tastes 
or habits, one's likes, one's fondness 
for flowers or books; one's fad for col- 
lecting this or that — old prints, or 
coins, or stamps or basket work — -to 
remember in your turn what little 
things your friend cares most for, and 
to offer the same with the word of love 
and affection. That is gift giving ! 
There is always something that will 
not strip your purse of its last coin, 
that will not cause you to practise 
irksome economies for weeks before 
Christmas and for months after. But 
instead, poor women will try to give 
presents they cannot afford to their 
wealthier friends, who care nothing at 
all for the cheap affair w^hich cost so 
much thought and trouble. We have 
become ill-bred in the matter of Christ- 
mas giving. It is time that someone 
should write a chapter on the etiquette 
of this matter. The very fact that 
this seems to be necessary tells more 
plainly than printed words that the old 
precious, charming and tender Spirit 
of Christmas is no longer with us. If 
you see it at all it will be only in the 
old fashioned, or humble homes, that 
you will find its fragrance. 

We have permitted Christmas to 
decay — that is the real Christmas of 



olden times. Each year finds us com- 
mercializing the great Feast a little 
more. Everything is advertised. Our 
very charity is given through the 
medium of printed lists in the news- 
papers. If Scrooge were alive to-day, 
we would have the butcher from 
whom he purchased Bob Cratchit's 
turkey advertising the same in a nicely 
worded, nicely framed newspaper card. 
We would know the price of it and the 
weight of it, and the breed of it, and 
we would be invited to buy all our 
Christmas turkeys at the same stand. 
The reporter would be sent to Bob 
Cratchit's house and assigned to write 
up a "story" on the turkey. What it 
was stuflfed with and what sauce Mrs. 
Cratchit served with it, and how many 
slices oR the breast of it Tiny Tim ate. 
That last small bone which was left on 
the dish after the young Cratchits had 
stuffed themselves to bursting, would 
be photographed and held up to the 
view of the admiring or amused public, 
with Tiny Tim's crutch alongside and 
Master Cratchit hidden to the ears in 
one of Bob's collars. As a matter of 
fact— the public will be stuffed with 
Tiny Tim himself and his globe-trot- 
ting "God bless us," etc., for what 
poor scribbler can afford to let Dickens 
pass without giving him a Christmas 
cheer ! Like everything else we adver- 
tise Charles Dickens at Christmas time 
along with Santy and Tiny Tim, and 
yet — would Christmas be Christmas 
without these blessed fancies ? 


ViyiTH all our ready giving at Christ- 
'^" mas, how true it is that some 
change of heart takes effect within us 
at this blessed time. What it is, no 
man may explain. It is a sort of large- 
ness of broadening and cheering of the 
mind, a spirit of generosity and 
thoughtfulness for others, a feeling of 
forgiveness for past injuries, a letting- 
up of rancour and anger towards this 
one or that. After all what a dreary 
thing life would be if there were no 
Christmas. It would be a gray, dull old 
world without our mid-winter festival. 
You feel that you must remember in 
all kindliness those who are in worse 
case than you are, the incurably ill, the 
very poor, the "God's afflictcfi" in the 
asylums, the sick children, the news- 
boys, the postman, the individual poor 
whose circumstances you know, and 
above all the p<Jor ones who ask — 
unashamed in the face of their great 
need. Then there are the quiet cases 
where your left hand must never see 
your right with the gift in it. All these 
come spontaneously to mind at Christ- 
mas time as though the very spirit of 
the Feast was whispered in your ear. 
You cannot help yourself even if you 
tried, because for the time, your shabby 
old Ego has vanished up to the attic 


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or down to the cellar, and a fine, big, 
large-hearted fellow takes his place 
and dispenses gifts and helps of all 
kinds just for the mere pleasure of it 
all ! 

Even in the graveyaids the Spirit of 
Christmas is to be found in the little 
scarlet garlands that wreathe the cold 
tombstones, in the spiing of holly that 
lies upon some child's grave, in the 
small hunch of winter leaves which is 
all that seme thin purse may afford. 
Once we saw a bit of mistletoe tied 
upon such a wreath- — a kiss for some 

cold face, an embrace for some withered 
human form, a message to some icy 
heart which once had glowed and throb- 
bed with the Spirit of Christmas and 
whose surcease from beating has left 
another heart cold for all time. But 
more fondly does the Spirit of Christ- 
mas hover over the graves of little 
children than over any other -the little 
children who so loved the merry time, 
whose laughter made glad so many 
weary hearts. The saddest sight to 
see upon a Christmas morn is some 
woman weeping above the little mound 


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that holds all that she had of joy and 
love. Such a sight I once saw by a sea- 
washed grave upon a wild western 
coast, and the lonely sadness of it 
returns always when Christmas comes. 


■"TALKING of mistletoe reminds us 
of the "ancientness" of the plant. 
It is a sprig from the gods, a plant not 
born of this earth but springing from 
some divine source. Thus the ancients 
thought it, and called it the Heavenly 
Plant, or the Sprig that Heals. Prob- 
ably the Druids were the first to accord 
to it divinity, for they used to worship 
it, and perform ceremonies with it and 
give it to the people to hang up in their 
houses as a protection from evil, and a 
charm to bring good-luck. It was this, 
no doubt, which led to the adoption of 
the mistletoe as the "lucky plant" of 
Christmas time, and later as "The 
Kissing Sprig." It was thought in 
by-gone times that if a branch was 
held in the hand with certain cere- 
monies, a spectre would appear to the 
watcher and hence the plant was called 
"the spectre's wand." "The fairies' 
wand" we of old Erin called it, and 
many a time when the big Christmas 
hamper arrived have we gone to secret 
places upon Fairy Hill where the Good 
People dance, and waved the fairies' 
wand and demanded the fulfilment of 
our three wishes. Mine, I remember, 
used to be — To be grown up and wear 
a gown with a train like my mother's; 
— To be able to play all the jigs and 
reels in the world on the bag-pipes ; and 
to be Queen of the Fairies. And the 
only on6 I ever got was a train to my 
gown when I didn't care whether I had 
one or not ! From Christmas to 
Christmas the fairies' wand hung from 
the rail of every bed. Many and many 
were the incantations we performed 
with it — but the only luck it ever 
brought the wiiter was to set her one 
day on a big ship that carried her to 


TT was while travelling towards CAN- 
A ADA MONTHLY with his pack on 
his back the other day that the Pedlar 
met Mr. Pecksniff's horse. He was a 
cynical, rawboned and haggard quad- 
ruped who was wandering loose upon 
the road, having happily killed Mr. 
Pecksniff and his fair daughters in a 
runaway many years ago, and he has 
been ambling about the world ever 

But he certainly walked out of the 
pages of Martin Chuzzlewit, though 
how he managed to survive so long as 
well as to cross the ocean, there was no 
means of discovering. Here he was, a 
horse of the kind that "infused into 
the breasts of strangers a lively sense 

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Jaeger Travelling Rugs, pure wool or 
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of hope and possessed all who knew 
him better with a sense of despair" 
always full of promise (like the Pedlar 
himself) but of no performance falso 
resembling the man of the pack), always 
"going to go, and never going," but so 
magnificent was his action that as we 
chirruped him down the road it was 
difficult to believe he was doing less 
than fourteen miles an hour. Just like 
Mr. Pecksniff. Their moral characters 
were the same — which set us thinking 
about other Dickens equines as we sat 
on the grassy patch at the crossroads 


and spread our lunch on an old news- 

There was Barkis' old nag, for 
instance, that delightfully nonchalant 
horse who was the alter ego of Barkis, 
plus another pair of legs. Not abso- 
lutely somnolent is Barkis' nag, but, 
so to speak, like his master, he vege- 
tates and wants a good deal of stirring 
up to keep him going. He shuffled 
along with his head down, as if he 
liked to keep the people waiting to 
whom the packages in the carrier's 
cart were addressed. His cough re- 
sembled a chuckle of delight at the 
thought of the anxiety of his customers. 
Even when he was going, Barkis' horse 
went on his own terms, and on his own 
ground over which he journeyed irre- 
spective of his master or anybody else. 
A capital horse for a sweethearting 
pair. A horse that minded his own 
business and cared nothing for that of 
anyone else. When David Copper- 
field asked if he was going to take him 
all the way to London, Barkis was con- 
strained to remark — you will remember 
- — that he would be "deader than pork 
afore he got half the distance." Not 
that Barkis' nag was unwilling. He 
was just about as "willin' " as his 
master and that is saying a good deal 
for him. 


TTwas the elder Mr. Weller, I think, 
whose cherished conviction it was 
that "the man as can form a ackerate 
judgment of a 'orse, can form a ackerate 
judgment of anythin'," which is about 
the best bit of philosophy any man 
may put forth as any horse-dealer will 
tell you. We would like to have had 
his opinion on the various steeds which 
cantered through the lives of Messrs. 
Pickwick, Winkle and Tupman. What, 
for instance, would the ancient Weller 
have thought of that famous cab 
horse, who, at the age of forty-two was 
yet able to keep out for two or three 
weeks at a time, and was never taken 
out of the shafts on account of his 
weakness. "He always falls down 
when he's took out o' the cab," explains 
his driver, "but when he's in it, we 
bears him up werry tight, and takes 
him in werry short, so as he can't 
werry well fall down; and we've got a 
pair o' precious large wheels on, so ven 
he does move they run after him, and 
he must go on — he can't help it." 

What opinion, we should like to 
know, would Mr. Weller senior have 
entertainetl of the famous quadrupeds 
which Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle 
rode and drove, respectively, to Manor 
Farm ? "What can he mean by this ?" 
moaned Mr. Snodgrass from the little 
wine bin at the back of the chaise, as 
Mr. Pickwick's steed executed the 
manoeuvre of darting from side to side 


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and then rushing forward for some 
minutes at top speed; while Mr. 
Winkle's tall nag who would travel 
sideways, paused, stared at him, shook 
his head and quietly trotted home to 
Rochester, leaving Mr. Winkle and Mr. 
Pickwick gazing at one another in dis- 
may while Messrs. Snodgrass and 
Tupman chortled in the wine-bin. 


T N equine comedy, Dickens saw that 

the pony was the best for clownlike 

performances. There was Whisker, 

who went everywhere but where his 
driver wishe<l, and who would let no 
one mount him. Only Dickens could 
have created him and made him and 
Mr. Crummies' pony live in ono^s mind, 
as actively as Sam Weller or Mr. 
Jingle. Whisker died as he had lived, 
in clover, and "his last act was to 
kick his doctor." The "pony" which 
belonged to Mr. Vincent Crummies, 
was no less talented. "He goes on in 
Timour the Tartar, and is quite one of 
us," says his owner, feelingly. Like 
most of our famous actors and actres- 



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ses, he may be said to have been born 
on the stage. "His mother ate apple- 
pie at a circus for fourteen years, fired 
pistols, went to bed in a nightcap and 
took the low comedy entirely. His 
father, while not so illustrious, was a 
notable quadruped. He was bred a 
dancer, but fell into low habits owing 
to being jobbed out occasionally and 
he finally departed this life through 
swallowing the bowl of the glass in 
which he drank port wine with the 
clown. All through Dickens it is like 
master, like horse. Mr. Mould's "long 
tailed prancers" absolutely expressed 
the mock sympathy of their master at 
well paid funerals. Mr. Dombey's 
wedding steeds are as coldly pompous 
as Mr. D. himself. Mr. Carker's nag 
had his master's habit of showing all 
his teeth at once. Mr. Squeers' horse 
matched Mr. Squeers and served for 
the practical course of education in 
force at Dotheboy's Hall. Every 
Dickens horse that we remember had 
a little character all his own, but per- 
haps that of Mr. Pecksniff which just 
went down the road at a walk which 
he made look like a virtuous gallop, 
resembled his master most of all. 


'X'HERE are few of us who have not 
■*■ spent Christmas away from home. 
The old feast girdles the world. You 
may be in Norway, the most hospitable 
of countries, listening to the singing of 
patriotic songs or watching the boys of 
the family presenting the picture of the 
Nativity at the tea hour. In they 
come in white mantles, the tallest hold- 
ing a lantern shaped like a star, another 
carrying a glass box containing two 
tiny Dutch dolls, one of which repre- 
sents the Virgin Mary sitting in a chair 
and the other the Blessed Child in his 
cradle. A bit of. candle is moved by a 
wire from side to side of the lantern, 
making it appear as if the doll-mother 
is rocking the cradle with her foot. 
The mysteries of the Holy Birth are 
chanted by the boj's in a carol, — their 
fresh voices so sharply sweet might be 
those of some angelic choir lent to us 
from Heaven. Christmas is a time of 
especial housecleaning in Sweden. 
Everything is made spotless and fresh. 
Everyone is remembered, even the 
birds, who are provided with a Yule- 
tide dinner in the shape of a sheaf of 
com tied to a pole near each house. 
The gifts are presented after supper by 
a masked figure who carries them in a 
basket, after which every house is 
illuminated just as every cabin in Ire- 
land, even those on the edge of the 
lonely bog, is bright with its Christmas 
Candle — to light the Kings and the 
Shepherds to the lowly stable where 
that great Child lies with his Virgin 

In Italy they burn the Yule log. In 




kitchen or dining hall, the fire crackles 
and roars. The supper table is laden 
with presents among which stands the 
Urn of Fate. Each little hand dips 
into the urn. Some draw blanks and 
the small faces are blank indeed, but 
no child goes away without something. 
The Italians are warmly charitable. 
No hearth is left unlit, no hand empty. 
And ever>'where is the spirit of love — 
a crust given with the brilliant smile, 
those gentle words, is better than a pot 
of meat offered by one whose heart is 

All the world loves Christmas. It is- 
as if at this blessed time, especial gifts 
and graces were showered on the poor 
old earth making it fine and sweet and 
warm. Even the scarred and wounded 
heart desolated with sad memories ot 
brighter, happier days, forgets its own 
sorrow at such a time, and seeks tn 
comfort some heart more broken still. 
The Spirit of Christmas is after all, bui 
the Spirit of the Heavenly little Child 
who came to gladden the human heart 
and lift the human burden of sin and 
sorrow. Everything radiates from the 
manger-cradle of that little Child. All 
the grace, all the glory, all the happi- 
ness comes from the poor stable where 
between the ox and the ass, the Child 
was laid. 


r^O you of the old land remember the 
Christmas hampers ? We used to 
get them galore. There was Aunt 
Bedelia's hamper, and one from Uncle 
Terence. The Gran always sent a 
basket, and a fine one came from the 
rich Dublin relations. The latter 
usually contained wines of all sorts and 
magnums of other sorts in which the 
children were not much interested. 
The two halls, back and front, were 
knee deep in straw when the hampers 
were unpacking. It would be no fun 
at all to have it done downstairs. 
There would be father in his shirt- 
sleeves, with old Micky in an ancient 
dress suit, leagues too big for him, • 
dancing in the background and putting 
everything in the wrong place. Old 
Betty would be there with a kitchen 
wench or so to help — and little mother 
and all the children — the happy, happy 
children. With what screeches of 
delight they would welcome the open- 
ing of Aunt B.'s hamper which always 
held sweet things and dolls ! Were 
there ever such candies as those hard 
brandy balls and bull's eyes ! And the 
slender sticks of barley sugar, and the 
pink and white sugar cane, and tlie 
sugaretl almonds. Those were candies 
if you like ! Not soft, mealy, creamy 
chocolates and things such as the chil- 
dren of to-day gloat over. And the 
geese and the game and the puddings ! 
And the tea done up in pounds all 
ready to be handed out. The bags of 





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IT HAPPENED to another man's family. As longas the father lived 
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With an electric starter and generator — $1425, Prices f. o. b. Toledo, duty paid. 

A Revision of Prices Downward 

FOUR years ago we marketed a much 
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for $1550. And this was a bare car — 
with no equipment. 

To-day we offer you a much larger 
car in every respect, refined right-up- 
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Four years ago the wheel base was shorter, 
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To-day every individual unit is larger than 
heretofore. Yet the price is 25% under the 
market of four years ago; is 30% under the 

(Literature on request. 

present market and has fully 200% greater 

All of which is accounted for by our gigantic 
production which has been increased each 
succeeding season. For 1914 we will build 
50,000 cars. And a production of this size 
is the sole explanation, for it makes possible 
the numerous economies which increase values 
and decrease prices. 

Check our price reductions and car enlarge- 
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years. The facts will astonish you! 

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and minutely examine the 1914 Overland. 

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Manufacturers of the famous Garford and Willys- Utility Trucks. 

Full information on request. 

II NLliI II I lu I 

I I nil UN il| I iI|i1j1 h 

Please mention Canada Monthly when you write to advertisers. 

Speculation is a Luxury 

Can You Afford It ? 

PUT at least some of 
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Debentures and know 
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sugar and spices ! The boxes of "sur- 
prise packets" containing everything 
from a warming pan in brown sugar 
to a piano made of walnuts and butter 
scotch ! 

Are there any such hampers nowa- 
days, I wonder ? Are the children of 
these days the merry madcaps they 
were of old ? Everything is the same, 
my good Pedlar, save you. You alone 
have changed. Your feet have grown 
weary with much walking of the ways, 
your heart heavy with its own sorrow; 
your spirit tired and oppressed with 
many disappointments and hope de- 
ferred. You alone have changed — 
not the feast or the children; not the 
laughter and the delight; not the 
exquisite carelessness and joy of youth. 
Christmas is the same. The candies 
are just as sweet, the nuts as crisp, the 
cakes as rich, the music as merry. You, 
toiling along with your old wallet, 
head bent, and gaze upon the ground, 
see but the dust of the road and the 
grass by the wayside. But up above 
the sun is shining and the sky is blue, 
and the winds make music in the bare 
woods, and the children dance lightly 
as of yore, and shout for joy as the 
gentle Santa Claus wanders among 
them and listens to the old story of 
Christmas told as they sit around the 
Christmas fire. 


<^^ /^^ --/-^ -/-^ I^ Christmas time of the year 1770, 

^^/^C/^^>^ ^^(/i^^i^-'C^^I^ a pie was shipped from the country 

~ ' ■ to London, the contents of which were: 

- Two bushels of flour, twenty pounds 
of butter, four geese, two turkeys, two 
rabbits, four wild duck, two woodcock, 
six Sjiipe, and four partridge, two 
neat's tongues, two curlews, seven 
blackbirds, rnd si.x pigeons. It was 
ni le feet about, weighed twelve stone 
and had to be carried to table by two 
serving men. There was a pie for you ! 
It would have kept the greediest of 
little Cratchils going for a week or two, 
and Tiny Tim could have been buried 
in it, crutch a id blessing and all. 

Perhaps when we hear him wailing 
his yearly message through the press, 
we will wish he might have been. 

The Huron & Erie Loan 
& Savings Co. 

Main Offices — 442 Richmond St., London 


Market Square. London 

St. Thomas Winnipeg Retina 

HUME CRONYN, - General Manager 

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showing our complete line of aelf- 
fillers, middle joint and lower joint 
fountain pens. 



Price, $2.00 and up. 

Not connected with 
The L. E. Waterman Co. 



orarcome positively. Our natural methods per- 
manently restore natural speech. Graduate pupils 
•Tsrywbers. Writ* for fra* adric* and literature. 


IKK other Christmas blessings it 
will 1)0 with us. The Christmas 
grouch will meet you sometime before 
the holidays are over. He will tell you 
not to fool yourself with the idea that 
anybcxly has any e,\tra affection for 
you on account of the genial anni- 
versary. He will minimize the great 
feast, which is as bad — or worse— as 
exaggerating it. He will point out 
that the season is seized on by the 
trading community as a time to touch 
>ou for all you are gootl for. The 
grocers, dry gotxls and butchers care 
nothing at all for the sentiment of 

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Christmas, he will say. Tiicy are out 
to squeeze out of you and me all that 
they can. Charity and gcxxl works 
are all iX)ppy-cock. Christmas won't 
be a fat lime for everybody. The few 
are .always sacrificed for the pleasure 
of the many. The .shopkeepers drive 
their employees off their feet. Christ- 
mas has its pitiable as well as its joyous 
side. And so on. Yet it might be well 
to look somewhat on the feast from the 
point of view of the Rrouoli. We are 
apt— none more so than tlu; writer to 
whom Christmas always 'makes a 





A MAN tried to pell tnv a horse once. He said 
it was a fine horse and had nothing the mat- 
ter with it. I wanted a fine horse, but, I didn't 
know an y t hi n g aixjut 
horses much. And I didn't 
know the man very well 

So I told him I wanted to 
try the horse for a month. 
He said "All riRht," but 
pay me first, and I'll give 
you back your money if 
the horse isn't all right." 

Well, I didn't like that. 
I was afraid the horse I 
was'nt "all rifirht" and that I 
I mifcht have to whistle fori 
my money if I once partedK 
with it. .So I didn't buy the] 
horse, although I wantedl 
it badly. Now, this set mel 
thinking, i 

You see I make Wash- 
ing Machines— the " 1900' 
Gravity" Washer. 

And I said to myself, lots of people may think 
about my Washing Machine as I thought about 
the horse, and about the man who owned it. 

But I'd never know, because they wouldn't 
write and tell me. You see I sell my Washing 
Machines by mail. I have sold over half a mil- 
lion that way. So. thought I, it is only fair 
enough to let people try my Washing Machines 
for a month, before they pay for them, just as I 
wanted to try the horse. 

Now, I know what our "1900 Gravity" Washer 
will do. I know it will wash the clothes, without 
wearing or tearing them, in less than half the 
time they can be washed by hand or by any other 

1 know it will wash a tub full of very dirty 
clothes in Six Minutes. I know no other machine 
ever invented can do that, without wearing the 
clothes. Our "WOO Gravity" Washer does the 
work so easy that a child can run it almost as 
well as a strong woman, and it don't wear the 
clothes, fray the edges, nor break buttons, the 
way all other machines do. 

It just drives soajiy water clear through the 
fibres of the clothes like a force pump might. 

So, said I to myself, I will do with my "1900 
Gravity" Washer what I wanted tlie man to do 
with the horse. Only I won't wait for people to 
ask me. I'll olTer first, and I'll make good the 
offer every time. 

Let me send you a "1900 Gravity Washer on a 
month's free trial. I'll pay the freight out of 
my own pocket, and if you don't want the ma- 
chine after you've used it a month, I'll take it 
back and pay the freight too. Surely that is fair 
enough, isn't it. „ , „ 

Doesn't it prove that the "1900 Gravity 
Washer must be all that I say it is ? 

And you can pay me out of what it saves for 
you. It will save Us whole cost in a few months 
in wear and tear on the clothes alone. And then 
it will save 50 to 75 cents a week over that in 
washwoman's wages. If you keep the machine 
after the month's trial, I'll let you pay for it out 
of what it saves you. If it saves you CO cents a 
week, send me ra cents a week 'till paid for. 1 11 
tal-e that cheerfully, and I'll wait for my money 
until the machine itself earns the balance. 

Drop me a line to-day, i-.nd let me send you a 
book about the "1900 Gravity" Washer that 
washes clothes in six minutes. 

Address me personally 

Manager "1900" Washer Co , 
3S7 Yonte Street Toronto 

New Typewriter* 18 

A remarkable typewriter, carried in grip or over- 
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Has less than 250 parts aeainst 1700 to 3700 in others— that 
Is the secre t of our $18 p rice. All important improvements, 

$1 Q ^MHIi^^^ visible writing, indestructlblo 
* ^^Hs^^^RI^^. type, reversible ribbon, etc. 
fcU*S.A^^^BBBnEaa^^^k.Jlaiidlet>t t}-[)ewrlter built. Easy to 

perate. Built Id famous Elllott- 
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Weight 4M lbs. Yoti can 
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De08, trlpR, or anywhere. 
Send for catalog and 


E. O. A. Bennett Typewriter Co., 366 Broadway, New Yc»ric 


hearty appeal — we are apt to over-rate 
the sentiment of the season. We are 
apt to forget that there is nothing that 
happens that is not a source of material 
profit to somebody, and that Christ- 
mas sentiment is counted on for Christ- 
mas trade. And we are apt to forget 
that many, many people will, for 
sundry reasons be glad when Christmas 
is over. Theie are the unloved and 
lonely who are stung by family parties 
and cheery festivities in which they 
have no real part. Memory is busy 
with such. Christmas time as other 
times runs the gauntlet of sickness and 
sorrow and death. In our own joy we 
are apt to forget the grief stricken and 
lonely. The only way to observe 
Christmas is to do it according to one's 
heart and conscience. It is not kindly 
to let our own joy in the feat intrude 
upon the pain or sorrow of others. 
There can be too much braying and 
shouting. The word of greeting to 
those who are lonesome and weary of 
the pain of living, are more truly redo- 
lent of the Spirit of the Season than 
the rich and hollow gift you give and 
receive without love. 

Yet we cannot resist offering the old, 
old wish — ^A Merry Christmas to all 
the world. 

Early Celebration 

By Kathleen K. Bowker 

TN the first hush of the morning 
^ When the earth has just awakened, 
And the angels deck it freshly 
With new glories for the day. 

Nature visibly rejoices, 
And the tree outside my window, 
Thrilled through all its leafy pulses. 
Fills me with a deep content. 

In the first cool of the sunlight. 
Here the birds hold morning service; 
Giving thanks because God made 

Made them birds, instead of people. 

Scissor Snips 

Mike: Pat, kin yez tell me what 
kapes thira bricks together ? 

Pat: Sure, it's the mortar. 

Mike Not by a dom sight. That 
kapes 'em apart. 

Outside the Bishop's bedroom, time 
8.30 a.m. 

The Bishop: Well, what is it ? 

The New Buttons (anxiously) : The 
Lord, my boy, with the hot water. 

"Gripwell is altogether too fond of 
showing his strength." 

"Yes; that's his weakness." 

Your door locks itself when closed 
and stays locked until opened with 
your own latch-key, if a 

Yale Cylinder Lock 

does the locking. 

Your door never stands open, 
letting in draughts or dust or invit- 
ing theft, and never slams shut if a 

Yale Door Check 

does the closing. 

The door that is Yale equipped is 
perfectly equipped. It is a real 
door, doing a door's service. 

Your hardware dealer has Yale Cylinder 
Locks for your outside doors and Vale Door 
Checks for all doors that oupht to stay closed. 
Have you read "The Quiet Life ?" It's in- 
teresting and helpful. Write for a free copy. 

Canadian Yale & Towne Limited 

Makers o( YALE Products in Canada: 

Locks, Padlocks. Builders* Hardware. DoorChecki 

and Chain Hoists 

GentralOfices anJWoris: St. Catharines, Ont. 

"I was asked to find out when you 
would pay this little account," said the 
collector pleasantly. 

"Really," answered the debtor, "I 
am unable to enlighten you. However, 
there is a soothsayer in the next block 
who throws a fit and reveals the future 
at fifty cents a throw." 

"I've no money to waste," growled 
the collector. 

"Just add the fifty cents to my 
account," continued the other, "for I 
have a curiosity on the point myself." 



The Girl 
Who ''Got There ^ 

Continued from page 97. 

formances, she turned her back upon 
the opera company and returned to 
her instructor in Paris. At the end 
of another six months her decision 
was rewarded, and she received the 
appointment as prima donna soprano 
at the Royal Opera house in Wuerz- 
burg, Germany. 

During her two years' engagement 
with this organization she sang the 
prima donna roles of "Mme. Butter- 
fly," "Tosca," "Faust," "I Pagliacci," 
adding to these the three roles of "The 
Tales of Hoffmann," and the truly 
remarkable feat of two characters of 
widely differing range and quality of 
voice in "Carmen," the title role and 
Micaela. Her success was little short 
of phenomenal. The press and people 
were most enthusiastic from the time 
she sang her first role. 

Then came the call which brought 
her back to America. Andreas Dippel 
was on his annual European still hunt 
for new talent for the Chicago Grand 
Opera company. He had visited 
London, Paris, Milan, and Florence. 
Finally he came to Carlsbad, where she 
was at the time, heard her sing, and 
engaged her forthwith. 

There now came a state of affairs 
which shows that fortune is at times 
capricious. With all her joy at return- 
ing to home and old friends, other con- 
siderations entered which made Miss 
Stanley's stay in Chicago not always 
an unmixed blessing. She speedily 
found herself in the same position with 
many other young singers of the com- 
pany, ready and anxious to sing, but 
with the opportunity denied her 
because there were other singers in the 
company with previous contracts who 
had already established themselves in 
favor of the public. 

Added to this, the climate of Chicago 

is, as all singers know, extremely severe, 

d Miss Stanley became for the first 

e in several years afflicted with 

rseness, a misfortune which culmi- 

ted in an acute attack of bronchitis 

n after her first appearance had 

But the evils of life come to an end 
sooner or later, and she finally re- 
covered in time to make her postponed 
Chicago debut. On the night of Wed- 
nesday, December 18, 1912, she ap- 
peared as Prince Charming, in Mas- 
senet's fairy opera, "Cendrillon." 

Miss Stanley has since declared that 
she dislikes the role intensely, and 
never again, if her will is consulted, 
will she consent to sing it. For one 
thing, the music is not grateful. Even 
the resourceful art of Mary Garden, 

Victor- Viclrola IV. 
Oak. $20 

Victor-Victrola IX. 
Mahogany or Oak. $G5 

Will there be a Victrola in 
your home this Christmas? 

You can search the whole world over and 
you won't find another gift that will bring 
so much pleasure to the whole family. 

There is a "His Master's Voice" dealer in every city and town in Canada. 
Go to the one nearest you and let him play your favorite music on the 
Victrola. or write to us and we will send you a 
complete catalogue describing all the Victrolas 
and our musical encyclopedia listing over 5.000 
Victor Records. 

There are Victrolas at all prices: $20, $32.50, 
$52, $65, $100, $135. $200, $250, $300. 

They are sold on easy terms 
if desired. 

Victor Records are 90c for 
10-inch, double-sided. 

VicUr- Victrola XI. 

Mahogany or Oak. 

Berliner Gram-o-phone Co., Ltd. 

400 Lenoir St., Montreal 


who had sung it the year before, was 
unable to endow it with importance, 
and Miss Stanley's experience with it 
was hardly more favorable. Another 
cause of embarrassment to Miss 
Stanley was that the exigencies of the 
part obliged her to reappear before her 
friends after an absence of six years in 
tights. These two reasons, she says, 
have been enough to put the opera 
perpetually in her black books. 

Nevertheless, her success was im- 
mediate. Critics and patrons alike 
agreed in hailing the remarkable beauty 
of her voice and the charm of her 
impersonation. Even the trying epi- 
sode of the costume was carried off 

with a sweet, modest, unconscious 
dignity which won the respect and 
hkmg of all the mighty audience. 

It would seem that Miss Garden's 
confidence in the ability of the young 
artist to learn a role at short notice was 
created about this time, for about 
a month thereafter Miss Stanley learn- 
ed and sang the extremely difficult 

,T?','^^ ^PP^*"*^'""^ to Maliella, in 
Wolf-Ferrari's "Jewels of the Ma- 
donna," in a week's time. Later in the 
year she appeared in "Kuhreigen." 
which opera, however, enjoyed only a 
moderate popularity. Miss Stanley 
insists that it has genuine merit, and 
that Its failure to take a high place was 





This U ihe old-fashioned lace made on the cushion, and wan first introduced! into England 
by the Flemish Refugees. It is slill made by the village women in their quaint old way. 

Our Lace* were award«! the Gold Medal at the Festival of Empire and Inperiai 
Exhibition, Crystal Palace, LONDON, ENGLAND, for general excellence <A workmaiuhip. 

DUY Bome ot this hand-made Pillow Lace, it lasts MANY times longer than maehine made 
varictv, and imparts an air of distinction to the possessor, at the same time sapportiim 
the viUagolacemakers, bringing them little comforts otherwi-e unobtainable on an agrieuJturaJ 
man's wage. Write for desoriptiva little treatise, entitled " Tiie Pride of North Bucks," 
containing 200 striking examples of the lace makers' art. and is sent post tree to any jiart of the 
world. Lace for every purpose can be obtained, and within reach of the most modest purse. 

COLLAB— Pure Linen. 


No. 910.-1*06 H in. deep. 

Collars, Fronts, 
Plastrons, Jabots, Yokes. 
Fichus, Berthes, Hand- 
keichiefs, Stocks, Cami- 
soles, Chemise Sets, Tea 
Cloths, Table Centres, 
D'Oylies, Mats, Medal- 
lions, Quaker and 
Peter Pan f^ts, etc., 
from i-5o.. 60o,, 8100. 
$1.50, $2.00, up to $5.00 
each. Over 300 designs 
in yard lace and inser- 
tion from 10c.. 15c., 25c.| 
■ISc, up to 4;3.00 per 


Mrs. Armstrong having 
over 100 Irish peasant 
girls connected 
with her industry, 
some beautifulex- 
amples of Irish 
hai.d made laces 
may be obtained. 
All work being sold 
direct from the 
lace-makers, both 
the workers and 
customers derive 
great advantage. 

Every sale, ho>vev«r small, is 
a support to tHe industry. 

(IJ in. deep.) STOCK— Wheel Dtr-ign. 
Price 2&C. each, (Half shown. ) 

No. 122.— 80o. pec yard. 

MRS. MOLLY ARMSTRONG, OIney, Bucks., England. 

You're Not Healthy Unless You're Clean INSIDE 

And the one way to real internal cleanilness — 
by which you are protected against ninety per 
cent, of all human ailments — is through proper 
internal bathing, with plain warm water. 

There is nothing unusual about this treatment — 
no drugs no dieting — nothing but the correct 
application of Nature's own cleanser. But only 
since the invention of the J. B. L. Cascade has a 
means for proi)er int-ernal bathing existed, 

Pending its discharge from our bodies, all waste 
matter is held in the organ known as the colon 
This waste, like all other waste in Nature, is 

And twice during each 24 hours every drop of 
blood in the human body circulates through the 
colon. Unless the poisonous waste is properly 
washed away, more or less of it is necessarily 
absorbed by the blood and carried to other parts 
of the body. 

To accumulated waste may be traced the 
original cause of many dangerous ailments, of 
which appendicitis is one of the most common. 

Naturally this poison in the blood weakens the 
system and produces that "run down" condition 
which opens the way for attack from countless 
diseases either by contagion or by natural pro- 

Typhoid rarely can secure a foothold in the 
system of one who bathes internally as well as 

Indigestion, headaches, dizziness and most 
common of all nervousness — these are some of 
the distressing and life-shortening troubles caused 
by continued absorption of the poisons in the 

Only one treatment is known for actually cleans- 
ing the colon without the aid of elaborate surgical 
apparatus. This is 

The Internal Bath 

By Means of the 


Prof. MetchnikofF, Europe's leading authority 
on intestinal conditions, is quoted as saying that, 
if the colon and its poisonous contents were remov- 
able, people would live in good health to twice 
the present average of human life. 

Dr. A. Wilfred Hall. Ph.D., LL.D., and W. F. 
Forest, B.D., M.D., two world-famous authorities 
on internal bathing, are among the thousands of 
physicians who have given their hearty and active 
endorsement and support to the J. B. L. Cascade 

Fully half a million men and women and children 
now use this real boon to humanity — most of them 
in accordance with their doctor's orders. 

Mr. T. Babin. proprietor of Ottawa's leading 
hotel, the Alexandra, writes: — 

Ottawa. Ont., Dec. 18, 1912. 

Dear Doctor. — I cannot express myself as I feel. 
I don't think I could find words explicit enough. 
I have used the J. B. L, Cascade two years. It has 
made a new man of me. In reality, I feel that I 
would not sell it for all the money in this world if I 
could not buy another. 

Through my recommendation, I know a number 
of my friends who have been using it with the same 

For people troubled with Constipation, I say 
it's a God-sei|d. Hoping this will help the poor, 
suffering humanity. 

I remain respectfully, 

T. Babin. 
Proprietor Alexandra Hotel. 



Dr. Tyrrell is always very glad of an opportunity 
to consult freely with anyone who writes him — and 
at no expense or obligation whatever. Describe 
your case to him and he gives you his promise that 
you will learn facts about yourself which you will 
realize are of vital importance. You will also receive 
his book, "Why Man of To-day is on'y 50% 
Efficent," which is a most interesting treatise on 
internal bathing. 

Address. Dr. Charles A. Tyrrell 
Room 701 280 College Street Toronto 

due to certain extraneous circum- 
stances which have nothmg to do with 
the work itself. 

After the company had finished its 
western tour and returned to Chicago 
there was a sudden shifting in it- 
administration. Andreas Dippel 
resigned as general manager, and 
Cleofonte Campanini, formerly the 
general musical director, was chosen to 
succeed him. In the midst of the con- 
fusion and readjustment resulting from 
this unexpected change, Max Rabinoff, 
the impresario of the National Grand 
Opera Company of Canada went to 
Chicago, consulted a few critics, listen- 
ed to Miss Stanley sing, and before any- 
one knew what had happened, went 
away with a contract which bore her 
name attached to it. 

In all probability it is as wise a move 
as she could have made. Her engage- 
ment, which began in November and 
will extend into April, will carry her 
into all the leading cities of Canada 
and a great part of the western United 
States as well. By a peculiar coinci- 
dence, practically all her United States 
visits will be made about two weeks in 
advance of the Chicago Grand Opera 
Company on its second western tour. 
In addition to her operatic appear- 
ances, she has been engaged for a 
series of recitals in all parts of the 
continent. Her roles will be the lead- 
ing parts in "Louise," "Thais," "Hero- 
iade," Mme. Butterfly, "La Boheme," 
"Faust," and possibly "Kuhreigen," 
together with several others drawn 
from her former roles. 

In assuming the position of prima 
donna in the National Grand Opera 
Company of Canada, Miss Stanley has 
come into her own. She is deserving 
of success, and she has attained it. 
She has e\er>'thing in her favor. She 
has youth- — she is only twenty-three 
years old — beauty, and intelligence. 
She has a voice of caressing loveliness, 
unusual in its velvety softness and 
smoothness. It is produced with an 
effortless ease which means a complete 
control of its resources. The tone, for 
all its softness, is full and of carrying 
power sufficient to dominate any 
orchestra, and there is in her song the 
constant suggestion of an ample 
reserve not drawn upon. Finally, she 
has true musicianly feeling, and a 
thorough acquaintance with her roles 
and the traditions of opera. 

She is singularly unspoiled by her 
achievements. She makes many 
friends on the stage and off, and she 
never fails to keep them. Her high 
regard for her art has never degen- 
erated into that unpleasant phenom- 
enon known as "the artistic tempera- 
ment." A strong vein of common 
sense and an innately sweet disposition 
have preserved in her the same unaf- 
fected, likable personality of her early 








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I I Book on 

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f Make a crosn in the square oppo-iite the book wanted) 

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20 Ninth Avenue West, Calgary, Alberta 

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PleaK mention Canada Montbly whtn wrltiii< to advcrtlMn. 


The Best Solution 
of the Gift Problem 

Give Books 

They are easiest to select — 
Moderate in price — Lasting and 
graceful reminders of the giver. 

Here are quoted several of the 
best of the Season's books, every 
one of \Yhich is NEW, GOOD and 
sure to make AN ACCEPTABLE 

Your Bookseller has them: 

T. Tembarom 

will remember with wliat delight you read " Little 
Lord Fauntleroy twenty years ago. This new 
book, the best of Mrs. Burnett's work, has all the 
charm and attractiveness of the old one. and in 
addition a dramatic intensity which is a new fea- 
ture of her work. It is a story of a struggling New 
York newspaper reporter, who falls heir entirely 
unexpectedly to $375,000 a year and large estates 
in England. The working out of the plot as to 
how he conducts himself under the new social and 
financial conditions provides material for a story 
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during the next twelve months $1.40 


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Where the ''Sea 
Serpen f Blows 

Continued rrom page 89. 

overhaul any bit of wreckage, a log or a 
derelict fishing boat preferred, on the 
Pacific Ocean. 

We must keep our weather eye 
open. There has been heavy weather 
outside for we espied the lightship 
drifting into the mouth of the Straits 
on the tide. We signalled, but she 
answered back that a United States 
tug would pick them up off Neah Bay — 
so we lost a neat little bit of salvage. 

We were getting ofif Cape Beale. 
Quite a nasty swell was setting in — by 
its size, Fritz said, it came all the way 
over from Japan. Anyhow it rolled 
us about in rather an alarming manner. 
As there was a nasty bit of a "rip" in it 
too, Gus headed the Seeker to every 
quarter of the compass to escape the 
many-coursed waves of the tide rip. 
Now we got a touch of the "back- 
water" off of Beale. With this now 
added to the big Pacific rollers — al- 
most surf here — we certainly were in 
trouble. ' The propeller at times sang 
its song into the clear sunlit air with 
never a drop of water near it. A 
really savage bit of water neatly took 
out the wheelroom windows and every- 
thing was afloat in a minute. Now 
the pump clanged regularly, every- 
thing was tight as we could make it, 
but the sea poured in from all sides 
through every crack and crevice. Gus 
stood at the wheel, half drowned by the 
spray that incessantly flung over the 
bow. I felt her swing and plunge 
instead of roll and I knew he had her 
about, and we were running up the 
middle channel into Barclay Sound. 

We lay that night at the Cable 
station wharf rejoicing that we had 
not laid our bones on the outer reefs, 
as we steered right through the rocks — 
, Gus was half blinded by the salt 
spume. Next morning we went back 
over the same course b}^ daylight and 
in calm, and the low tide showed us 
gull-covered reefs that "must have 
dodged us," Fritz said, for it was too 
thick and spray ridden last night for 
us to dodge them. 

Out we went right off shore headed 
for the whale fishing tugs that work 
some twenty miles south. Several 
times we saw a distant "finny whale" 
or finback blowing its vitiated air off 
in a cloud that looked like steam at a 
distance. Gus patiently followed this 
big chap, but he never let us catch up. 
Once he threw his mighty tail in the 
air and sounded with a whack that 
made the quiet air echo and reecho 
and threw miniature waves in tumbling 
circles about. Another time the huge 
mammal came to the surface so quietly 
that he made very little commotion 

^Seal Brand 

is the recognized standard 
by which all others are 

Chase & Sanborn, 



on the water. Soon he ran us right 
upon the feeding grounds. Here the 
water was covered with a reddish free 
swimming organism that we have not 
yet classified. It is called gril by the 
whalers. There were myriads of sea- 
fowl about. Some black fulmars were 
so gorged with the pinkish food, that 
they actually had to disgorge some 
of it, before they could By out of 
our way. 

"I tink, if you go mit the masthead, 
I gif you some schnapsof dose whalers," 
said Gus. So with a belt for a climb- 





ing rope and my camera strapped on 
my back I essayed the climb. I never 
was \ery good at the greasy pole, but 
now, when it was reared out of a wee 
bit of a steamboat, riding on a swell 
that was fully three hundred feet long 
and some fifteen feet high, and while 
it covered— to my swimming eyes — at 
least half of a circle, really there were 
times that the mast stood out almost 
at right angles to me, instead of above 
me. I feared I would never make it ! 
However, by some hard swallowing, I 
got my heart down. The perspiration 
drew my hair back to its normal posi- 
tion, and about half the crop of goosc- 
pimples on my back subsided. There ! 
I was at the throat. I coiled a loose 
rope about my legs, lashed myself to 
the mast with another, put my arms 
behind me and carefully lifted the 
focal plane out of its leather rest. By 
another bit of legerdemain I finally 
focused it — sky, deck, sea, alternately 
appearing on the ground glass — and 
all this while that Viking Gus had been 
putting the Seeker at a whale that was 
fully a third longer than our whole 
boat was. I saw the monster' dis- 
appear and almost instantly we plunged 
on over his "slick" — a smooth spot 
the whale makes while diving. Once 
I saw a sort of a purplish round dim 
spot below in the green — and if that 
huge thing had not changed its mind, 
and had risen in that spot, I would 
not be typing these lines, but he rolled 
over below us, and gave us just a 
gentle reminder of what he might do 
if he had but touched us by a current 
that shook us tremendously. 

The next thing I saw was a twin 
spout of evaporating moist warm air 
right astern. Gus wheeled the boat 
and put it right at the whale. I think 
he was "berserker" as he said, wild 
with the spirit of the game, a whole 
race of sea pirates from his ancient 
memories urging him on. Down 
>oundcd the big blackish animal. It 
only went a few feet tiiis time and 
turned and swam along beside us, 
ividently examining thj new creature 
that had entered the feeding ground. 
.Twice while it accompanied us 1 

appcd it, and thrcj times more I 

ok a picture of it on the same plate, 
hen with a mighty slap of its huge 
ail it dipped down and we never saw 
ur l)ig companion again. 

It was just as well it left us, for we 
were now out of sight of the shoreline, 
and the trade wind was nipping the 
crests otT the rollers in fine shafH!, so 
we put about and seesawed for thirty 
miles up anrl down those huge rollers. 
-Night was falling and we had to thread 
that outer reef again. We did it 
safely, and next morning we entered 
into the most extensive and luxuriant 
strata of smell it has ever been our 
mortal lot to encounter. Fritz went 


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To be well dressed gives comfort and confidence. 
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about with wrinkk'd nose. Gus 
snuffed and growled. 1 heard the 
former suggest to "Ginger," "Why 
not snub on t(ji it and save coal ? It's 
strcmg enough to draw us anywhere." 
I alone knew what it foret<jld and I 
kept my peace. In answer to Fritz's 
questions I enumerated Indian villages, 
stranded whales, fish cleaning camps 
without satisfying him. At last a 
most furious puff assailed our offended 
nostrils as wc rounded a point and 
entered the bay of the whaling plant. 
Here, right beside a small wharf, we 

saw two suljihur bottom whales float- 
ing. They had been killed by the big 
harpoon gun on the bow of one of the 
whalers. After a few hours work 
both had been secured, pumiK'd full of 
air and towed to the wharf, where later 
wc saw one cut up. 

A rope, a hook, a tackle and up llie 
incline the big steam drawn carcass 
went. Instantly it was surrounded by 
a host of Japs with flenshing knives and 
the blubber stripped from the carcass. 
This was soon placed in the big render- 
ing kettles and we saw oil as pure and 



Because the 
Power of 
been proved to 
be from 10 to 20 
times the 
amount taken. 

Good Light— Good Eyes 

The best light for studying is Kerosene light. 
The best oil lamp is the 

Strong, attractive, convenient. Can be lighted without 
removing chimney or shade — easy to rewick. Stock 
carried at all chief points. 

For best results use ROYALITB OIL. 

The Imperial Oil Co., Limited 

Toronto Montreal Winnipeg Vancouver 
Ottawa Quebec Calgary Edmonton 
Halifax St. John Regina Saskatoon 




Canadian Bank of Commerce 



CAPITAL $15,000,000.00 REST $12,500,000.00 

SIR EDMUND WALKER. C V.O.. LL.D., D.C.L., President 


General Manager 


Assistant General Manager 

V. C. BROWN, Superintendent of Central Western Branches 



Interest at the current rate is allowed on all deposits of $1.00 and 
upwards. Small accounts are welcomed. Accounts may be opened in 
the names of two or more persons, withdrawals to be made by any one of 
the number. 

Accounts can be opened and operated by mail as easily as by a per- 
sonal visit to the Bank. 

colorless as water, drawn from the 
blubber. The whalebone in the mouth 
of some species is saved. All the 
residue, save the bones, is made inf 
fertilizer. We examined the variou 
operations with interest — but you ougli 
to have seen the look of slow delighi 
that overspread the blond features of 
the mate's face when I said "Get 
steam up," and we sped off to an 
anchorage as far as we could get from 
that place where the oily air leaked 
various undesirable odors, and let thi 
free winds of heaven blow through 
our staunch old friend the Seeker. 

Dust to Dust 

Continued from page 96. 
cruel. But even if he lived to see a 
thaw, he could not endure the sight 
and close proximity of the thing upon 
the floor and remain sane ! 

He tried to fix his mind on simple 
familiar things — to remember happen- 
ings of his boyhood , rhymes his mother 
had sung to him, exploits in the adven- 
turous days when squirrel-hunting was 
wildly exciting sport. He remembered 
Lizzie Macdonald, who used to sit in 
front of him at school, whose sleek braids 
he had often slyly loosened in mischief. 
Lizziealways lost her hair-ribbons if the\- 
weren't plaited into the pig-tail. He 
would never see her again. 

Somehow the night dragged by. 
Calloway could not sleep; the horror 
of the awful presence unbalanced his 
mind at times and he heard his voice 
rambling on in senseless talk. 

In the morning, weak to the point of 
helplessness, he looked longingly 
around the shack for a ray of hope. 
One of the few things within his reach 
was a box containing paper and a 

Engaged in chronicling his imagined 
grievances against faithful little 
McRae he lost all count of time and 
sometimes space. There were moments 
when he shouted to old Jack to hold 
the bow steady or when he cursed him 
savagely for a fancied mishap. There 
were moments when he came back to 
consciousness after a rocking trip in 
the friendly canoe, and there were other 
limes when his pain-racked body 
seemed to be dragged by McRae over 
scorching, jagged rocks. 

But he wrote while he could, trv'ing 
to make his confession complete. 

At length he lay back exhausted, 
facing slow death by starvation and 
cold. It was that or the alternative — 
pro\idcd by a bottle of strychnine 
which stood mockingly beside the 
writing paper. 

Bob Callowa\- was no coward, but 
he recognized that the odds were 
heavily against him 

As another night of horror closed in 
he thrust out his hand weakK-. 



Dame Fortunes 

Continued from page 93. 

She lifted her head and glared at him. 

"What good will money do that poor 
baby when she wakes up to-morrow 
morning and finds — " She gritted her 
teeth and reached for her worn and 
rusty gloves and then for the long 
untouched glass. 

"Wait !" cried Cowles in a tone that 
made them all start. His voice fairly 
rang. "Wait, wait, wait!" he repeated, 
pulling out his watch and looking at it . 
They were both staring at him cur- 

"It's Christmas Eve," he said. "The 
stores are open until midnight ! It's 
only a little after ten o'clock. Come on 
for a cab and Yonge Street ! Here's 
where we knock the eye out of one set 
of troubles !" 

The fat little proprietor of the five 
and ten cent store was galvanized from 
weary somnambulance into new life 
when two young men and a very fluffy 
Ceven though a bit shabby) young 
woman leaped out of a cab to his 
counters. He bounced around and 
scolded and exhorted his clerks into a 
state of thorough irritation. But their 
worksick wrath gave way to curiosity 
and then hilarity as the three cus- 
tomers went laughing, quarreling, and 
consulting, up and down the dis- 
heveled counters. The fat proprietor 
went down into the cellar and came up 
with an armful of pasteboard packing 
cases in which two clerks especially 
detailed laid away each toy as it was 
singled out. There were dolls and tin 
railroad trains and whirligig things and 
rattles and stuffed rabbits and woolly 
dogs that s(|ueakcd, and more dolls, 
antl building blocks and flying 
machines and Xoah's arks and little 
stoves and doll's furniture and more 
<lolls — to say nothing of candleholdors 
and silvered angels and shiny balls. 

"Time ! Call the game a minute !" 
cried Cowles. "Let's count up. How 
much have we bought ?" 

The fat proprietor, exuding greasy 
appreciation, made figures on a pad. 
"Fifteen dollars and thirty-six cents." 
.\nd, with a burst of generosity, added : 
"I'll throw off the six cents." 

Roberts laughed, but Cowles was 

"Bobs," he said, I'm afraid we've 
uone fjtr enough. Half of fifteen is 
ibout as far as I really ought to go." 

"But where," insisted Miss Cargill, 
uenlly shouldering between them, "do 
1 come in ?" 

She thrust a five-dollar bill into 
Roberts' hand. 

"No," said both of them in a breath, 
^hc flushed, and in the next breath 
they both cried: "Why, yes, of course." 



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Williams' Shaving Cream (in tubes) 

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"Thank you," she said quietly. 

In a hansom laden with bundles and 
a Christmas tree cut away from the 
sidewalk decorations of the store, Miss 
Cargill and Cowles departed north- 
ward. Roberts couldn't go because 
there wasn't room after the Christmas 
tree had been put in. 

"I'll meet you," he called to them, 
"at Big Jim — no, not there. At the 
little drug store on the corner above. 
Merry Christmas to the kid." 

It was nearly tweUe when Cowles 

alighted at the drug store and met the 
eager Roberts in the middle of the side- 

"Tell nic iibout it," demanded 
Roberts. "How was it ?" 

Cowles's eyes were brimming. 

"We had to wake the family up in 
the next room," he said. "At (irst 
they were sleepy and kind of mad. 
Thought we were patronizing them. 
But Sadie was so everlastingly tactful 
and sweet . . . pretty soon they 
began to cry and I thought we'd 




— C-/ t 


Simply Can't Shrink 

A striking and Bomewhat unusual proof of tl.' 
"unshrinkabUness" of "Ceetee" Underclothing is four. ; 
in the following letter: 

St. Catharines, Feb. 27. 1913. 
C. Turnbull Co., Gall, Ont. 
Dear Sirs, 

We are sending you I suit cf Ceetee Underclothing 
which -we ivish you would alter. 

The man who bought these never had underclothing 
before thai the Laundry could not shrink and as he 
is very tall, he had these made extra large on that 
account. He has been wearing them for some time, 
but they are just as good as when he bought them as 
regard to length. If you cculd alter these at once, 
we would be tery much obliged. 

Yours very sincerely, 


This^man has discovered that "Ceetee" Under- 
clothing is different.'^ Many more are discovering it 
every day. Why not be one ? 





trappers send 
us their Raw Furs. 
Why not you? We pay 
highest prices and express 
charges, charge no commission 
and send money same day goods 
are received. Millions of dollars are 
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reliable house. We are the largest in our 
line in Canada. Write to-day. 



French or Eni£lish 

A book of 96 pages, fully illus- 
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Industry, also our " Up-to-the- 
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JOHN HALLAM. Limited, ^rl^Po^n't'st'last TORONTO 

never get the darned old tree up, for 
the mother's hugging her. Say, it was 
the grandest looking tree since the 
(iarden of Eden. Honest !. . . And 
when it was all fixed, the folks wanted 
to go in and wake up the baby and 
bring it out, and light up, and let Sadie 
see the fun .... Sadie wouldn't 
have it. She laughed a little . . said 
she didn't believe in Christmas-Eve 
trees, morning was the time to have 
'em. I didn't laugh. Couldn't. . . I 
saw her face and it 'most broke my 
lieart. . . . Then they asked her to 
come down in the morning; she said 
she couldn't. Said she was going away 
on a long journey before morning — oh, 
no, Bobs, it's all right; she may have 
meant to kill herself— I think she did 
but she won't now; it's all right. Wait 
till I tell you. And we walked up to her 
flat . . . oh, 1 forgot to say, that on 
the way uptown she got to cr>-ing like 
a little girl because she didn't have any 
dolly of her own and I bought her one; 
horrible thing; painted china face and 
'most as big as she was . . . .we 
walked up to her flat; she had the doll 
in her arms with her head down on it. 
I lighted the gas. She walked into her 
liedroom . . . laid the doll under the 
cover with its head on the pillow and 
threw herself down .beside it. 

"I started to say something and she 
lifted up her head and told me to get 
out and the quicker the better . . . 
then she fell down beside the doll 
again and began to cry. I never heard 
anybody cry like that. I went out to 
the door and rattled the handle . . . 
sneaked back to her door again, because 
I didn't dare leave her— you know- 
after the way she had been feeling and 
talking. She cried herself to sleep with 
her arm out across that doll . 
So I turned the lights out and came 

away." . 

"What are we gomg to do now . 
said Roberts after a while. 

"I tell vou what we're gomg to do, 
said Cow'les. "You and I are gomg 
down to the Metropole and get hold of 
Ted Tonwill and make him give Sadie 
Cargill a chance— a good chance— in 
his new show. He'll do it if we ask 
him, both of us together. And she wi 
keep steady and make good. And we 
send her a telegram about it so she will 
get it first thing in the morning, before 
she gets to thinking any more about 
'long journeys.' " ,,,„-„ 

"Good 1 Of course that s what we II 
do," cried Roberts. Only let's hurry. 
Because I am going o^■er to get Rose, 
and tell her what a cad I know I am. 
And" (not without the hurr>' of em- 
barrassment), "I don't want to wake 
her father up any later tlian is neces- 
sary." , ... 

Cowles reached out and took his 
hand and gripped it, saying not a 
word. They turned toward the Metro- 



pole. In twenty steps Roberts stopped 
short and pulled Cowles under a street 

"But look here, Charley," he said, 
"what are you going to do ? We've 
fixed Miss Cargill up all right. And, 
bless her, she has fixed me up. But I 
don't see that either of us has done 
anything for you." 

"You have done just this," said 
Charley a little unsteadily. "Instead 
of taking to the rosy and thorny path 
and graft, I'm going over to the station 
to get the one o'clock train for Hamil- 
ton where I've got an aunt who has 
been begging me to come down over 
Christmas. And when I've got a little 
rested and my nerv-es steadied down, 
I'm going to take a night desk at the 
I'imes at forty per. It will be monot- 
lous but decent. But, Bobs " 

Through a break in the roar of the 
city's night came the far-off tinkle of 
chimes ringing in the Christmas morn. 
Cowles looked up at the sky. So did 
Roberts. The sky, veiled all but a sin- 
gle star twinkling through the flying 
clouds. They looked at each other and 
then, because they both saw things in 
their faces that wouldn't quite bear 
looking at, turned their eyes away and 
walked on. 

"But, Bobs," continued Cowles 
'ftly after a while, "this has always 
been a day for beginning things over 
again, rather. . . .And it wasn't I 
who helped— or you — (jr even Sadie 
Cargill. It was — a Little Child." 

Toy- makers' Town 

Continued from page 83. 

tmusual for wealthy parents to spend 
high as a thousand dollars for single 
ys, such "toys" being in the nature 
miniature mechanical contrivances 
It range all the way from the small 
ly to the squadron of steam war- 
ips — such things as the gyroscope and 
i; mechanical toy are also popular,and 
:iicative. The carpentry outfits are 
,ide of fine steel and are entirely prac- 
tical for the inventive youngster. The 
liiimlile broom and dustpan is made in 
V form for the young housekeeper, as 
I he wash-tub and wash-board whereon 
-u can really scrub out dolly's clothes 
whiteness. After all play is largely 
•rk in miniature — work that stern 
cssity doesn't drive you to do, with 
r inexorable lash. 

.And most of these wonderful 
-_ mechanical contrivances are the work 
^ of the foreign makers— of the humble, 
s but busy men and women of the Toy- 
f towns of Germany and France. As 
proof of the ingenuity of these master 
toy makers was the "electric city" dis- 
played in an American store last 

the little Fairies in all the 
happy house- 
holds in this 
goodly land. 
And Merry 
to all their 
proud parents, from 
the makers of 

CI t is the "little Fairies' " of this 
country, and their parents, 
who have helped us to make 
Fairy Soap so popular. 

C Fairy Soap is always white, 

clean, pure and sweet — the 

oval, floating cake fits the hand — 

and we couldn't make it cost any 

more unless wc hid its /goodness 

with expensive scents. 

C Include Fairy Soap in 
your good resolutions for 
the New Year. 

thenjT FA I PR A N K conPA^ 



Christmas, an entire nninici|)ality being 
reproduced in miniature, even to the 
extent of a burning building and a 
fire department of toy firemen which 
dashed up and extinguished the blaze. 
The trend at present is largely in an 
educational direction and many toys 
are now offered that have an actual 
vocational value. These range all 
the way from the working-model of a 
cinematograph to the toy Zeppelin 
airship that really flies and from the 
complete stone building blocks to the 

steel girders and trestles with which a 
mo<lern "skyscraper" may be built on 
the floor. 

And so when you go shopping this 
year in answer to your small child's 
letter to "Dear Old Santa" just don't 
forget that there is a real Kris Kringle 
after all. Ami when you see the magic 
words "Made in Germany" or "Made 
in France" conjure in your mind a 
picture of the humble but happy 
workers of Alt Nuremberg or of the 
Temple quarters in France. 




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Heel of Achilles 

Continued from page 101. 
forgets. He's so popular with the 

boys, Jack is And it's 

Christmas Eve." 

VVarry passed the brightly lighted 
drug store without thinking of the 
directory. In his mind was the proud 
description of a weak man, given by 
the uncomplaining woman who suffered 
most from his weakness. "He's big, and 
broad-shouldered, a handsome, 
straight-backed man, with a smile that 
would break your heart," she had said, 
the light of pride and love in her eyes. 
And for the first time Suite 52, War- 
wick Apartments, seemed to lack 

Dissatisfied still with his role of 
Santa Claus, but with little thrills of 
unaccustomed emotion rioting in his 
mind, he struck out aimlessly for the 
west end business street where he could 
see a busy crowd of laden pedestrians 
passing quickly up and down. On his 
way, animated bundles urged him 
recklessly from the sidewalk, and happy 
faces over the tops were connected with 
striding feet below by the most unusual, 
higgledy-piggledy of bodies. It was 
Christmas eve with a vengeance. 

As he passed a saloon the throng of 
men crowding in and out reminded 
him vividly of the man who was "so 
popular with the boys," and of the 
woman silently waiting at home for 
that which was more to her than any 
Christmas present. A drunken man 
staggered against him, and Warry 
peered anxiously into the leering face. 
And peering, he ran full tilt into a huge 
fellow half hidden behind a pile of the 
most awkward of parcels. He turned 
to apologize, but too late to anticipate 
the laugh that came down to him from 
a swarthy, crease-lined face that told 
of dailv contact with molten metal. 

A couple of men standing before the 
swinging door of a redolent saloon 
heard the boisterous laugh and waved 
beckoning hands at the big fellow. 

"No, thanks 1" called the man m 
answer. "Going home to the wife and 
kids to-night." 

"Nonsense, Lester 1" urged one of 
the men. "This is Christmas eve, 
man !" He pushed open the swinging 
door as ke spoke, and the heavy odor 
of liquor came to the street in a warm 
waft. Lester's face clouded and his 
lips closed on the reply that had been 

Warry, who had been standmg mtent 
from the first greeting, thought rapidly. 
He stepped up and touched the arm 
that was pressed down over a long, 
flat parcel. 

"May I speak to you a moment .-' 
he asked, his heart throbbing %yith a 
curious nervousness. A big thing m 
his life was offering itself, and bemg 

Residence n) P. C. Borsh, Corner High Park 

Boulevard and Indian Road, Toronto, 

Roofed with 

The Roof That Never 

If you buy any other roofings, you do 
so on the understanding that they may 
last 'five, ten, fifteen or even twenty 
years. But you know that all this time 
they will be steadily deteriorating, until, 
when you least desire it, they will fail. 

Not so with ASBESTOSLATE. 

Instead of deteriorating, it actually be- 
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with age and exposure. An ASBESTO- 
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an "expectation of life" as has one newly 

You cannot build a house too good for 
a roof of ASBESTOSLATE, for besides 
being practically everlasting, it is abso- 
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Yet it costs less than natural slate or 
tile, and but little more than those roof- 
ings which must be frequently renewed. 

ASBESTOSLATE is made in "shingles" 
of various shaf)es and sizes, in Newport 
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Write for Booklet M giving full infor- 
mation, to 

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Co., Limited 

Address E. T. Bank Building., 

263 St. James St., Montreal. 
Factory at Lachine, P. Q., near Montreal. 

the first he was determined to seize it 
with hands and feet. Indeed, at that 
moment he was prepared to try hope- 
less physical persuasion should the man 
turn from him to the saloon. "Your 
name is Jack Lester, is it not ?" he 
asked in trepidation. 

"Right you are," came the answer, 
as a pair of heavily browed eyes turned 
down upon him. "And not ashamed of 
it_rnost times .... Are you real 
sure it's me you want ?" taking in 
Warry's jau ity figure from spats to 
opera hat. "If it's a con game it's not 



Gifts That Failed 

Continued from page 105. 
might have been, and whether it would not 
have been better after all. I am afraid that I 
am writing this like a sentimental school girl, 
but you must know that I have been reading 
your charming little book, and it has come to 
me as a message from you. Is it not really a 
confession, Sidney ? You have made me very 
happy, dear brother. I feel more closely 
drawn to you than at any time since we were 
all together at Christmas, at the old home. 
Come and see me. Your loving sister, 


"Dear Brother: Greetings to you from the 
happiest household in town, thanks to a gener- 
ous Santa Claus in the guise of Uncle Sidney. 
I must begin by thanking you on my own 
account. How in the world did you learn that 
Roman colors had come in again ? I have 
always heard that men did not follow the 
styles and could not be trusted to select any- 
thing for a woman, but it is a libel, a base libel, 
for the scarf which you sent is quite the most 
beautiful thing I have received this Christmas. 
I have it draped over the large picture in the 
parlor, and it is the envy of every one who has 
been in to-day. A thousand, thousand thanks, 
dear Sidney. It was perfectly sweet of you to 
remember me, and I call it nothing less than a 
stroke of genius to think of anything so appro- 
priate and yet so much out of the ordinary. 

"John asks me to thank you — but I must 
tell you the story. One evening last week we 
had a little chafing-dish party after prayer 
meeting, and I asked John to open a bottle of 
olives for me. Well, he broke the small blade 
of his knife trying to get the cork out. Me 
said: 'If I live to get downtown again, I'm 
going to buy a cork-screw.' Fortunately he 
had neglected to buy one, and so your gift 
seemed to come straight from Providence. 
John is very much pleased. Already he has 
found use for it, as it happened that he wanted 
to open a bottle of household ammonia the 
very first thing this morning. 

"As for Fre<rs lovely books — thank good- 
ness you didn't send him any more story books. 
John and I have been trying to induce him to 
take up a more serious line of reading. The 
Josephus ought to help him in the study of his 
Sunday school lessons. We were pleased to 
observe that he read it for about an hour this 

"When you were out here last fall did 
* Genevieve tell you that she was collecting silk 
for a doll quilt t She insists that she did not 
but she must have done so, for how could you 
have guessed that she wants pieces of silk 
above anything else in the world ? The per- 
fectly lovely cravats which you sent will more 
than complete the quilt, and I think mamma 
will get some of the extra pieces for herself. 
Fred and Genovieve send love and kisses. 

»John insists that you come out to dinner some 
Sunday very soon — next Sunday if you can. 
After wc received your presents we werequitc 
ashamed of the box wc had sent over to your 
hotel, but we will try to make up the difference 
in heart-felt gratitude. Don t forget — any 
Sunday. Your loving sister, 


"Well, what do you know about that?' 
inqiiirtd Mr. Sidney Payson, as he laid 
down the last of the letters, and ad- 
dressed the circumscribing atmosphere. 
"What do you know alwut that? Will 
on th£ ice! Genevieve making doll- 

t quilts out of neck-ties!" Speech 
failed him, and he sat before his cosy 
bachelor hearth, staring at the fire. 
After all. the habits of bachelorhood 
are only habits, and arc capable of being 
hrokin , though usually a sound ' >f r<nd- 

The Kodak 
Gift Case 

A quality) and 
richness that "will 
appeal to the 
most fastidious* 



Vest Pocket Kodak, with Kodak Anas- 
tigmat lens. Hand Carrying Case, of 
imported satin finish leather in a shade 
of soft brown that is in perfect 
harmony with the deep blue of the 
silk lined container. 

It solves that Christmas Problem, 
$16.50 at your Kodak Dealers. 


ing and groans accompanies the dis- 
severance. It is to be noted that Mr. 
Sidney Payson's countenance displayed 
a singular appearance of upheaval. For 
one thing, his Christmas dinner had 
not disagreed with him. The pretty girl 
who had been assigned him, had sug- 
ge.sted a walk in the afternoon, and had 
led him a vigorous hike which he had 
been too polite to decline to endure. 
Presumably, it had helped the mince- 
pie and the chestnut dressing it really 
was a tremendously good dinner— to lie 
easy; and Mr. Sidney Payson felt 

cheerful and young in consequence. 

"By Jove!" he ruminated, glancing 
again at Brother Will's letter, "I'm nut 
so old myself — two years younger than 
he is. If he can skate with a pretty 
girl, by jiminy, so can I. 

He picked up the telephone reflec- 
tively. I'll call Will and ask him if 
he'll let me and my girl in on his rink. 
Yes, sir, my girl, by jinks !" 

DStermineclIy he took the recei\«r 
off the nook and called his number, an 
undeniable grin on his face. Mr. Sidney 
Pn\'S()ii h;ul renewed hi'^ xmith. 




66 Inches 


Never did 


Larger and Deeper Projections. 

The safety- assuring portion of a Tire is the 
tread. Compare Dunlop Traction Tread with all 
other makes of tires, and note the difference in 
the larger and deeper projections. That should 
prove clearly to you that to have (real traction 
qualities in a tire) is to hold (the car safely). 

Outshows, Outsells, Outserves. 

To-day Dunlop Traction Tread outsells all 
other Anti- skids. That came about through 
outserving them. Dunlop Traction Tread re- 
moved the fear of skidding, the need for chains. 

The Power Behind Price. 

And if ordinary Anti- skids could measure up 
to the demands of safety, would motorists pay 
more for DunlopTr ac t ionTreads as they do now ? 

The Dunlop line consists of Tires for Automobile, Motor Truck, Motorcycle. Bicycle and Car- 
riage, Rubber Belting, Packing. Hose, Heels, Mats, Tiling and General Rubber Specialties. 



Gifts That Failed 

Continued from page 105. 

might have been, and whether it would not 
have been better after all. I am afraid that I 
am writing this like a sentimental school girl, 
but you must know that I have been reading 
your charming little book, and it has come to 
me as a message from you. Is it not really a 
confession, Sidney ? You have made me very 
happy, dear brother. I feel more closely 
drawn to you than at any time since we were 
all together at Christmas, at the old home. 
Come and see me. Your loving sister, 


"Dear Brother: Greetings to you from the 
happiest hourehold in town, thanks to a gener- 
ous Santa Claus in the guise of Uncle Sidney. 
I must begin by thanking you on my own 
account. How in the world did you learn that 
Roman colors had come in again ? I have 
always heard that men did not follow the 
styles and could not be trusted to select any- 
thing for a woman, but it is a libel, a base libel, 
for the scarf which you sent is quite the most 
beautiful thing I have received this Christmas. 
I have it draped over the large picture in the 
parlor, and it is the envy of every one who has 
been in to-day. A thousand, thousand thanks, 
dear Sidney. It was perfectly sweet of you to 
remember me, and I call it nothing less than a 
stroke of genius to think of anything so appro- 
priate and yet so much out of the ordinary. 

"John asks me to thank you — but I must 
tell you the story. One evening last week we 
had a little chafing-dish party after prayer 
meeting, and I asked John to open a bottle of 
olives for me. Well, he broke the small blade 
of his knife trying to get the cork out. He 
said: 'If I live to get downtown again, I'm 
going to buy a cork-screw.' Fortunately he 
had neglected to buy one, and so your gift 
seemed to come straight from Providence. 
John is very much pleased. Already he has 
found use for it, as it happened that he wanted 
to open a bottle of household ammonia the 
very first thing this morning. 

"As for Fred's lovely books — thank good- 
ness you didn't send him any more story books. 
John and I have been trying to induce him to 
take up a more serious line of reading. The 
Josephus ought to help him in the study of his ' 
Sunday school lessons. We were pleased to 
erve that he read it for about an hour this 

"When you were out here last fall did 
< .inevieve tell yoii that she was collecting silk 
for a doll quilt ? She insists that she did not 
but she must have done so, for how could you 
1. .ve guessed that she wants pieces of silk 
■ ve anything else in the world ? The per- 
tly lovely cravats which you sent will more 
than complete the quilt, and I think mamma 
will get some of the extra pieces for herself. 
Fred and Genevieve send love and kisses. 
John insists that you come out to dinner some 
Sunday very soon — next Sunday if you can. 
After we received your presents we were quite 
ashamed of the box we had sent over to your 
hotel, but we will try to make up the difference 
in heart-felt gratitude. Don't forget — any 
Sunday. Your loving sister, 


' ' Well , what do you know about that .''" ' 
inquired Mr. Sidney Payson, as he laid 

wn the last of the letters, and ad- 

' sscd the circumscribing atmosphere. 

A hat do you know about that? Will 
on the ice! Genevieve making doll- 
quilts out of those neck-tics!" Speech 
'led him, and he sat before his cosy 

K helor hearth, staring at the fire. 

After all, the habits of bachelorhood 

Konly habits, and are capable of being 
ken, though usually a sound of rend- 

For all kinds of game 

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of a size and load exactly 
suited for hunting the 
kind of game you're going after. Shoot 

Dominion Ammunition 

Metallics and Shot Shells 

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It is especially suited for cold weather 
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it is u.sed. 

For big bags and an 
all round successful 
shooting season be 
sure that your am- 
munition bears this 
trade mark. 

Manufactured by 

Dominion Cartridge Co., Limited 


ing and groans accompanies the dis- 
severance. It is to be noted that Mr. 
Sidney Payson's countenance displayed 
a singular appearance of upheaval. For 
one thing, his Christmas dinner had 
not disagreed with him. The pretty girl 
who had been assigned him, had sug- 
gested a walk in the afternoon, and had 
led him a vigorous hike which he had 
been too fxilite to decline to endure. 
Presumal>ly, it had helped the mince- 
pie and the chestnut dressing— it really 
was a tremendously good dinner— to lie 
easy ; and Mr. Sidney Payson felt 

cheerful and young in consequence. 
"By Jove !" he ruminated, glancing 
again at Brother Will's letter, "I'm not 
so old myself — two years younger than 
he is. If he can skate with a pretty 
girl, by jiminy, so can I. 

He picked up the telephone reflec- 
tively. I'll call Will and ask him if 
he'll let me and my girl in on his rink. 
Yes, sir, my girl, by jinks !" 

Determinedly he took the receiver 
off the hook and called his number, an 
undeniable grin on his face. Mr. Sidney 
Payson had renewed his youth. 




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The Woman of It 

Continued from page 87. 

with him would l)e a good steady busi- 
ness transaction and you would know 
where you were," 

Monro took his pipe out of his mouth 
and lo^ ked straight at his daughter out 
of his luminous eyes, "I understand," 
he said, "you had rather that, than 
pretense of love ?" 

"A thousand times rather, dad." 
She had thrown off her whimsical 
manner. "A good many of them forget 
that there is a woman inside the wrap- 
pings of the millions. If you were 
poor, I should have a chance. Dad, 
you think I am a fool, don't you, but I 
just want to be loved, and I want to fall 
in love. I can have everything in the 
world that money can buy, but I want 
that more even than Louis the four- 
teenth chairs," she added jestingly, a 
little ashamed of her emotion, Monro 
nodded his head, "I always knew you 
had that inside you," he said gravely. 

"And when mother sits and sends 
out invitations by the score to all these 
people, who laugh at you behind your 
back and accept your hospitality and 
wonder how much you are going to 
settle on your daughter, when all that 
goes on, I want to run away somewhere 
and find someone who will love me a id 
cherish me and who would not care if 
you lost every penny that you had." 

"I could lose it quite easily," said 

"Mother would not like that at all 
and you know dad, she is happy. 
When Miss Searle came to-day and 
mother felt that she was important 
enough to need a secretary, her cup 
of joy was full. She will wear her 
secretary with as much pleasure as her 
diamond tiara or her ropes of pearls 
and there is something sd dear about 
her, that one can't help being pleased 
that she should get so much pleasure 
out of it all." 

"You don't get much then ?" he 
asked shrewdly. 

"Oh, I get some, at odd times, not 
half as much as I did seven years ago 
when you first began to arrive and had 
bought the house at Pinelands and I 
used to ride my pony bare-backed a ad 
run about the lawns in my bare feet." 

"Ydu were a bit of hoyden, then," 
he said and grinned. "I remember 
your mother was scared to death that 
we should never get you toned down 
to European standard," 

They both laughed and Valerie 
came and sat down on the arm of the 
precious Louis the fourteenth chair, 

"That dealer would have fits," she 
observed quietly, "I am sure he 
thinks the last thing one ought to do to 
these chairs is to sit on them — prob- 
ably the peerage keep them in their 
marble halls under glass cases." 

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Monro smoked his pipe out before 
he said anything — then he went to the 
flower-decked balcony, knocked the 
ashes out and put his pipe back into 
his pocket. "VVho is the man who is 
worrying you ?'' he asked abruptly. 

"It is not one man," said Valerie 
soberly, "it is several," 

"For example ?" 

She ticked them off on her fingers. 
"There is Matlock, Zoe told me that 
he had proposed to her already, and 
there is Marchdale, who is Scotch and 
proud and hates the painful necessity,-." 



She broke off for a moment with a 
laugh." Oh Jonathan ! if you saw his 
manner of wooing. He is so careful 
and he seems to test everything he 
says, lest I should place undue value 
on it and I simply can't help leading 
him on. You should have seen his 
face when I said, 'but Lord Marchdale, 
I should not find it dull at all, I should 
love to live in Scotland.' " 

"I can't have my daughter a flirt," 
isaid Monro. 

I "I've got to be what they make me," 
said the girl, "I do it in self-defence, 

"Is there anyone else ?" 

"Yes there is that decent little man, 
Denzil Merton," said Valerie. "I 
think he really cares for me, dad. If 
your fortune melted away, I don't 
think he would go with it. He is a 
goofl little fellow." 

"Then why would he not do ?" 

She gave him a whimsical look, and 
pulled down the corners of her very 
charming mouth, "I think it must be 
so very hard to love a little man, dad. 
He is inches shorter than I am." 

"What do inches matter ?" 
You would not say that, Jonathan, 
il you were not taller than mother ! 
You would not care to go about, not 
only feeling that she was your better 
half, but conscious that she was look- 
ing it." 

"I suppose not," he said. 
And you know there is not any 
iiiirry," said the girl, "I'm quite young 
— and you both like Europe. Some- 
where, there must be someone who 
would make me feel something, who 
would make me forget that I am the 
rich Miss Monro, who has millions 
coming to her. Dad, there must be 
"i'lme man whom I can love." 

Yes," he .said slowly, "but it would 
1)1 elk your mother's heart, if you did 
[ not marry some one of standing, Val- 

"I know." Her tone was almost 

petulant. "It does not matter about 

' m\' heart, I supixjse." Then she 

M nted of her f)etulancc. "I did not 
.....m that at all," she said. "I know 
I you love me, both of you. Don't say 
""vthing to mother about our talk." 

I had no intention to do so," he 
said with a grin, that Valerie knew 
and loved, it was so much the grin of a 
mischievous boy. "Neither had I any 
intention of telling her that I had 
smoked my pipe in here. The primi- 
tive instinct of self-preservation, my 
child. You and I have long ago con- 
cluded a defensive alliance ! My dear, 
I wish I were back again in Winnipeg, 
scrapping over grades with old Forbes. 
These idle days are very long." 

"Hush ! Here is mother," said 
Valerie, and with a characteristic 
swirl of her long gown, Mrs. Monro 




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The only word used l)y everyone to 
describe Mrs. Monro was "charming" 
and it described her to a nicety. She 
was no longer beautiful, but she still 
possessed all the charm of beauty. 
She was as slight as her daughter, but 
her complexion was faded, her eye 
had never had Valerie's depth or 
lustre and they now looked tired. The 
whole woman looked tired as if she 
had crowded too much into her life 
and the only thing about her that 
seemed full of life was her thin and 


restless hands, the glitter of the rings 
covering them accentuating their rest- 

"Valerie, you are not riding this 
morning ? I heard Lord Matlock say 
he was riding in the park to-day. He 
said it to you, if I do not mistake." 

"You do not mistake." 

"My dear, I think you are foolish, 
the man is not a fortune-hunter, he 
has a fine old estate encumbered by 
debt. He must marry money. He 
says so quite openly." 



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"But there is no need for me to 
marry anybody," said the girl, "I don't 
like him,mother,and I won't encourage 

Mrs. Monro shrugged her shoulders 
"Martin, you have not been out. 1 
can't understand why you don't take a 
turn in the park, or do something, 
you are not like me, I am so busy I 
don't know what to do with myself. 
You have nothing to do the live-long 
diy, but read your paper." 

"That is why I am so inexpressibly 
bored," said her husband. 

"Are you bored ?" She opened her 
eyes wide. "Really, my dear, could you 
not find something to do. In this 
world, there is so much work t" be 
done. I lave jeen slaving, literally 
slaving since nine o'clock this morning. 
Miss Seaile is a treasure, she almost 
takes the words out of my mouth, it 
seems to me that she must be a thought 
reader. She puts down actually what 
I want to say and in excellent English 
too. She has no objection to going 
with me to committees, and making 
a. precis of everything that is said. A 
woman like that is invaluable." 

"I am glad you got her," said her 
husband drily. 

"So am I. Could you not take a 
little interest i i the flower girls' alli- 
ance ?" 

"I'll give you a cheque gladly, said 
her husband. 

Then there was a silence and Monro 
got up. "Valerie, will you run down 
to Ryde with me ?" he asked. "The 
yacht is in the roadstead there. We 
might get a run round the island." 

"Yes dad, I'd love to." But Mrs. 
Monro extended a languid hand. 

"My dear boy, how forgetful you 
are. How can Valerie go away in 
the middle of the season ? You have 
an engagement too. Don't you remem- 
ber we are dining with Lord Merton ? 
He is taking us on to Covent Garden 
to hear the new tenor." 

"I don't care about tenors, said 
Monro, looking sideways at his 
daughter. „ 

"They are not in my line either, 

said Valerie. 

"But we simply can t disappoint 
Lord Merton— the thing can't be 
done. It is ill-bred. We promised more 
than a week ago." ,, .. 

"A week ago is a week ago, said 
Monro, still watching Valerie. 

"Nobody doubted that— what do you 
mean, exactly ?" 

"Valerie may not care to accept 
favors from Lord Merton." 

Mrs. Monro turned to her daughter, 
"Have you quarrelled with him, Val- 
erie ?" "No," said the girl with a 
little laugh. "How would you begin 
quarrelling with Denzil Merton ? 
There is not such a thing as a quarrel 
in him. He is a dear Httle man. 



mother, and I like him awfully, but I 
shall never do anything but like him. 
"It is not fair to take his dinners and 
his opera-boxes and to know that you 
do not intend to give him anything in 
return. . . It is not fair to encour- 
age him to go on caring for me. I 
would not mind if it were any of the 
others — it would not hurt them to be 
let down — but Lord Merton is tender- 
hearted. I hate hurting him." 

Mrs. Monro's delicate brows were 
lifted in amazement — Valerie was 
not in the habit of speaking out so 
strongly to her. 

"It seems to me, that you have a 
very considerable amount of feeling 
for Lord Merton," she said drily, 
"and also a knowledge of his character." 

"Anybody can have that," said the 
girl." He is as transparent as a child." 

"Then I cannot see what there is 
against him. He is short and he is 
not handsome, but surely you do not 
want to marry an Adonis. They 
don't make good husbands as a rule." 

"I like his face," said Valerie, 
rather perversely. "It is a good face, 

"Then why not jive yourself a 
chance of growing to like him ?. It 
seems to me that would be the only 
sensible thing to do." 

"I should never get fond of him in 
that way." 

"Give yourself the chance. You 
agree with me, Martin ?" 

Monro looked from his wife to his 
daughter. His sympathies were 
entirely with the latter. At the same 
time, he thought she was strong 
enough to take her own line and he 
hated disappointing the charming 
woman, for whom he was sacrificing his 
daily inclinations. If it amused her 
to sit in Lord Merton's box, to wear 
her tiara and to listen to the new tenor, 
what on earth did it matter ? He 
and Valerie were fond of music, 
although not given to enthusiasm 
al)out popular favorites, and he knew 
that if they could have sneaked 
off quietly to some obscure part of 
the theatre by themselves, they would 
have looked forward to it. Then why 
•■ )t give way to that eminently sen- 
le woman, his wife ? 

For he recognized that she was 
eminently sensible, that all her sug- 
gestions were tinged with the purest 
truest common-sense. Only was it his 
fault, that in the hearts of both Val- 
erie and himself, there dwelt a grain 
of that old-world, half-forgotten thing 

the sense of romance ? 


Denzil, Lord Merton, was awaiting 
his guests with feverish excitement. 
He had changed but slightly from the 
plain, little boy with the irregular 
features, and lovable eyes, who had 


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ind mostly, futile attempts to make 
the world a little better, had it in him 
to love truly ; and because he had been 
dowered with that doubtful gift, the 
love of beauty, only that which was 
lovely, attracted him. But beauty had 
to be coupled with goodness — he hated 
any thing that was vicious. 

Surely they were late. Perhaps 
they were not coming. Beauties were 
proverbially capricious, and he had 
nothing to offer her, but what she had 
a thousand times better herself. For 
he was a very humble-minded little 
man and he was only too painfully 
conscious that he possessed neither 
brilliance nor appearance. One of 
the things that perplexed him daily, 
was, whether it would not be better to 
replace those irregular but serviceable 
teeth of his with some that might add 
to his appearance. It sounds ridicu- 
lous and laughable, but in reality it 
was neither, for it was a thought that 
sprang from his humble thought that if 
his looks were only more comely, Val- 
erie might grow to care for him a 

He was almost beginning to despair 
of their coming when he saw Monro 
and his wife with Valerie at their side 
coming towards him. They were a 
noticeable trio. Valerie, despite her 
determination not to encourage Denzil, 
had made herself look remarkably 
lovely. The young man noticed that 
many heads were turned to look at her 
as she passed by. If Valerie was not 
blind to the admiration she excited, 
at least she appeared to be so, and she 
could no more help greeting Merton 
with a charming smile, than she could 
help looking uncommonly beautiful. 
"We are horribly late," she said ; 
"blame our motor for it." 

"You are here," he said with a sigh 
of deep content that betrayed uncon- 
sciously the tension that he had under- 
gone. He turned nervously to Mrs. 
Monro. "You cannot tell how grate- 
ful I am to you for coming." Monro 
looked at him very kindly and he 
thought what he had often thought 
before — that this unpretentious man 
was one to whom he would like to give 
his charming, whimsical daughter. 

If the conversation during dinner 
was brilliant, it was due entirely to 
Valerie. She liked her host and 
although she knew that she was per- 
haps encouraging him to hope vainly, 
she could not help trying to make the 
dinner he was giving them, a success. 
"He shall have a perfectly happy 
evening," she said to herself. "He 
may have to pay for it afterwards, but 
I will make it worth while to him." 

"Whatis the girl at?" thought Monro 
to himself. "Is she thinking of him 
after all ?" In his heart, he felt vexed, 
that she should be preparing pain for 
so excellent a fellow. 



But Merton was in the altitudes 
•fthere all mundane things are forgot- 
ten. He scarcely knew what was 
being said or done around him, and 
when after dinner, he wrapped the 
girl's light cloak round her and his 
hand came in contact with her shoulder, 
it was to him as if by accident he had 
touched something divine. 

Valerie understood his feelings 
and she was very quiet during the 
drive to the theatre. "I won't let 
this go on," she said to herself pas- 
sionately. "It will hurt him too much. 
I am capable of saying yes to him, 
just because I cannot bear to think 
of his being unhappy." And they 
went into the crowded opera-house 
and into Merton's box and Mrs. Monro 
busied herself with her glasses, bowing 
from time to time to those friends 
whom she discovered. 

Monro watched her, a little smile 
playing round that guileless looking 
mouth. "Valerie is quite right — • 
she does get enjoyment out of things," 
he thought to himself. She was far 
the most of the three- 
she was the only one who got her 
money's worth out of life ! 

Valerie looked pale, he thought 
and distraite, but when the first note 
of music sounded, she began to revive. 
She had a strange liking for music, 
dependent entirely on her moods. 

"Have you heard Sinclair ?" Merton 
a.sked of her when they had first seated 

"The new tenor ? No, not yet." 

"They say he is wonderful." 

"They always say that— but I have 
never heard a wonderful tenor. When 
they can sing, they can't act and when 
by chance they can do both, they are 

"And that is a crime ?" 

He could afford to ask that question, 
for he himself, he was thankful to say, 
was not fat. 

"It is no crime in an ordinary man, 
although I confess to admiring the 
spare build of my country-men, but 
when a man plays a romantic part, I 
do consider it a crime to be fat." 

"Romance should always then, have 
a beautiful exterior ?" he asked wist- 

The sound of his voice touched her. 
"I don't think many people know the 
meaning of the word," she said; "those 
that do, have a possession of doubtful 

And then the music began and 
Valerie felt acutely responsive. 

It was an o[)era she loved and she 
sat quite still drinking in the music 
until the knight, Lf)lK'ngrin, came in. 
She loved the subtle harmonics, the 
witchery of the strains and she was 
glad that she shoulrl first hear the new 
trnnr in the title part. And when 
amid a burst of applause, the figure in 

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its bright armour came forward, she 
turned to Lord Merton, "At least, he 
is not fat," she said lightly, under her 

He was not, that was certain — he 
stood there, tall and straight and 
slight, his crisp golden hair catching 
the light and his deep blue eyes, look- 
ing, not on the excited audience, but 
on his fellow-actors. There was some- 
thing gallant in his bearing — some- 
thing knightly —Valerie leaned for- 
ward and took a long look at him. 

He showed just a trifle of impatience 

at the long continued applause as if it 
annoyed him and when it had sub- 
.sided, he lifted his voice and sang. 

And as if by magic, a hush fell on 
the audience. For the new tenor's 
voice had that quality in it, that 
moves the hearts of men and women 
alike— that something, that stirs one 
to nobler heights and higher aspira- 
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even the most frivolous. Mrs. Monro 
turned at the end of the song and 
murmured "beautiful !"— she could 
never enjoy anything without voicing 

















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For Europe: 

Daily, November 7 to December 31, 1913 

For United States and Eastern Canada: 

Daily, December 1 to December 31, 1913 


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her appreciation. Monro felt strange 
and thought, without knowing why, 
of the days when he was a lad and had 
lain on his back in a pine-wood and 
had listened to the wind soughing 
above him — and Valerie thought of 
nothing, except that here was Rom- 
ance, beautifully apparelled ! 

But it was Denzil Merton, who at the 
end of the first act, seemed most 
excited. "I believe I know him," he 
cried. "I believe I used to play with 
him, when I was a boy of twelve in 
Rome. It must be he ! I loved him 
with all my heart." 

"And forgot him straightway ! Now, 
we know what you do, when you love, 
Lord Merton." 

It was Valerie who spoke and she 
could no more help speaking lightly 
than she could help her heart beating 
violently. She did not want them all 
to guess how touched she had been. 
For when, at the end of the first act, 
the knight had appeared before the 
footlights and had bowed his acknowl- 
edgments, she had caught his eyes 
and had held them for a moment. 
She had thought at the time, that 
every one in the opera house must 
have seen that exchange of looks. 

"Probably," she said to herself, 
"every foolish woman in the theatre 
believes that he has looked at her — 
it is the art of those actors." But 
she felt troubled and hence her light 
speech to Lord Merton. "No, by 
George," said the little man. "I can't 
love like that, I have never forgotten 
him and often my mother and I have 
spoken of him and have wondered 
what had become of him." 

"How long ago is it ?" 

"Twelve years ago," said Lord Mer- 
ton," he used to play with me when we 
were staying in Rome, where my father 
had been entrusted with rather a deli- 
cate piece of diplomacy. I went to a 
little school kept for English boys and 
there I fell in love with Sinclair, so 
much so, that I gave my mother no 
peace until she allowed me to ask 
him home to play with me. She fell 
in love with him too, although there 
was something very disreputable about 
the father, I believe. Perhaps I am 
quite wrong about that," he added 
hurriedly, for he hated saying any- 
thing derogatory about anyone, "one 
has such quaint, childish impressions," 

"And I suppose you just lost sight 
of him when you left Rome ?" 

"Before that. He came to play with 
me one afternoon, and I never saw him 
.ifur. He just disappeared. I saw 
his father once in the distance after- 
wards — I was horribly frightened of 
him, but I missed Robert .so much 
that I ran towards him. But he eluded 
my pursuit, and although it is twelve 
years ago, I seem to see the boy now, 
with his clustering golden curls and his 





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deep blue eyes. That must be his 
own hair he wears." 

Valerie looked into his face with a 
smile. She was interested, she did 
not know why. She seemed to see the 
beautiful little boy whom Denzil de- 
scribed and she had in addition caught 
a glimpse of the golden heart of the 

"Was there a mother ?" she asked. 

"Yes, he loved her passionately; a 
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ber her, wearing a sculptor's blouse of 
blue. She used to model little terra- 
cotta figures. I can see her long, 
slender hands now." 

"Perhaps she is here, listening to her 
son," said Valeric. "It must be won- 
derful to have a son like that." 

"Yes it must be," said Denzil. He 
spoke with the deep feeling that she 
had always known he possessed. "It 
must be wonderful to have talent or 
beauty or any other gift like that." 
It seems to make men and women a 
race to them.selves." 

"Why don't you go and claim his 
acquaintance ?" 

She knew quite well why he did not 
go, but affected ignorance. She knew 
quite well, that while he could sit close 
by her, he would not move to claim 
acquaintance with anyone, not even 
the boy who had held his childish 
heart. Valerie understood the little 
man quite well. "I don't think he 
would like it," he answered, "he does 
not seem the sort of man who would 
like a host of adorers round him during 
the play." 

"No, he does not," she said. 
The door of the box opened and let 
in a few callers. Valerie resented 
them. Denzil, with his reminiscences, 
suited her mood. All these people 
with their gushing comments filled her 
with impatience. 

"All the women are in love with 
him," she heard pretty little Mrs. 
Desborough say, "His photographs are 
selling like wild-fire." 

"I don't wonder at it, at all," said 
Mrs. Monro placidly. "I am half in 
love with him myself." 

Valerie knew that her mother's heart 
had, and always would be secure in her 
husband's keeping, but it was evidently 
the fashion to declare oneself in love 
with Sinclair, and Mrs. Monro was 
nothing if not fashionable. The girl 
also knew that her mother was not 
even capable of appreciating the true 
artistic quality of the new tenor's per- 
formance. It seemed to her as if they 
were lowering the man by their expres- 
sions of admiration. 

"You have been very quick, mother," 
she commented. It was quite unusual 
for her to say anything sarcastic to 
her mother. 

"It is love at first sight," said Mrs. 
Desborough. Why on earth did they 
prate about love ? 

Then the second act began and 
Valerie listened as she had never 
listened before. It was the man's 
personality as well as his singing and 
acting that fascinated her. She felt 
ashamed of her absorption. After 
all, it was only acting! The real man 
would be quite different. He did not 
look her way again, she thought prob- 
ably he was quite unconscious of her 
and that vexed her unreasonably. 
She had always been so much admired, 
so much sought after, that it seemed 


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to her natural that if she only as much 
as glanced at a man he would want to 
look at her again — and the knight 
Lohengrin seemed quite oblivious of 
her interest. 

"Of course he is," she thought to 
herself at the end of the opera. "He 
could not be aware of me ! Why am 
I such a fool all of a sudden ? I am , 
as bad as Mrs. Desborough." i 

Her mother was thanking Lord ' 
Merton for his hospitality in her charm- 
ing way as they threaded their way 
through the crowd. Mrs. Monro never 
hurried out. She liked this elegant 
crowd, liked the feeling that she was 


part of it. Decidedly Mrs. Monro 
enjoyed life. Valerie was impatient 
to be gone, she wanted to keep her 
impressions pure. Martin Monro, who 
always hated a crowd, felt her hand 
press his arm impatiently. "What is 
it ?" he asked. "Do you want to be 
off, Valerie ?" 

"Yes," said the girl shortly. She 
always knew that her father under- 
stood her. 

He shrugged his shoulders. Mrs. 
Monro had halted to exchange a word 
with a friend. Lord Merton came 
towards her. 

"You enjoyed it ?" he asked. 
"So much," said the girl, "that I 
don't want to speak about it." She 
could always speak out to Lord Merton. 
"I understand," he said. 
"And he may be your friend, that 
must make it so much more interesting 
for you. You will go and see him ?" 

"Rather," said Lord Merton 
viiihusiastically, "but only to renew 
acquaintance — I am sure it is Robert. 
You could not mistake him, there are 
so many tricks of his that I remember, 
and his voice was always lovely. 
My mother used to say that he had 
the most beautiful voice in the world, 
and would be famous. I don't think 
she has heard him yet, but she will 
certainly \->e pleased at the fulfilment 
of her prophecy." 

"Yes," said Valerie, feeling an inter- 
t in the rather insignificant little 
widow she had never felt before. "You 
will tell her all about him ?" 

"Of course I shall ! I am looking 
forward to a renewal of our friendship. 
I don't make friends easily, you know," 
'v- added shyly. 

"Why not ?" she asked, touched 

lin by his humility. "I am sure 

. er>'one likes you." 

"But that is not real friendship," 

he said, "I want more than that. I 

dare say you think it presumptuous 

of me, but I want the greatest love 

that anyone can give." 

Valerie did not answer for a moment, 
and when she spoke again it was on a 
different subject. 

"Come and tell me about the tenor," 
-he said. "I want to hear about him." 
"Of course I will come," he said, 
"do you think I need any asking ?" 
Mrs. Monro had finished her say at 

One heard murmurings of "commit- 
tees" and "Miss Searle" and Valerie 
knew that she was on her charity 

But they were all fiuiet during the 
few minutes that it took them to l)e 
driven home. Valerie followed her 
father into the one plainly furnished 
room in the house which was his study, 
and where a decanter of whiskey stood 
for him with some soda. 


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"Shall I pour it out for you, dad ?" 
She knew to a nicety the thimbleful 
he liked. 

"Yes, Val," He took the glass from 
her hand. "You enjoyed your eve- 
ning, did you not, little girl ?" 

"He sang l>eautifully," .said Valerie 
steadily, just as if the whole entertain- 
ment could be summed U[) in the "he." 

"Lo<jked well, t(x>; a gallant figure 
I thought." 

"Yes," said the girl, "he looked a 

very noble and peerless knight." Then 
she turned and pulled her charming 
mouth whimsically to one side. "Is 
it not a shame, dad, that a man should 
trick himself out like that and strut 
about the stage and make believe -a 
man like that, I moan ?" 

"You don't think much of the great 
art of acting I perceive," said Monro, 
"but I always think some of the man's 
personality shines out through the 



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"All the more shame then, that the 
man should be content to play a part," 
said Valerie hotly. "A man like that 
might — " 

She stopped short. 

"Might what, little girl ?" 

"Might conquer the world, I think," 
she said softly, stooped quickly and 
kissed him, and left him alone. 

"So-ho !" said Monro reflectively, 
"and that is Valerie ?" 

To be continued 

Tales of the Camp 

By Harden Bates 

A PARTY of JapanesesoIdiersinMan- 
^ churia had just finished their even- 
ing meal when a Chinaman passed them, 
apparently on his way home from a 
day's work in the field. One of the 
soldiers called to him and said in 
Chinese, "A cup of water, please! 
Fetch it here." One of the Japanese 
ofificers tells what followed, an incident 
which shows better than any number 
of "preachments" how merciless and 
horrible war is. 

The Chinaman stopped for an in- 
stant. He did not even salute us, and 
then, as before, he turned his face 
north and began walking away. Not 
that we needed his services so ver\- 
much, but the insolence in that haughl\- 
and silent air of the native made an 
impression on us. One of us who read 
the full meaning across the back which 
the Chinaman had turned upon us, 
said, "Um!" and without another 
word he took after the Chinaman. 
Without any trouble he caught up with 
him, and as he laid his impolite hand 
upon the native of the soil, the Chinese 
helmet flew away from his head, and 
before our soldier stood, in the costume 
of the Chinese, with a Chinese scythe, 
a handsome soldier of Russia. 

Six of us rushed upwn him, and a 
moment later he was our prisoner. 

He had wandered through the 
country occupied by our army, and 
passed and repassed our camps with 
that sweet air of saintly innocence of a 
child loitering through the roads of 
his native village. He had made a 
critical and detailed examination of 
our defenses, of the number of our 
men, of the trenches, of the position 
of the main force; nothing seemed to 
have escaped him. 

Upon receiving his sentence of death 
his courage so impressed the Japanese 
that the captain said: 

"Permit me to say that I am facing 
this day one of the bravest men in any 
army. We regret that we are com- 
pelled to witness your death. As an 
individual I cannot refrain from pre- 
senting to you, humbly, my respect 
and admiration for your bravery." 



The Russian spy replied: "At the 
time when I was captured I was thor- 
oughly aware that this moment would 
come to me; nevertheless, your words 
of sympathy touch me deeply. This 
life of mine I have offered to my mas- 
ter. I only thank you for your words 
of sympathy and tenderness." And 
with that he stretched out his hand 
toward the captain. You can believe 
that the hand of the captain came 
out promptly, and there they shook 
hands on the Manchurian field, a 
Russian soldier and a Nippon officer. 

In Trumbull's reminiscences there 
is a touching story of a soldier laddie 
who proved with his life that indeed 

The bravest are the tenderest 
The loving are the daring. 

The boy was homesick and almost 
crushed with melancholy. 

Mr. Trumbull strove to soothe the 
little fellow. "I found he was almost 
heartbroken because of his lack of 
home letters which he had looked for. 
I spoke words of sympathy and cheer, 
and, as I left him, I thought he was 
still too much of a boy to be away from 
home in the army. A few weeks later 
my regiment stood in battle line, repel- 
ling one of the fiercest attacks of the 
enemy we had met in our three years 
of service. As I stood by my colonel 
and my brigade commander, just back 
of the line of battle, I saw that home- 
sick boy hurrying into his place in the 
ranks. Hardly had he taken his place 
and fired his first shot when he fell 
with a bullet through his lungs. Tear- 
ing open his coat and gasping for breath 
as his lifeblood gushed out through his 
death wound with never a whimper or 
a groan, he looked along the unwaver- 
ing line and called out cheerily with 
failing breath, "Fire away, boys; fire 
away !" 

In any company of volunteers almost 
every trade, profession and accom- 
plishment is likely to be represented, 
but few soldiers combine them all. 
There was one such man in the Philip- 
pines, and Lieutenant Schlesinger, of 
Louisville, met him. Here is the true 
tale of The Man Who was Too Ver- 

"The most versatile chap I ever 
saw," said the lieutenant, "was a 
private who was on duty in Manila. 
His name was Sawtell. There seemed 
to be nothing on earth that he couldn't 
do or hadn't done at some time. 

"One day it happened that an officer 
in the garrison wanted his hair cut, 
and the regular company barber was 
not to l)e found — out on furlough, or 
something. Sawtell volunteered to do 
the job. 

, " 'Why, were you ever a barber ?' 
asked the officer. 

" 'Yes, I was a barber for three 
years,' said Sawtell. 

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"A few days later the same officer 
took a notion that he wanted a certain 
dish prepared. He and the rest of us 
were tired of 'dead hen,' as the ubi- 
quitous chicken is disdainfully called 
in the Philippines. 

" 'I can prepare it, sir,' said Sawtell, 

" 'Did you ever cook ?' the officer 

"'Yes, sir; two years' experience, 

"And that dish was a wonder. Three 
days later the colonel's horse threw a 

shoe. The colonel wanted it replaced 
at once. 

•"I'll do it, sir,' said Sawtell. 'I 
was a blacksmith for a year and a 

"He did it well, as he did everything. 
By this time the officers had begun to 
look upon Sawtell as a phenomenon: 
therefore, when our captain developed 
a bad toothache, he sent for him. 

"'Did you r\cr pull a tootii ?' he 

" 'Oh, yes,' said Sawtell, saluting. 
'I studied dentistry two years.' 



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"And he pulled the tooth. 

"F"inally time was hanging some- 
what heavily upon our hands, and one 
of the men suggested a concert of some 
kind. We went to Sawtell in a body 
to ask him if he knew anything about 

" 'I was leading tenor with a min- 
strel show for a season,' he replied. 

"As a result of his manifold accom- 
plishments, Sawtell was easily the 
most popular man in garrison. When- 
ever anything went wrong somebody 
said, 'Send for Sawtell,' and Sawtell 
always fixed it. Therefore, the colonel 
one day was deeply annoyed to receive 
a warrant from 'Frisco for Sawtell 's 
apprehension, accompanied by a letter 
stating that he was wanted in Nevada. 
The colonel called Sawtell before him. 

" 'Sawtell, I have received a warrant 
for your arrest,' he said. 

" 'Yes, sir,' and Sawtell saluted. 

" 'You have become a valuable man 
here, and I hate to lose you,' said the 
colonel, 'particularly as you will ha\ 
to go to prison.' 

" 'Oh, that's all right, sir,' said Saw- 
tell. 'I've spent four years in prison. 
I was not guilty at that, nor do I know 
what I am accused of now, but I can 
work in prison or out of it, sir.' 

"I challenge any one to produce that 
man's equal for versatility," the lieu- 
tenant concluded. 

Da Posta-Card from Napoli 


QO, you gon' sail for Italy? 

Ah ! fine! — Wat can you do for me ? 

! notheeng, please; I don'ta care; 

1 weesh you joy while you are dere, 
An' I'll be glad for see you w'en 

Da sheep ees breeng you home agen — 
Eh? No! O! please, don't sand to me 
No peecture-card from Napoli ! 

O! yes, wan time da letter-man 
Breeng soocha card to deesa stan'; 
Eeet was from gentleman like you 
Dat wanted to be kinda, too. 
Eet showed da town, da bay — but, O! 
I deed not need; so wal I know! 
Ah! no, please dont'a sand to me 
No peecture-card from Napoli, 

O! wal, Signor, you are so kind — 
So good to me — I would no mind 
Eef you would sand me wan from Rome 
Eh? Rome? No, dat ees not my home. 
Deed I not jus' esplain to you 
I weell no care w'at alse you do 
So long you don'ta sand to me 
Som' peecture-card from Napoli? 

The Duke — Ah, my dear Miss Rich, 
wouldn't you like to have a nice cute 
little puppy dog for a pet ? 

Miss Rich— Oh ! Mr. Duke ! This is 
so sudden ! ! ! 


NO. 3 





The Sorrow of Toronto 



By Betty D. Thornley 

Illustrated by Marion Long 

IF you want to know a city, to live and move and 
breathe with it, you won't plan a ten-minute run 
to a half-hour suburban car each morning. You'll 
rent a flat skyhigh by the telegraph wires in the 
above-the-street-side area of some big thoroughfare, 
where the Eternal (.'uriosity in you will sit behind its own 
window curtains, looking on at the 
endless moving-picture of the mad- 
deningly human, lovably wayward, 
unl^elievably diversified crowd that 
rams itself downtown in the morn- 
ing; that packs home doggedly for 
its roast beef at 6.30; that drifts 
by, who knows whither, in the still, 
snowy hours of the night car, when 
the citizen with his name on the fly 
leaf of his prayer book gets ahead 
of the gas meter. ^t^lg •» 

This crowd, that individually hails 
from Europe, America, Asia, and 
the Isles, that .succeeds and fails 
and loves and gets run in, taken 
collectively spells cityhood and de- 
cides whether the street it tramps is 
going to be the main thoroughfare 
of the New Jerusalem or a by- 
path in Sodom. And that is why 
crowd psychology is above all things 
a fascination and the window-box 
psychologizcr never gets tired. 

Personally, the newspaper lady 
now testifying has planted her 
vine-and-figtrec in a tomato-can 
three storeys from the sidewalk, 
two minutes due north of the To 
ronto Ward, that district which 
settles Russian-Jewishly to rest on Friday night, save 
where an Italian or two wanders serenadewards with his 
guitar, and a latc-toiling Chinaman, sandwiched between 
Slavs, burns the midnight hydrolight over Mr. Toronto's 
collars. " 

The Ward is perhaps;) the] f picturesque capital that 


nourishes off the sentence of the city's foreign problem, 
but it isn't the section of greatest destitution, — that 
comes in the east and the west, among the British born. 
Nor does it contain the largest number of tacks in the 
Health Department's tuberculosis map, this distinction 
belonging to the lodging house district immediately to 
the south, the same district also 
carrying off the cup given for the 
police-blotter record. Grouping 
these localities into one grey band 
of poverty and should-be-penitence, 
let us say that Toronto's problem 
belt runs from the Junction on the 
west to East Toronto, a distance of 
some seven miles, and more or less 
from College Street to the Bay. 

Into this problem belt tumbles 
the non-Canadian-born who arrives 
by every train with nothing much 
in the way of baggage, but a great 
hope. Some of him has been pushed 
Dominionwards by the horrors of 
a Russian pogrom. Some of him 
was lured from his olive groves be- 
cause Tony came home and bought 
out the Count and married his 
daughter. And .some of him, the 
least desirable, least usable some, 
has let the steamship companies 
cajole him into packing up Mrs. 
Manchester and the 'chesterettes 
and leaving the land of the socialist 
and the suffragette for the shore 
where the soap inside the soajibox 
is of more importance than the 
orator on top of it. 
The population of the problem belt is approximately 
two hundred and twenty thousand, or well on toward 
half the city's half million. This doesn't give a high 
rate per square mile, the American would say, accus- 
tomed as he is to the tenement and its rabbit- 
warren tribe. But you must remember that, wisely or un- 

CcpyritU. 1914. »» Uu VAN DERHOQF-CU N N COUPANY, LTD Att riihlt rntmd. 




wisely, Toronto has outlawed the tene- 
ment, has audaciously set up the one- 
family house as its ideal, and has in 
consequence as a present problem that 
same one-family domicile packed from 
cellar to shingles with humanity that 

and the Downtown Churches Associa- 
tion, the University Settlement, the 
Evangelia and Central Neighborhood 
Houses are preaching a gospel of you- 
and-me, with l)road brotherhood for 
the hyphens and a cake of soap as well 


hasn't as yet been educated suburb- 

The Ward has a two-storey average, 
a four-storey limit, not by law of 
course, but by happen-so. It has also 
frequent lapses into old-time cottage- 
hood. These little buildings are 
crowded together like chickencoops, 
."rear" dwellings being of common 
occurrence on lots, the total depth of 
which wouldn't exceed fifty feet. Some 
of these tiny two or three roomed dens 
house from ten to twenty people, 
though the east holds the palm with 
eighteen Bulgarians last winter dis- 
covered tenanting a single room whence 
the Health Department scattered them 
into others of the 600 unlicensed lodg- 
ing houses, with which the city tries 
to contend. In these houses the De- 
partment says, there is some 3,000 
excess population. But no convictions 
for overcrowding can at present be 
had, owing to house-famine. You 
can't turn the gregarious Greek and 
the blushless Bulgarian on to Yonge 
Street, and the jail is already hideously 
and unhygienically overcrowded. 

Into this same poverty-belt the 
Health Department sends its seventeen 
nurses and its twenty sanitary inspec- 
tors. The Board of Education has in 
addition thirty-eight school nurses and 
twenty-one half time doctors, and 
there are twenty-five other graduates 
doing settlement work south of Col- 
lege. In the Ward alone, fourteen 
missions are keeping up the bread-line 
as well as throwing out the life-line. 

as a tract for the armorial bearings. 

But we ordinary mortals can't think 
in thousands, any more than we can 
spend in millions. Let's go to just 
one red-brick house, 
crosslots from the 
City Hall, and take 
it as a fair sample 
of the rest. 

The nurse and the 
reporter pushed open 
the front door, nearly 
dislocating a baby 
buggy. They'd 
knocked, but the Jew 
lady who owned the 
late occupant and his 
carriage, was too busy 
washing to bother 
with doors. The hall 
was further adorned 
with an ash-tin and 
an old bicycle, the 
joy of Jakeyjew's 
young heart. 

"Let's go to see 
old Mr. Peterson to 
begin with)" said the 
nurse. "He's in the 
rear basement. The 
front one isn't occu- 
pied now, because 
the Health Depart- 
ment is putting in a 

The steps down 
which we walked can- 
nily were so worn 
they looked as if 

gaunt poverty had taken bites out of 
them. They had been swept some 
time last month. 

"Come in, come in," called a wel- 
coming voice as we knocked at the- 
back-basement door. "It ain't often 
as I have callers." 

A little old man stood in the dim 
light that came from a window half 
underground. He was frail past cari- 
cature, and he had an old pipe in his 

"Asthma and bronchitis, that's me," 
he whispered with a smile. "Haven't 
been able to work for three years, but 
the wife gets a bit now and then. Used 
to be a stonemason I did, but it's na 
use thinking of that now." 

"Isn't this place bad for your 
throat?" the visitor asked. 

"Sure it is," agreed Mr. Peterson, 
"but then you see the price is agree- 
able, — five dollars a month, — and if 
the bird can stand it I can." 

That took the glance past the little 
old mason to his little old window 
where a canary like a sliver of sunlight 
hopped to and fro in a bright gilt 

"Sometimes I take him down and 
talk to him, and sometimes I talk to 
the cats," said the invalid. "Here you, 
Tom and Tim, where're you at ?" 

He and the wife were both over 
seventy. No, they had no children. 
Yes, it was just one room, but they 
hadn't many things. Canadians they 


were, and the only real ones in the 

"Take a drop? Of course he does," 
said the nurse. "What'd you expect? 
Did you notice the tomato-can view 
he had out of that window, — and no- 
body but animals to talk to." 

The next floor of the house, the 
ground floor, boasted two carpetless, 
curtainless, but far from odorless 
rooms in which the Jew lady lived with 
her cheerfully increasing progeny. The 
father kept a wagon for hire, and 
augmented his earnings by the shrewd- 
ly calculated profit resulting when the 
rent paid the trust company for the 
whole house was deducted from the sum 
total received from the six subletters. 

"She'll smile at you," said the nurse, 
"but it's got to stop there, for she 
doesn't talk English. It won't take 
the kidlets long, they're such pre- 
ternaturally intelligent things; but she 
may never learn." 

Past the second storey we climbed, 
past the padlocks on two doors that 
told of roomers out earning the rent, 
and then we struck the third storey 

"For the love of Mike !" gasped the 
reporter. "They're clean !" 

"Yes," said a thin little wisp of a 
sighing voice, "I asked the Lord for 
strength to clean 'em and I done it." 

On the top step sat an old woman 
of whom nothing seemed alive but the 
restless dark eyes. She had her chin 
on her hand, and the fluff of her grey 
hair framed a face that might have 
been any age past the ones you believe 
in. She wouldn't have weighed a 
hundred f)ounds, and as she talked she 
shook and her voice shook and there 
wasn't a still thing about her but her 
indomitable soul. 

"Mother of eight I was," she said, 
when she had recovered sufficient 
strength from the stairwashing to take 
us into her tiny dollar a week hole 
under the eaves. "Five died in one 
week with black diphtheria and then 
himself was run over. Yes, Miss, yes. 
But I come to Canada with two and I 
was strong. Many's the time down 
near Port Credit that I'd milk nine 
cows afore breakfast and the little girl 
holdin' tight 'round me neck. Then 
I'd go back and make porridge and 
work in the fields all day." 

"And is she dead ?" the visitor asked 

The old eyes travelled wearily from 
the meager room, off somewhere past 
the slanting wall, through the single 
little window to the One Thing Left. 

"I hope so, Miss," said the mother, 
who was sixty-eight and looked a 
hundred. "She went to New York. 
And I heard she'd died." 

There was a l)oy left, though, and it 
was partly for his big, bonny sake that 
the woman married again. 


"Good he was to me, good," she 
crooned, "he'd kiss me'n his step- 
father goodbye so sure's the mornin' 
for him to go to work. Then the Boer 
war come. Miss. He was one of the 
first to enlist. But he never lived to 
be sent home. I don't mind just where 
he died, but he's buried out there. 
The other baby that was coming died 
too, and then after all Wilkins died, 
Miss, and now there's no one but me, 
a widow eight years." 


Death comes, whom she doesn't in 
the least fear, he may stand for her at 
the end of her own featherbed, between 
herself and the bent old sto\ epipe, 
"that smokes. Miss, that cruel," the 
pipe that is to her the pipe of peace 
because it means home. 

We got her talking about the rest 
of the folk in the house, the folk that 
hadn't prayed for strength to scrub 
the stairway and thoughtlessly dirtied 
it when it was clean. There was the 


"Do you get out much ?" the 
reporter asked, noticing that the win- 
dow showed tree branches and a patch 
of sky, but none of the cheerful side- 
walk scenes that old folks love. 

"No, Miss, I ain't got the strength. 
I get weak-like in the back. But I've 
a neighbor as does a bit of buying for 
me now and then, and the City Nurse, 
she's an angel of God if there ever was 
one, she brings me tea and sugar an' 
the like o' that. Yesterday I scrubbed 
this floor and to-day I did them stairs 
like you seen and to-morrow I'll black 
the stove. The good Lord gives me 
strength enough for that." 

Why doesn't she go to the House of 
Providence, you ask, and join the five 
hundred others who have outlived 
Wilkins and the eight ? Because 
there's just one thing she hasn't out- 
lived in all the round of human pos- 
sibility and that's the pleasure of 
dropping inch by inch to her creaking 
knees and washing up her own floor. 
She craves above all things that when 

young Scot next door to her, another 
doUar-a-weeker, drunk every night, 
but a good boy to work when he's on 
the boats. One night not long ago he 
brought Mrs. Wilkins a glass of the 
beer which she hates and dreads. She 
threw it back at him. But now she's 
sorry, "for no doubt it was kindly 
meant and him drunk and all." 

On the other side is the old Irish 
railway crossingman whose two dollars 
a day puts him blissfully beyond, by 
eight o'clock each night. Mrs. Wil- 
kins detests him, though she's Irish 
herself, because he's bad for the Scotch 
boy and worse still for the mother of 
"Kathalcen," who owned one of the 
rooms downstairs. 

Kathaleen is four, and Georgie is 
six, and Fred is eight, and Millie is ten, 
and God Almighty alone knows how 
they should be registered. Their 
mother has had so many names that 
Mrs. Wilkins can't keep track. A 
fow months ago she got the Refornia- 
C'oiuiiiued on |>a|{e 209. 


OUT from the of the morning 
something shaped itself; at 
first a monotone in the smother 
of the spindrift, it ramped up 
from the gray-green sea at last, a bold 
coast-line with icebergs stranded along 
its rim. Its basaltic boulders were 
beaten by the storms of aeons into 
the rough-hewn battlements of giants. 
"Why, it's Makkov^k Island," 
breathed a voice at my elbow and I 
switched around, almost crossly, to- 
wards the girl. 

A man with a risk on hand has no 
business bothering with a woman — I 
had 'em both. The sea had flung her 
at me. Coming up in my wee chart- 
ered steamer, the Curlew, I had steered 
around the sides of Newfoundland on 
the Atlantic liner track; for a man 
with a secret mustn't look secretive. 
Then, just as the starlight bleached 
into the dawn, we bumped one night 
into a mass of floating objects, deck- 
chairs, stools, half-a-dozen buoyed-up 
bodies. One of these, encased mummy- 
like in a thick Arctic sleeping-bag, 
was a girl — alive. Nothing could have 
been more inopportune for our adven- 

Cruising around, we waited for day- 
break, until mighty steamers slam- 
ming down the horizon frightened us 
and we fled, girl and all, through the 
icebergs towards the north. For two 
days tbe young woman lay half-con- 
scious, but on the third told us of the 
wreck of the Titanic. She was an 
orphan, had just returned from a hunt- 


In the Wake of 

the Titanic 

By James Church Alvord 

Author of "The Sins of the Mothers," "Men of Labrador." etc. 
Illustrated by Ruth Bingham 

ing tri]) in Northern Russia, and 
didn't worry about delay. That she 
guessed we had a secret was obvious, 
that it didn't interest her, even more 
so. She fraternized heartily with our 
crew, more a lad than a girl anyhow, 
handsome too in a frank, violet-eyed 
sort of way. 

"Cross?" she chortled. "Come now, 
it's going to be sunny for a wonder in 
this land o' th' weeps; while Mak- 
kovik isn't gay there's salmon in her 
one river. I know the marconi-man over 
there, and he's civilized. Labrador 
isn't half so bleak as she's painted." 

With red cap thrust back on her 
golden-brown hair, a scarlet bit of 
flimsj' silkiness fluttering from her 
throat, she stood gayly out from the 
grim coast-line, even the icebergs — 
there were plenty of 'em, God knows, — 
warming up a bit at her smile. I 
thawed down to a svvift melt, though 
I didn't intend to show it. 

"Cross ?" My snarl didn't come 
off as snappily as it might. "I'm 
crazy. Fate's beat me to a frazzle. 
That is Makkovik; you don't know 
the operator there; I must communi- 
cate with him; and the only man on 
board who knows the coast or can run 
my baby-wave-tosser up yonder, is 
loony with fever in my cabin — and 
— and — O, hell ! Excuse me, but it 
is hell." 

"Come!" She laid a comradelike 
hand across my arm. "Trust me ! Tell 
me what you're up to. If it's honest, 
I'm yours heart and brain; if it isn't 
— I'll — I'll remember what I owe you. 
That's — everything." She puckered 
up her brows whimsically, but her lip 
corners drew down. 

I was twenty-three years old — she 
was no end lovely to look at — I should 
have left her at some fishing-village 
long ago — perhaps I'm a bit of a fool — 
I told her. 

There'd been a ball-up over father's 
marriage. He'd been wived and 
so that in Boston, 
since our birth, he 
Canada, where he 

divorced before ; 

where we'd lived 

was married ; in 

held his citizenship, he wasn't — to 

mother. He'd put his fortune into a 
fur-trip up Labrador-way, spent six 
breathless years in that fog-decorated 
wilderness, returned laden with skins, 
immensely rich for us, reached Mak- 
kovik Island — and died. After two 
years Roily and I had grown weary 
of the laws' delays, of being called 
illegitimate, and had come up to grab 
our furs. Once back in the United 
States they'd be ours. Roland was 
on Makkovik as the wireless man, had 
held down the job for a month. I 
must tell him I'd arrived and I couldn't. 

"It isn't exactly honest " 

"Honest ?" snorted I. "I guess he 
was my dad, and Rolly's; and there 
isn't a guy nearer'n second and third 
cousins grabbin' at 'em up here; one 
of those seconds is private secretary 
to the Premier — what do you know 
about that ? Rolly's occupying the 
marconi-station hasn't a thing on it 
for pulling wires behind the throne." 

Her comic wrinkles came and went, 
quick as a conjuror's magic bunch of 
roses. She laughed frankly out into 
the sunshine. 

"I can marconi," she confessed. 
"The devil," bawled I — and apolo- 

I landed behind the Esquimaux vil- 
lage, while the gawky things dawdled 
out of their huts to gape at me, not a 
spark of intelligence flitting across their 
faces. They didn't even know enough 
to tell. I crawled up to the peak of the 
ridge, gingerly, slipping more than 
once into quagmires beneath the quak- 
ing sphagnum moss, jeering at myself 
over every soaking. I was green at the 
business. At last I peeked over. 

Below stretched the island, covered 
with a thin pessimistic vegetation, 
mostly moss and ferns with a scatter- 
ing of wan blossoms; in the ravines 
a few disgruntled trees huddled from 
the blasts, the highest not two feet 
tall though houghed and wizened with 
age; a few rods down the hill quivered 
the towering pole of the station beside 
its grim granite hut; further off by 
the harbor a barracks stretched its 
white length, the storage of the furs. 



Before this building a soldier paced 
back and forth, humming gayly to 
himself as the sunlight sifted through 
the fog and the great bergs began to 
sparkle and dazzle with the day, a 
hlythe bold lad. Just in the jaws of 
the harbor a slim grayish craft rose 
and fell on the surge. Guns bristling 
along her sides, her nose heavy \vith 
its ice-smasher, she lay low on the tide, 
a few white-dad forms bustling about 
her here and there, a wireless web of 
wires twanging to the breeze amid her 
masts. She was our enemy, the police- 
man of these rude coasts. 

Startlingly clear in the stillness an 
alarm clock, a cheap dollar affair, bur- 
r-r-cd out its cry to wake and work. 
Immediately Roily, very visible in 
his pink pajamas, appeared at the 
window, \awning and stretching him- 
self. It was seven o'clock and the 
thirtieth of July. We'd agreed. Roily 
and I, that on the last three days of 
July he'd listen ten minutes, on the 
strike of e\ ery hour, from eight in the 
morning to midnight. I scurried back. 

Marcia Lane could marconigraph — 
ii wasn't brag. 

Whirling into the .stool with an 
adorable little air of business, she 
tossed otT her girlishness for a boy's 
ab.sorption in his task, dropped her 
hand across the switch like any old 
timer, revolved its shimmering edge 
along the contact points, and puckered 
up her forehead to listen intently at 
the buzzers over her ears. In a mo- 
ment she flashed her eyes into mine, 
shaking a merry head; nobody was 
calling. She flung herself into the 
game, a high-school boy with a new 
jirank on the principal couldn't have 
grinned over it more rapturously — it 
was all fun to her. I smiled back 
bitterly, for to me it was business; 
the honor of my mother's name 
clamored that I obtain my inheritance 
lawfully or unlawfully. 

The girl grabbed the antennae; 
slowly her slim hand ridged with set 
muscles felt with the rheostat from one 
contact to another, her fingers quivered 
o\er the keys. A moment later shv 
was hf)wling through spare her breath- 
li>s call for succor. 

"S. (). S." she wailcil, '^ • >. ■> . 
M serscd and waited. 

Five minutes afterwards slic rciu In il 
up and clasfX-'d the receivers around 
my head ; they droned like gnats on an 
.August nof)n. 

"Your brother's taken it up," 
( huckled the girl. "He's bawling 
S. (). S.' in a way to make this little 
tuning-fork ashamed of itself. He'll 
fool 'em to the top of the Arctic Circle 
whew !" She snatche<l the whirring 
tubes from my ears. 

"They're resjioncling," she wliis|KTed 

- though somelKxly might hear, "Iw- 

ginning to suggest other boat?.. Tlu'ri- 

aren't any others; they'll have to go 
themselves. Gee, he's telling 'em he's 
struck an iceberg thirty miles north — 
can't hold out more'n five hours 
longer — that he's the V'irginia Lake — 
the Virginia Lake runs 'way up, you 
know — ah-h-h !" She began to beat 
out a tune on the floor with impatient 
feet. After the first line I recognized 
the song, it was "Trainp — tramp — 
tramp." When she started in again 
it was with a quotation from its wild 

"They're at it — marching. We'll 
be, too, in an hour's time. He's a 
clever young scamp — the brother !" 

"He's not a scamp," stormed I. 
"Those furs^ " 

She shook a solemn head and was 
all business in a jifTy. "Now he's 
sent the Vampire on her fool-errand, 
it's time to slam things. I know this 
island well, our hunting party was 
marooned on it last summer for five 
weeks, and there's a gully through 
which a hundred men could ambush 
up to the back door of that storage 
shack; I'll take the boys there, while 
you rush the brother. Skip !" She 
danced up and down with excitement, 
the lad of a girl. 

Within the hour a blubbering toot 
echoing down the harbor-bluffs an- 
nounced that the Vampire had started 
to rescue that mythical shipwreck, 
thirty miles north. A salute of pop- 
ping muskets followed and we stilled 
down to work; for the only real danger 
had lain in the possibility that the 
operator on the Virginia Lake might 
intercept his own supposed howl for 
help and tell the truth. Evidentiv 
Rollv had the filow fix-;!. H''s 

sharp — Roily. That's why he had 
come to Makkovik; for I'm direct, 
blunt, none too secretive. Roily would 
ne\er have told Marcia. I had. Al- 
lowing time for a clean get-away we 
landed, the girl smuggling her thirty 
men down the ravine, I creeping 
through the sloppy sphagnum towards 
the station. The sentry had changed 
his rag-time ballad to a shrill whistle 
concerning some objectionable indivi- 
dual who'd kicked his dawg aroun'. 

Roily loitered to the storage, jollied 
out a couple more soldiers, joined the 
refrain with sung words— the set signal 
— and we rushed the regiment of six. 
All the rest of that day we packed and 
dumped and stowed away. By six 
the furs were stored, the barn of a 
building empty, as without toot of 
whistle we stole down the bay. From 
the shore those desolate boys in khaki 
waved us a none-too-cordial farewell; 
behind, a group of greasy-skinned 
natives gaped and grinned, not yet 
realizing what we were about. At the 
end of a week dim glimmerings might 
penetrate their fat intelligences. We 
had saved our inheritance. 

Trippingly Roily and I, with the 
girl between us, danced a mad fan- 
dango on the deck, while my sailors 
whistled an accompaniment. Marcia 
had never looked so charming as in 
this hour of abandon and I — well — I 
— to be frank — I wished Roily a shade 
less splendid in his dark, romantic 
way. I'm tow-headed and big-nosed. 
Roily was forever joshing me about it. 

"You and I don't look a bit alike, 
Rob," he'd mock, rolling his handsome 
eyesmischievously, "ifweare twins. I'm 
handsome and vou're not, decirledK" 

II BIT Unt Ur .\.V|> rR > VXSO \M> \VKINi<I.RI> with AMU:tE.N<l' 


so, decidedly not." It wouldn't have 
cut so deuced deep if it hadn't been 
so deuced true. 

All that night, under a serene sky, 
we coasted the black headlands, run- 
ning an even eight knots and making a 
fuss about it worthy of a better speed. 
Through the next day's pallid glory 
we ran, without sign of pursuit, past 
mimic castle and lonesome island, 
through screeching flocks of sea-birds, 
past huge rivers which flung them- 
selves bodily over the escarpment, 
smashing down into the surge. The 
next day — the next — the next, we 
sailed on into the dim ocean. At times 
gaunt villages on the shore peopled 
their wharfs, once a church-bell tolled 
out in warning of our arrival, always 
the icebergs glittered everywhere with 
translucent greens and blues and 
flashes of rose. On the afternoon of 
the fifth day the fog swept in, a real 
Labrador affair, soaking as a shower- 
bath, penetrating, chilled by the ice- 
laden air. In great-coat and sweater 
I shivered on the bridge. The voices of 
Marcia and Roily chattered up from 
an open port-hole. 

Out from the haze a voice hailed us. 
^'Have ye seen th' Vampire, Cap'n ?" 
it clamored anxiously. 

From my perch, looking into the 
dirty smack, I recognized an "egger," 
those pirates of the Newfoundland 
straits. Drifting about these islands, 
they land, smash every sea-bird's egg 
discoverable, then return in a week to 
grab all the fresh laying of the undis- 
•couraged fowls. Even the Newfound- 
land government, careless as it is of its 
wealth, keeps this police boat to deal 
with such lawless vagabonds. 

"No," shouted I grufffy, for I liked 
their business none too well, "She's 
somewhere up along." 

The voice cried thanks and was lost 
as we, slowing down speed, limped 
through the darkening day. Less than 
an hour later, a murmur rather than a 
sound, there floated to us the "boom — 
boom — boom," of a cannon bawling, 
"Halt !" 

We were followed. 

The eggers would delay that Vam- 
pire no more than forty minutes. 
Through the wool-pack we rushed, at 
our reckless eight knots, while our 
engineer cursed the engine and the 
engine cursed the coal. It was half- 
clay, every spoonful of it. The shore 
became a blurr on the vapour, the sea 
invisible beyond the first two rods, the 
churn of the water at our prow a dim 
uncertainty. Around us the only 
sound was the panting, of our engine, 
the dive of our nose through the waves. 
I didn't know the coast — Roily didn't. 
The voices of the merry couple below 
had ceased their laughter, though the 
girl was speaking in hurried anxious 


tones, urging something on Roily which 

he repulsed with a boy's lordly brag. 

Then out from the silence came the 
clang of a bell, a warning for fisher 
folk to be up and to aid. The only 
bell around was on the church-tower 
at Chateau. The Vampire was search- 
ing her commodious harbor for us; but 
the clangor was near. So was the 

A scurry of pattering feet skipped 
up to my nest, a girl's face peeked 
around the canvas spread, a voice 
whispered imperatively. "We must 
attempt the tickle at Henly Harbor; 
it's our one hope, for we'll wreck out 
here. Can you do the trick ? The 
Vampire's sneaked to shelter, see ?" 

I glowered at her through the slather 
of the fog. "Then it's poverty and 
prison for mine," I growled. "Well, I 
came up prepared to swallow my 
medicine and ask no questions for 
the plunder's sake." 

"I know Henly Harbor," declared 
this wonder of a girl. "Port, hard-a- 
port," she commanded at the man 
below. But she called her orders 
softly, picking a cautious way through 
the fog, slowing down to the danger 
limit, peering through the opaqueness 
of the gloom. White ghosts loomed 
up on either side of the Curlew, or 
poked out of the obscurity ahead ; then 
her voice rang with a smothered sharp- 
ness; but generally we jogged — jogged 
— ^jogged, with a laziness well-nigh 
intolerable to my thrilling nerves. 
When the down-swooping darkness all 
about assured us that day was closing in 
at last, suddenly something big and 
black, a gargantuan cliff', stood up 
beside us and we prepared to anchor. 
The girl had carried us through that 
tortuous tickle without a bump. 

"Gee, you've the eyes of a cat," I 

"I know the place," she answered 
simply and started to run us over to 
the further outlet of the Harbor, a. 
queer side-backing bung-hole of an 
escape, requiring the skilled tactics 
of a country horse on a mountain road ; 
but that pass was blocked by a strand- 
ed berg, swinging in the rip of the tide. 
Marcia gave a gasp. 

"We've foes before and foes behind," 
she jeered with her plucky boy's soul 
a-thrill with determination. 

Roily loaded up to the bridge, his 
hands stuck deep into his pockets, 
his head tossed back in his superior 
way. He is irritating at times. 

"Pretty well for a girl," he applauded 

Her violet e\es snapped, as I'd never 
suspected they could, her cheeks flush- 
ed scarlet. "Girl, or no girl," she 
stormed, "'twas something you couldn't 
do, Mr. Director-of-the-Universe." In 
a niomeot she was her own jolly self. 

"You did a man's job," cried I, 
"you're a hustler." At that she 
blazed, looking Roily deej) into the eyes 
with a mad young triumph. 

Gradually a noise entered and suf- 
fused the harbor; the puff of an 
engine, the quaver of water around a 
splurging prow, then the shout of 
men's voices, neither hushed nor 
abashed, then the glare of a line of 
lights whose shimmer penetrated the 
haze. Then with rattle of chain and 
bawl of gruff orders, the Vampire took 
her position directly across the mouth 
of that narrow inlet; her officers, 
evidently unsuspicious of our pre- 
sence, had hemmed us in between the 
iceberg, huge and solid, and the corked 
up bottle-mouth of their tickle. We 
sat disconsolately, the whole gang, 
waiting for day and discovery. Even 
Marcia failed to smile beneath the 
flicker of a lantern hung up on the 
far side of our ship from theirs. 

As the night wore on the tide swept 
in, beaten by a following wind, until 
the gaunt bluffs in front of us grumbled 
through the darkness. The spray from 
the slash of the waters over the berg 
slathered across my face every time I 
poked my nose around the door-post, 
while the monstrous mountain of ice 
lifted, rattled, grated against the bot- 
tom of the harbor. A lessening black- 
ness, at last, began to hint at dawn, 
not real light, only a forefxxling of 
morning in which we could discern 
the white fury of the breakers, the 
phantasm of an iceberg, the dim 
smudge of the near-by ship. Silently 
we three stepped out into the cold 
crepuscule of the daybreak, while the 
wind swept the mist inland, ghostly, 
tossing banners. 

Then something happened. 

As the tide had risen the croaks of 
that swung berg, thumped and thrash- 
ed by the inroaring flood, had intensi- 
fied, the mass even seemed to move, 
imperceptibly almost, a quarter-inch 
at a jump. But, as we watched, hope- 
lessly dawdling, a mighty comber, a 
mass of black water on an inky sea, 
strewn with white wreaths as the 
escarpment cut its surface on either 
side, swept thunderously through that 
crooked inlet. The berg lifted with a 
groan, staggered at its moorings, and 
toppled over. For a second it hung 
suspended; then, as clever as some 
prize diver, turned a summersault in 
the brine. As it went brawling over 
in a slather of spume, a howl of mad 
waves, another sound, sharp and dis- 
tinct as the crack of a battery, shrieked 
thmugh the morning and the monster 
split into three hulks, each rising 
instantly nearer towards the surface. 
They hesitated, freed from the rock- 
bed beneath, then each in turn was 
gripped by the impetus of the flood 



and went pirouetting off into the 
harbor. A milky-way of shattered 
ice strewed the ocean, then it also 
■danced away into the depths of the 

A morose \oice shouted from the 
half-seen Vampire, "What's that ever- 
lastin' racket out there ?" 

A joyous Irish voice answered, 
soothingly as a mother coddling over 
her child, "Sure an' it's wan o' thim 
icebergs a-breakin' up." 

"Is that all — the deuce of a row," 
snapped the first. 

"Aye, aye — that's all," comforted 
the second. 

Leaning against the pilot house 
Marcia gave her orders in a whisper as 
we stole out into the opalescence of 
the dawn, free from that trap at least, 
the noise of our going smothered in the 
smash of the breakers. 

All that morning we steamed sturdily 
ahead. Our start at three had given 
us an immense handicap over a cratt 
which made two knots to our one; but 
at noon Marcia called a council. We 
must hide, was the verdict. Bowling 
along through the sunny day for half- 
an-hour more we passed no hamlets, 
not even a fishing smack; then the 
girl pointed us blank at the solid sea- 
wall, reddish-brown of color, pillared 
like the palisades of the Hudson, 
crackless. But, as we drew nearer, 
the escarpment dragged apart like 
some theatre-curtain, until the flash 
and rumble of a waterfall inside pro- 
claimed a harbor, a screen of rocks 
about a tiny pool of ocean water at 
the foot of a cascade. Our pot-bellied 
craft just wedged itself into the tur- 
bulent pool, cast anchor, drew the 
fires, and lay silent. Marcia, Roily, 
and I, with a dozen others, clambered 
to the top of the headland and lay on 
the cu.shioning moss, as pale-faced as 
gamblers around a faro-table. This 
was our gamble. Kven Marcia 
breathed in gasps. 

At half-past-three a trail of smoke 
along the horizon ushered in another 
actor to our theatre-scene. Slowly 
she budged up, masts and marconi, 
then smokestack, then indistinguish- 
able IxxJy painted the gray-green of 
the sea. Driven at full speed, recking 
on the pitch of the waves, the slim 
ireature swept by, nose-down in the 
chase, steering on towards the coast 
of Maine and our supposed escape. 
Silent, magnificent, speckled with 
spidery forms of humans, she passed 
the crack in our cliff and, hull lirst, 
then smoke stack, then inasts and 
marconi, faded as a dull smudge oflf 
from the sky-line. 

"Pretty well for a girl," triumphed 
Kelly, but this time his voice was hot 
with admiration. The boyish face 
incarnadined with pleasure. 

"You think so?" said she demurely. 


"Oh, I'm convened all right, " lie 

She glanced at me, raising her in- 
quiring brows at my silent observation. 

"You're a topper," declared I; but 
she turned to meet my eyes soberly 
and her own asked some (luestioii I 
couldn't unriddle. She did not smile; 
at first that hurt and then, strangely, 
made me very glad. 

A slithering rain welcomed us into 
Lubec harbor six days later. It had 
been drizzle and downpour all the way; 
so that seemed natural and, consider- 
ing what awaited us, only too welcome 
as we poked a cautious nose along the 
coast of Canipo Bello, tremulous with 
the sight of the <lesired goal. 

There lay the Vampire, at the end of 
the island, just beside the boundaries 
she might not cross. An ashen snake, 
heavy snout turned towards our com- 
ing, she snooped over the ocean, veno- 
mous, determined; but she didn't 
scent us soon enough by a good (juarter 
of an hour. It may have been the 
sputter of that drenching; or the 
American flag we unlawfully flew; or 
that she'd obtained no exact descrip- 
tion of us; or that we were just ornery- 
looking; anyhow we wore close to the 

boundary line before she leapt to 
action. Her first spluttering shot 
spit across our prow, kicked up a splash 
diving through a wave, kicked up 
another, and was gone. We looked 
into each others' eyes, we three, with 
faces as dismal as the drip-drip of the 

"We're all down and out now," 
squawked Roily. 

I groaned and turnetl to see how 
Marcia took this licking. She wasn't 
taking it but had glued her glances on 
some bulky phantom emerging from 
the dimness; in a moment we all saw 
it, a mighty ship, painted white, 
plunging across the harbor towards 
Lubec. It was the Boston steamer 
making port. 

"Oh," cheered the girl and clapped 
her hands, "she'll save us, she will — 
she will !" 

Into the marconi-room she tore, 
Roily and I at her skirts, and in an 
instant her "S. O. S." purred through 
the air. Twice she called; reversed 
.iii'l listened. 

Continued on page 210. 

The King's Highway 


THE diamond-shaped board of 
the Pacific Highway mariis 
an established thoroughfare 
north and south along America's 
western border for more than two 
thousand miles, and a mapped road 
stretching over four thousand miles 
more. The motorist who 
swings his car out of Van- 
couver, and heads it south, 
may travel, the gods of good 
luck and gasoline permitting, 
to Tia Juana on the Mexican 
border without a break, and 
some day may pause onlj' at 
Cape Horn. 

Those who see visions 
prophesy a like highway east 
and west across the Dominion 
— a hard any-weather roa<l 
with the Pacific lapping at 
its western end and the fogs 
of Halifax misting it on the 
east, — a huge artery throb- 
bing with a stream of traffic- 
along its four thousand miles, 
and feeding countless veins 
of provincial roads not only 
connecting our cities, but 
drawing farm up to farm, 
linking farm to railway, and 
establishing a gigantic system 
of inter-communication that 
will make alike for education, 
for commerce, and for de- 

A country is no more 
advanced than its highways. 
The casual observer may ha\c 
the vague idea that where a 
country is so traversed by 
railways as Canada, roads 
become a less important mat- 
ter. On the contrary, they 
are vastly more important. 
Bad roads interfere with the 
march of business. The inter- 
ference is seen in an ir- 
regular distribution of food products for instance — 
and a nation keeps up and at it by feeding, just as an 
army travels on its stomach. The result is that some 
consumers must go without accustomed articles, , while 
other consumers must perforce pay higher prices. The 
farmer suffers loss because he cannot get the products of 
his labor to market. The retailer loses his usual profit 
because he does not have the stuff to sell. The railways 
and railway employees suffer. In the rush to move crops 
every year the railways are driven to desperation. 

For a few weeks the companies are called upon to 
furnish more cars than they can possibly mass at the 
necessary points. They are required to produce from 
their hip pockets enough locomotives to haul these cars — 
for a few weeks — and as far as the farmer is concerned, the 
locomotives and rolling stock mav lie idle the rest of the 



By P. W. Luce 

Illustrated from Photographs 


Built in tile early days of British Columbia for tlie goldseekers, and now an important 
part of the iiighway through the mountains from Calgary to the Pacific 

year so long as Ik- yi-i-, liis \s iicai miAul 
when he wants it. Trainmen are call- 
ed ujjon to do double stunts. Too- 
much strain of this kind is responsible, 
often, for trains jjiling up in the ditch. 
And right in the middle of this tug and 
strain the bottom drops out of the 
country roads, and the rail- 
ways are left with more cars 
and more men than they can 
use. Instead of a regular 
and even movement of 
freight, it is irregular and 
spasmodic, which makes an 
increased cost of operation 
and maintenance, and a nec- 
essarily higher rate of trans- 

Mr. F. A. Delano, pre- 
sident of the Wabash rail- 
road, put this aspect of the 
case succinctly in a bulletin 
of the Farmers' Good Roads 
League. ^ ,. ^ ^ .E.£i_al 

"You have no idea to what 
extent bad roads affect railway 
tratfice. We notice the fluctuations 
of business from week to week. 
The falling off tkie to bad roads is 
often as high as tifty per cent, of 
the business received at country 
stations. In the rush of the crop 
moving season the railways are 
generally so swamped with business 
that an adequate equipment and 
prompt service is difficult, if not 

This, mind you, in an old, 
settled country largely devot- 
ed to mixed farming — Illinois, 
Indiana, Missouri, Iowa, 
Ohio, Michigan. How much 
truer it is in our own west, 
where wheat is still the chief 
crop, supplemented by other 
grains that are ready for 
market at practically the 
same time. 

Uniformly good roads over 
the country would prolong the crop mo\ing season, thereby 
not only relieving the traffic congestion, but the financial 
situation as well. With good roads and equalization of the 
traffic, the railways could furnish better facilities to their 
patrons with ten to twenty per cent, less car equipment 
than at present. 

Bad roads make bad business all around. The whole- 
saler depends on the c^ntry trade for business. The 
country retail dealer depends on the farmer. We are never 
to forget that the farmer is the backbone of the country- — 
write that on the tablet of your memory. The farmer is 
still the backbone of the country, and always will be. With 
bad roads he cannot bring his stuff to town, or come to 
market to buy. He skimps until he can get to town. He 
doesn't grow any more crop than he can haul to market. 
It all comes to the point that the farmer buys Ies.s — the 



retailer sells less — the wholesaler does 
less business — and the anxious city 
housewife wonders why eggs go soaring 
to forty-two cents a dozen There 
isn't an interest in the whole country 
that is untouched by this condition. 

Let us look for a minute at some 
interesting figures on traffic collected 
hy^^ Illinois Highway Commission, 
as^othe effect of road conditions on 
highway traffic. Observations were 
made at seventy-two well distributed 
points in the state, and the actual 
number of vehicles passing upon given 
days was recorded. Travel over hard 
^that is, "made" — roads was fairly 
uniform during the entire year. But 
travel on earth roads during bad 
weather was notably restricted. 

The Clear Lake earth road leading 
into Springfield, the state capital, 
showed an average traffic of 653.^ 
vehicles per day in March. In June 
and July, the average was 389 vehicles 
per day. Something of a difference ! 
At Peoria on corresponding days, the 
traffic over the "made" road showed in 
March an average traffic of 166 vehicles 
and an average traffic in June and July 
of 153. In other words, at the season 
when earth roads were a wallow of 
greasy clay, the made road was in 
good condition and drew an even 
greater amount of traffic than in sum- 
mer when the earth roads were travel- 
able. At Champaign, observations on 
the Tolono earth road showed an 
average for January, February and 
March of 63 vehicles as against 200 
in September and October. The count 
at Decatur over a gravel road was 240 
in March and April, and 278 in July 
and August. Tab kept on the earth 
road at Sullivan for January, February 
and March gave 54 vehicles, and for 
August and September 316. At Elgin 
on a hard road the count showed 166 
in March and an average in July and 
August of 154. When the count was 
taken at Effingham, the earth road 
showed 109 for March and April, and 
399 for August and September. A 
Centralia earth road showed 28 in 
March and 187 in June. 

Now Illinois isn't peculiar in its 
problems. Much the same conditions 
confront the Ontario or Manitoba 
farmer that confront the man of the 
corn belt. It is a general fact that 
people won't travel bad roads any more 
than is absolutely neces.sary, and it's a 
corollary of that proposition that in a 
country of gootl roads farmers live 
better, dress better, go out more, buy 
more, own more automobiles and use 
them more, have a higher average of 
education, and are better spenders. 
Good roads mean more inter-com- 
muniration; and more inter-com- 
munication means a nK)re intelligent 
and prosperous coummnity. 

Let us quote from a spcccli iit.uir 


Notice the signpost, erected by the Westminster Automobile Club, with 
salmon and automobile wheel crest 

last year by W. A. McLean, chief 
engineer of highways for the province 
of Ontario. 

"The creation of a thorough and efficient 
system of highway construction and mainten- 
ance is a task which in the Canadian Province 
is being actively considered and dealt with. 
While some satisfactory progress has been 
made, measures of the present time are those 
of the formative stage. Evolution rather than 
revolution has been the history of legislation 
for good roads in Canada. . . Under the 
British North American Act, legislation re- 
garding public roads and municipal organiza- 
tions is within the authority of the Provinces, 
although the Dominion Government has power 
to subsidize road construction. Up to the 
present time, Canadian road systems have been 
without enormous governmental appropria- 
tions, and construction has been of a compara- 
tively inexpensive type. Canada has sought 
to build as substantially as necessary for pre- 
sent requirements and to establish a [jolicy of 
maintenance that will thicken and widen the 
road crust as travel requires." 

This policy is one, he points out 
further, that will steadily increase the 
road mileage of the country, without 
piling up any vast debts for the future 
generations to pay off. 

Thus the matter of good roads while 
it may be fostered, subsidized and 
encouraged by the Dominion Govern- 
ment, is really "up to" the provinces. 
Let us look for a moment at what they 
have done. 

In the ten %ears ending with De- 
cember, 1911, the province of British 
Columbia has spent some $15,000,000 
on roads and bridges, and in the three 
years of 1912-13-14 the expenditure 
of an equal amount is outlined. A 
special fund for the construction of 
trunk ro.uls is being Sfjont at the rate 

of §5,000,000 annually, under the 
Department of Public Works. 

Saskatchewan and Alberta, while 
they have to deal with no such problem 
of mountain and forest and turbulent 
stream as our Pacific province, have a 
bigger volume of traffic for which to 
care. Each province has a provincial 
highway department, and each is 
drawing largely on its resources for 
road expenditures. In Saskatchewan a 
special appropriation of $5,000,000 
for trunk roads was set aside by the 
legislature in 1912, of which $1,500,000 
was to be spent in 1912-13, in addition 
to the usual appropriation of $400,000 
from current revenue. In the .same 
year Alberta made a special grant of 
$1,000,000 for the construction of a 
trunk road from north to south, in 
addition to the usual sum of $250,000 
from current revenue. 

Manitoba has a provincial highway 
commissioner, whose duties are largely 
educational. In 1912 it set aside $2,- 
000,000 annually for provincial roads. 

The municipalities of ( )I<1 Ontario are 
spending yearly about 1,100,000 days 
of statute labor, and $1,400,000 in cash 
on roads. In New Ontario the pro- 
vincial government spent in 1912 about 
$850,000 on colonization roads and 
$250,000 for bridges. Quebec is active 
in good roads work. New Brunswick 
has an appropriation set aside for high- 
ways. Nova Scotia is actively engaged 
in road construction and improvement. 
Prince Edward Island is the least pro- 
gressive, and has even recently pro- 
hibited the operation of automobiles 
Continued on page 211. 



Illustrated ^hy 
K^thcrinc Southzoick 


This novel of English society opens with a prologue showing Robert Sinclair as a boy in Rome. He angers his father, a cashiered captain, 
by wanting to become a singer, and is brutally beaten. Mother and son leave Rome that night, the boy regretting only his parting with his 
playmate, Denzil Merton. 

The scene changes to London. Lord Merton is giving a box party at the opera for the family of a Canadian railway man, with whose 
daughter, Valerie Monro, he is deeply in love. When the new tenor who is to make his premier in the role of the Knight Lohengrin comes 'on, 
Merton recognizes him as his boyhood friend, Robert Sinclair. Valerie is strangely impressed by the tenor but chides herself for being as silly 
about him as the other women of the party. Merton tells her he is going to call on Sinclair the next day. 

"He isn't very sumptuously lodged," 
reflected Denzil as he followed a ser- 
vant along the corridor. She knocked 
at a door and left him, without a word. 
"Come in !" cried an English voice 
in response to the knock. 

The room was a long one, well- 
lighted, bare-floored except for a few 
rugs here and there. A grand piano 
stood in its centre, and with a writing 
table and two or three deep armchairs 
completed the furnishings. Over the 
mantel-shelf hung a painting of a woman 
of middle age, yellow-haired, blue- 
eyed and with a look both repressed and 
sad. Beside this stood some little 
terra-cotta statuettes, and in one cor- 
ner of the room was a marble bust, 
evidently of the same woman and 
giving in its rigidity even a greater 
impression of suffering. A number of 
flowering plants gleamed in the morn- 
ing sun; and in one of the deep arm- 
chairs Robert Sinclair's golden head 
shone in the sunlight too. He did not 
look up, as Denzil entered, but spoke 
in a level, business-like voice. 

"You're late." 

"I think not," responded Denzil, 
with some amusement. Instantly Sin- 
clair rose. 

"I beg your pardon," he apologized. 
'T expected the fencing-man." 

Denzil laughed aloud. "I'll not 
fence with you. Bob," he said gaily, 
and at his laughter, Sinclair knew him. 

"Denzil ! by George !" he exclaimed, 
with both hands quickly out. "My 
dear fellow ! It is you, isn't it ? You 
haven't altered in the least." 


"I can say that of you with truth," 
Denzil smiled. "You are only more 

"I thought I saw you in that box 
last night — but then I have thought 
more than once that I had found you 
again, and decided it was only fancy. 
It was a tremendously pretty girl you 
had beside you." 

"The most beautiful girl in the 
world," said Denzil soberly. 

"So ?" Sinclair raised his eyebrows 
with a foreign air. "You've found her 
already ?" 

"Yes, I have found her already. 
But she is only the woman I love, not 
the woman who loves me." 

Sinclair smiled. Women had always 
been easy for him. His handsome 
head and well-knit figure attracted 
them; the romance of his profession 
added glamour. But, even if he had 
been a bricklayer, he would have drawn 
them to him, for he had that inde- 
finable charm of personality which 
atones with a smile for many wrongs, 
and paying lightly for friendship, 
reckons it lightly worth. 

"That will come," he said easily. 
"Only don't let her be too sure of you, 
and you can commit any other crime 
in the calendar. No woman who knew 
you could refuse to adore you, Denzil." 
The little man shook his head. 
"Plenty of them have — or at least 
they have been amazingly capable of 
concealing a hopeless passion. If I 
were a head taller — " 
"Bosh !" said Sinclair. 
"They must have loved you," said 
Denzil reflectively. "I always did 

when I was a youngster in Rome. 
Lord ! how splendid I thought you ! 
When I saw you last night on the stage 
it occurred to me to remember that 
old hero-worship, and it seemed not 
unfitting that I should find you glitter- 
ing in armour." 

"And strutting about a stage,' 
added Sinclair with a laugh. "Denzil 
did I do well ?" 

"Splendidly. I thought the same 
of you last night that I used to think 
in Rome." 

"That goes to a mummer's heart," 
rejoined Sinclair. "But tell me what 
has happened to you in all these years." 

"There is nothing to tell. They 
sent me to Eton where I did a little 
rowing. Then they sent me to Oxford, 
where I did less. Since then, I have 
just gone about doing nothing and 
being very busy about it. My great- 
grandfather did everything to the 
estate that could be done, and all I 
have to look after is keeping the hedges 
trimmed and the woods cleared out, 
and the kitchen-garden growing; and 
the head-gardener knows vastly more 
about all that than I do. My father, 
you know, died." 

"But you have your mother ?" 

"Yes. She will be delighted to know 
I have found you again. You must 
come to see her." 

But Sinclair was looking off into the 
vista of the bright street with sober 
eyes. "She died just before I made 
my first success," he said. "That's- 
the one thing I can't square up in life. 
It would have made her so happy." 
"Tell me what happened that made 

you leave us so suddenly," said Denzil. 
"We missed you sorely, and never 
knew why you went away." 

The singer's face darkened. 

"Did you know anything about us ?" 
he asked. 

"Nothing for certain. But I had an 
idea that your father was — difficult." 

"He was. He was more than that. 
He made life impossible for my mother, 
and the very day I saw you last my 
mother cut free from him. She ought 
to have done it long before. She was 
the breadwinner and the backbone of 
the family." 

He paused for a moment, remember- 
ing the days in the Roman garret. 

"He beat me, that day, and lamed 
me. That night we went to Florence 
together, mother and I. We lived 
there, and she earned money by 
modelling. Till the day of her death 
she sent my father money." 

"That is a good portrait of her," 
said Denzil, looking at the painting 
above the mantel. "I remember her 
so well — her fair hair and slender hands 
so bright in contrast to her dark blouse, 
and her smile." 

"It was done by one of the fellows 
in Florence. At least I've that to 
remember her by. Well — when I was 
sixteen we went to Milan, and I worked 
at voice — I always could sing, you 

Denzil nodded, his eyes bright. 

"We were very happy together. I 
think it was the only happy time in her 
life. She used to glory in my little 
tuppence-ha' penny student triumphs, 
and I grew more and more immersed 
in my work. I didn't realize how frail 
she was growing. I was to sing first at 
La Scala, and one night I came home 
to her with the news that I had a part 
there." He broke off, his forehead 
knotted with pain; and then continued 
with an eflort, "We talked late about 
it. She was to sit quite in front and 
was to look at me to give me courage — 
it's nervous work at first, you know — 
and then we talked of my costume. 
When I sent her to bed at last I said 
that I was a brute to keep her talking 
so late, and she said — I've never for- 
gotten her voice or her look as she said 
it — 'It's been splendid ! I ha%'G neve- 
been so happy since the day your 
father told me he loved me.' And I 
kissed her- and next morning when I 
went into her room she was dead. 
Denzil, I thought I should never sing 

He went over to the piano, and 
sitting down struck a few aimless 
(hords. Denzil said nothing. In tht' 
moments of strong feeling there is 
never anything to say. But Sinclair 
was not the sort to give way to emotion 
for more than a moment. 

"Oh, I had to come out, of course, 

nd I succeeded. That's all old stuff 


now. This year I came to England, 
and Denzil — " he turned around with 
a boy's eyes suddenly laughing out 
of his handsome face — "do you know 
what I want most to do ? I want 
most awfully to go to Lord's and have 
a rattling good game of cricket." 

"That's easy," laughed Denzil, glad 
of the released tension. "Come with 
me — but I suppose you've loads of 
friends, already." 

"Not friends — invitations to dinners 
and requests that I sing for Lady 
Thingumbob's tea-fight — look at 'em ! 
What would you do if you had all 
those ?" 

"I should throw them in the fire," 
decided Denzil, for the pile indeed 
seemed formidable. 


"I do the society lion to the king's 
taste," declared Sinclair. "I roar as 
gently as any sucking dove, and the 
honorable Misses and Lady Maudes 
and young matrons all either tell me 
how wonderful I must feel when I sing 
so magnificently, or take the sporty 
tack and ask me if I don't find singin' a 
rotten bore ? Probably I'll meet your 
peerless she some day." 

"The peerless she is already quite 
interested in you," said Denzil simply. 
"At least she was much interested 
when I told her I thought I knew you." 

"That doesn't necessarily imply that 
she would care to meet me." 

"She would be very foolish if she 
didn't find you interesting — and she 
isn't foolish." 



"Probably she wouldn't care about 
the real Sinclair at all," disclaimed 
Robert. "The stage hero, all glitter 
and tin armour and tenor, is what most 
of them expect. Poor, silly little 
souls ! They don't mean an ounce 
of harm, but they do write such foolish 
letters. Once in awhile, too, among 
the grass-hoppers you find a serpent." 

"Miss Monro is not the letter-writing 

"No, she doesn't look like it. That 
is why I doubted her interest in meeting 
a singer." 

"Her mother would like to know a 
fashionable singer at least. And, 
though I cannot answer for her, I think 
she would like to knew you. Her 
father is quite delightful — a western 
man. And that reminds me. Bob — 
chuck the fencing master, and come 
along with me to see my mother. No, 
you needn't dress. Come just as you 
are and lunch with us." 

"I have half a mind to do it," said 
Sinclair, rising. 

"Have a whole mind, and come 

"All right. Wait a second till I 
change my coat." 

"You don't have a valet ?" 

"No. Can't be bothered with one. 
I have enough of that sort of thing at 
the theatre." 

They emerged into Oxford Street, 
which was full of people, and walked 
across the park. Robert was simple 
and toyish, and just now very much 
in love with life, with the movement 
and color of London, and with the 
success that had come to him. 

Lady Merton greeted him like a 
son, and instantly they fell into eager 
talk of Robert's experiences since 
their parting. Not once did he touch 
on the graver mood that Denzil had 
seen, tut laughed and chatted and told 
funny experiences of his student days 
that amused Lady Merton vastly. 
The frolics, the laughter, the gaiety 
of the young singers in Milan and 
Florence, the midnight lunches and 
the morning escapades he recounted 
with a fresh and vivid touch; the 
triumphs and despairs, the garrets and 
the theatres he put before her English 
eyes until she wiped the tears of 
laughter from them and vowed that 
if she were thirty years younger she, 
too, would have an art to die for. 
There was a good deal of the actor 
about Sinclair, he had a sense of the 
dramatic situation. Before he said 
good-bye, he had established himself 
as an adopted member of the family. 
This greatly to his content, for under 
his bright and confident manner he 
was lonely. 

That night Denzil Merton sat out a 
dance with Valerie. Sensitive on the 
subject of his height, he would never 
dance, but he always claimed one from 


her and spent it in watching the play 
of her charming face as she talked to 
him. To-night she began at once, 
"Well, did you go and call on the 
tenor ?" 

Denzil hardly knew why he disliked 
hearing Sinclair called "the tenor," 
but he answered readily enough, "Yes, 
it was my friend." 

"I can see that you are glad," she 
told him. "You look as if you had 
found a friend." 

"He is the same — handsome and 
open as the day. You would like him." 

"I ?" said Valerie, with lifted brows. 

"Whynot? Hewants to meet you." 

"What does he know about me ?" 
she asked, but the color crept up under 
her throat. So he, too, had looked at 

"He saw you in the box, and thought 
you beautiful — you know he has eyes 
like the rest of us." 

"So you talked of me." She took 
the side issue instinctively. 

"Are you displeased ?" 

"One does not like to be made the 
subject of idle talk," she reproved 

"Did you think I would talk idly 
of you ?" 

"N-no !" She hesitated for an 
instant, and then spoke honestly. "I 
didn't think so. I knew you respected 
me too much." 

"You are quite right," he answered, 
a note of sadness in his voice. Was 
respect all she thought he had for her ? 
"I could not keep you out of my talk 
with him — I cannot keep you out of 
my thoughts. I wish I could." 

"Why ?" she said softly. 

He did not answer, but turned his 
brown eyes towards hers with the 
look that sometimes you may see in the 
eyes of a beautiful, high-bred dog who 
loves you and wishes dumbly for the 
gift of speech. The plain little face 
was very sad, and Valerie's eyes fell. 

"Can't we be — friends ?" she mur- 

"No — at least I can't," he told her, 

"Then wouldn't it be better if you 
didn't keep on seeing me ? I hate to 
hurt you — Denzil." 

"No," he returned. "I can't go on 
without seeing you sometimes. If it 
hurts me to be with you, it would hurt 
me a great deal more to go without 
you. I want to know that you are 
happy and safe, besides. I want you 
to feel that if ever you need a man's 
love and devotion, I am here. There 
is nothing I would not do for you^ 

"I know it," she said softly. "I 
wish I could give you the answer you 
want. Indeed — " she hesitated, and 
then, taking her courage in both hands, 
went on, — "I have sometimes thought 
that I might sometime say to you to 

take me and make the best of a woman 
who does not love you." 

The ugly face was transfigured. 
"Valerie !" he breathed. "You have 
felt like that ? I didn't dream you 
ever thought of me at all. If — if that 
day ever comes, my dear, everything 
I have is at your feet." 

"I know that, too," she said softly. 
"But it isn't quite fair to either of us, 
I think. Perhaps you will find some- 
body else some day — no, no, don't 
look like that. Women are wiser than 
men in these things, I think, and know 
that love isn't always for time and 
eternity I hope you will find some- 
one else, who loves you, Denzil." 

"I can't say that to you yet, Valerie," 
he answered, his voice roughened and 
a queer, strained look about his eyes. 
"I'm only human, you know." 

She rose, and held out her hand. 
"Come," she said, "I ought to be 
dancing. Take me back." 

Mrs. Monro formed one of a rather 
befeathered and begemmed group in 
the drawing-room. She pounced upon 
Denzil delightedly. 

"Lord Merton !" she cried, "I am 
consumed with curiosity. Is that won- 
derful tenor really your friend ?" 

"He is," agreed Denzil briefly. 

"You must bring him to see us. I 
am so anxious to meet him." Mrs. 
Monro could not bear the thought of 
being outstripped by anyone else. 

"He will be very glad to come, I am 
sure," said Denzil, with a side glance 
at Valerie. She flushed. 

"Mother !" she protested. "You 
don't want to give him an invitation 
like that, do you ?" 
■ "Why not ?" 

"Oh — if he comes, he ought to come 
as a friend, not as a famous singer." 

"I had no idea you were so con- 
ventional," laughed her mother. "Isn't 
that just the way he will come ? I 
know he is a singer, but we ought not 
to be snobbish." 

Valerie lifted her delicate eye-brows. 
Her mother's attitude towards pro- 
fessionals had not been wont to show 
anything but patronage. But she said 
no more, and Mrs. Monro turned again 
to Denzil. 

"You will bring him, won't you ?" 
she said. "I suppose the time will 
depend on when he must sing. Say 
that I ask Miss Searle to send him a 
card for my ball — will that do ?" 

"Perfectly," agreed Denzil, and he 
moved on with Valerie. "You don't 
really mind, do you ?" he asked. 

"Why should I ?" 

"I thought somehow that you did." 

She made no answer at all. But 
inwardly she whispered, "It's fate — is 
there no evading it ? Fool that I am. 
I believe I am counting the days to the 
ball !" And she gathered up her 
feminine resources forjvictory. 




She does do things well," reflected 
Monro. "I don't know how she does 
it — and nothing would ever make her 
believe that I'd rather have a cheese 
sandwich and a bottle of beer in the 

He was watching his wife from the 
other side of the marble stair-case 
where she was standing to receive her 
guests. The place was brilliant with 
flowers and lights, a note of bizarrerie 
adding to its effect, and Mrs. Monro 
herself was a charming hostess. Her 
long train swirled about her slippers, 
and the diamond tiara she wore glim- 
mered like frost-crystals in her white 
hair. She could wear a small fortune 
on her head without appearing vulgar 
— and did, with the unaffected plea- 
sure of a child. She had grown up 
witu the west, years before — an old 
Indian woman had been her mother's 
sole attendant when she came into the 
world, and in her pinafore days she 
had scampered barefoot with the other 
children through the poplar bluffs of 
Saskatchewan. Then she had married 
Monro, when he was a young railway- 
clerk, and with him had come up 
through poverty, the days of his first 
"lucky strike" and his succeeding 
prosperity. But to look at her now, 
no one would ever imagine that she 
had lacked for anything all her life. 
Her gaiety had persisted through it 
all, and "merry Molly Monro" had 
laughed alike in good and evil fortunes. 

Monro looked at her with the affec- 
tion that had persisted a life long, and 
noted the restless movement of the 
hands that held her great feather fan. 
"She will break down under this social 
strain," he reflected. "I must sec 
af)out getting a country place where 
she can rest. Poor Molly ! I wonder 
how Valerie will like it." 

At that moment Valerie passed the 
door, dancing with some tall man 
whom Monro did not know. She 
flashed a look at him as she swung by. 
P2vidently the charms of neither dance 
nor partner failed to monopolize her 
attention. It almost seemed to Monro 
as she looked at him and then past 
him where the guests were arriving, 
that she had an air of expectation. 
He mused about it for a moment, 
wondered if she were looking for Mer- 
ton, and then decided it could not 
have been for him she wore that bril- 
liant look. Monro was keen as a 
hawk where his little girl's likes and 
dislikes were concerned. Casually he 
strolled to the doorway and watched 
her circling through the dancers. Both 
she and her partner moved with beauti- 
ful grace, but he knew that she was 
bored v/ith his iK)lite banalities. Somc- 
Ixxly came up to claim a place on her 
I vird, and as she hesitated, Monro 
j^uessed that she wa8_keeping a dance 


for the unknown she waited. But 
her hesitation was short. Monro 
chuckled. "Whoever it is has lost 
his chance," he murmured. He enjoy- 
ed watching Valeric and her mother, 
and turning to see how Mrs. Monro 
was faring, he found Dcnzil Merton 
just coming up the marble stair. With 
him, his golden head held high and his 
keen blue eyes fixal on the gay groups, 
was a tall ' young man whom Monro 
recognized at once. 

Mrs. Monro welcomed the pair 
warmly. Not only did she love to 
entertain lions, but she had a very 
definite liking for handsome young 
men, considering that her white hair 
gave her special privileges. Monro 

came forward, leisurely, a quizzical 
gleam in his eyes, and greeted Denzil 
with a glance that inquired his com- 
panion's identity. 

"Let me present my old playmate, 
Rolx-rt Sinclair," said Lord Merton. 
"Bob, this is Mr. Monro, the Canadian 
railway man about whom I told you. 
You two will like each other — success 
always appreciates success." 

"Now that's hardly fair to him," 
said the millionaire. "Last week you 
gave me audible proof of his achieve- 
ments, and now you're making him 
take me on faith." 

Sinclair smiled frankly, and held 
out'his hand. 

Continued on page 195. 




ND I said to him " 

So M aggie deftly resumed the 
thread of narrative, suspended 
by an intervening customer, 
said, 'What do you think I am, 

anyway ? I'm not that kind of a girl.' 
I said. 'I don't shake the gentleman 
friend who took me to a dance to go 
home with any new acquaintance ! 
If|,you want to make a date that's 
another thing.' " 

"And did he ?" 

"Sure he did, for Friday night. 
We're going to the American." 

"Ycu do have such luck, Maggie," 
sighed Amy Mills. 

She was the youngest of the girls, 
scarcely seventeen, tall and slim, with 
a thin, wistful face, delicately pretty 
in spite of its overhanging pompadour. 

The other listener shook an extreme- 
ly yellcwed head. 

"Maybe he won't keep it," she 
darkly foreboded. "He may be mad 
at you for not taking him then." 

"Maybe he won't," returned Maggie, 
philosophically. "Living's learning. 
But I won't ditch nobody for any- 
body !" 

This sterling sentiment won a mur- 
mur of applause from the youthful 
Amy, but the plump blonde challenged 

"That sounds well, but I am not so 
sure. Walter isn't anybody," said she, 
with the air of stating a conceded fact, 
"and you're only going with him to 


Two Men— 



By Mary Wilhelmina Hastings 

Illustrated by George Brehm 

pass the time, so it's foolish to lose a 
chance. What was he like ?" 

"Oh — swell !" declared Maggie, com- 
prehensively. "Not handsome, but a 
grand dresser, you know, and lovely 
manners. I saw him the minute we 
came in, but I never let on, and then 
in the very first grand -right-and-left I 
got him for a partner !" 

"Wasn't Walt crazy ?" 

"Crazy ? The poor kid was wild for 
fear I'd turn him down. It's really 
pitiful. I oughtn't to go with him any 
more," she murmured virtuously. 

"No, madame, the velvets are on the 
next floor. We have only the velvet 
ribbons here. Yes, the floor above. 
She won't get there before the bell 
rings," she added to the others. 

"There it goes now." 

As the closing signal pealed through 
the building, she slammed a last drawer 
into place and hurried out in the aisles, 
elbowing good-naturedly along in the 
increasing crowd that seemed equally 
resolved to waste no more time within. 
Amy Mills lingered, pretended to 
redrape a counter. Harry Leroy was 
going by. Perhaps this time — but 
Leroy passed on with only a nod and a 
careless glance of his handsome gray 
eyes. Leroy always passed on. He 
was the dream of the girl's life — a 
dream that hovered tantalizingly on 
the verge of reality. They had never 
exchanged more than ten words at a 
time, and in public she scoffed at the 
girls who paid him coquettish court; 
but because of him her days were 
haunted by shy, furtive hopes and dull 

She had grown used enough by now 
to recurring disappointment, yet to- 
night she resented it with mutinous 
passion. For the thousandth time she 
wondered rebelliously why, when other 
girls, plain girls, fat girls, red-headed 
girls, could all live their dreams, hers 
must be forever denied her. 

Reality for her was waiting below in 
the person of Tom Neugan, short and 
stocky, with a bullet head on a round 
neck, perpetually reddened by too 
tight collars. They were always scrup- 
ulously clean collars, and he wore good 
clothes in an effort at appearance, but 
the distinction of being a "good 

dresser" was beyond his achievement; 
he lacked forever the indefinable 
quality of style. 

Neugan knew all these things well — 
and the knowledge had brought a 
sobering patience to his irascible blue 
eyes. He realized he played no part in 
the girl's dreams — -indeed, he suspected 
shrewdly that his escort had first been 
tolerated for the saving in carfare — 
but, though he had no share in the 
future, the present, at any rate, was 
his to make the most of. 

They greeted each other briefly now, 
and hurried out to crowd on the over- 
laden car. There they hung from 
separate straps, swaying, bumping 
with the rest, exchanging only an 
occasional word or glance. 

At Beatrice Street they made their 
difficult way out, and fell into step 
together. It was a raw, damp night, 
and now a chill wind rushed down the 
street upon them. Amy shivered and 
shrank closer to the shelter of his arm. 
Neugan put a hand on her thin, shabby 

"You ought to get a new jacket, 

"I know it." 

"Have you looked at any ?" 

"What's the use," she spoke im- 
patiently, "I can't get one." 

"Well, I know somebody who will." 

She shook her head. "You mustn't, 
Tom. It ain't right." 

"Right," said he pugnaciously, "why 
ain't it ?" 

"I'm still owing you some from 
grandmother's funeral." 

"I wish you'd forget that," he 
declared. "I guess she liked me well 
enough to let me help some. Anyhow, 
there's no hurry, and I'm going to give 
you that coat." 

"You really mustn't. It ain't,—" 
she hesitated delicately. "It ain't as 
if we were going together, you know." 

"I know," said he briefly. "But 
we're good friends, ain't we ? .\in't 
you a good enough friend to 
something from me ?" 

"But it's — clothes." 

"Well, what's the matter 
clothes ? I believe in giving 
people need. There's plenty 





don't think anything of getting all the 

shows and suppers they can out of a 

fellow, and coming back for more, and 

a jacket don't cost any more'n that. 

Make believe it's a season ticket — or 

a bunch of roses, you know. I've got 

the price." 

"But it really sounds so awful !" 
She was manifestly weakening. A 

budding vision of a coat must have 

been floating in the fringe of conscious- 
ness, for now it popped, 

full blown, before her 

mental eye — a little 

jewel of a coat, smart, 

black, straight in cut, 

with heavy braided 


He combated the 

words fiercely. 

"Who's it going to 

sound to ? It's our own 

business — my business. 

For heaven's sake. Amy, 

don't always turn a fel- 
low down. If you're a 

friend of mine — take it; 

if not- — take it, just the 

same. Work me for a 

good thing — I don't 


She bubbled with sud- 
den laughter. 

"Tom, you do say such 

things !" 

"Do I ?" He sighed in 

relief, for her laughter 

was a good sign. "Well 

now, I'll give you an 

envelcjpe to-morrow, and 

you go blow every cent 

on something warm. Don't pick out 

a flimsy one for its shape. Get a 

collar that turns up." 

"1 should say not," she declared 
gaily, in new-found spirits. "They 
aren't wearing them this winter." 

"Oh, you girls ! I'll have to be buy- 
ing you furs, next," he threatened. 

Amy's eyes, tender with a warm rush 
of gratitude, smiled back at him 
through the dusk. How good this 
Tom would be to a girl I Oh, if only — 
the old pain stirred at the irony of it 
all — if only this were Lcroy here beside 
her, sheltering her, planning f(;r her. 
Oh, how right the world would come 
for her then ! 

They were at the corner now, the 
parting of the ways. Half a i)lock dis- 
tant Ncugan owned a small cottage 
and roomed with his tenants; Amy 
boarded on the next street, with her 
brother's family. 

The girl lingered uncertainly. 
"You're awfully gtxxl," she sjiid in a 
low tone. "Too good — I ain't worth 
it. You ought to be spending your 
money on some girl that's crazy aix>ut 
you — not just a friend." 

"Never you mind that," he told her 
gruffly. "I'm not a kid. As far as you 
g^ " 


He hesitated, shifting in embarrass- 
ment from one foot to another. How- 
was he to tell her of the love that 
protects, sustains, yearns over the 
beloved, asking nothing for itself but 
the privilege of service, buying it, if 
need be, with the heart's lifelong pain 
and devotion ? 

"I'm glad if I help some," he brought 
out at last, turning to go. "Here's to- 


night's paper — see you in the morning 
— so long." 

"So long, Tom," she answered, and 
hurried down the street before the 
gusty wind. 

Her sister-in-law was bending over a 
stew on the stove as she entered. They 
had two rooms ; the family slept in one, 
and Am\- had a curtained alcove oflF 
the kitchen. The brother was close 
and weak; the wife was close and hard. 


contemptuous of her husband's ability, 
disdainful of what she termed Amy's 
She snapped querulously, now, at the 

g'rl- . „ 

"Shut the door, you're lettmg m all 


"It is cold," Amy pacifically agreed. 
She hesitated. Then with deceptive 
casualness : 

"I guess I'd better get a new jacket." 

"Humph !" The woman bent over 

her dish. "I'll bet you will, and when 

you're sick and haven't a cent, don't 

expect me to pay the doctor." 

"I'm not likely to," the girl retorted 
with dry significance. 

There had been no love lost since the 
little grandmother's illness. She stood 
a moment, bitterly reminiscent, then, 
picking up the youngest child, which 
seemed to be crying the loudest, sat 
down to quiet it. As she rocked, her 
frown faded, her 
straight lips curved 
to a smile. She was 
debating the delicious 
question of gold but- 
tons, and with revived 
interest in life she de- 
cided to try her hair 
that new way to-mor- 

Whether it was the 
re-arranged hair, or 
the smart jacket, or 
I he cumulative effect 
ut both, enlmncing 
her girlish prettiness 
cannot, of course, be 
ascertained, but cer- 
1 lainly from that next 
week the dream came 
closer to reality. 

It began witii a few 
words in passing ; then 
an idle joke and an 
exchange of glances — 
dark eyes, half shy, 
half provocative, met 
by a bold, confident 
stare from the gray. 
It was a stare that 
thrilled and yet 
abashed. Her eyes 
fell swiftly before it, 
yet rose again in irre- 
sistible attraction. 

She read in Leroy's 

good looks, his gay, 

ready laugh, his six 

feet of straight, strong youth, all the 

fine, wonderful things of a girl's first 

imaginings. She told herself feverishly 

that he must come to care for her. 

He miisl ! It would be too cruel to 

have him turn away now on the very 

threshold of acquaintance. Let him 

only cross that threshold and be her 

lover, no matter how short the time. 

So she prayed to the invisible gods of 

life. She would not complain whatever 



the end might be. Let her only live — 

once ! 

One night, at closing time, Leroy 

came behind her on the stairs and 

caught her elbow. 

"No need to rush — that steady can 

wait a minute," he laughed, for he was 

in Neugan's lodge, where his devotion 

was an open secret. 

"He's not my steady," Amy quickly 


"Who is, then ?" 

She flashed him a swift glance. "I 

haven't seen him yet." 

"You tell it well. Going to Doane's 

Saturday night ?" 
"Yes, why ?" 

"Nothing — only," he pressed her 
arm significantly, "if you look you may 
see somebody, that's all." 

Doane's was, theoretically, Professor 
Doane's Dancing Academy for young 
ladies and gentlemen. Open every 
Saturday evening, admission, per 
couple, half-a-dollar; extra ladies, 
twenty-five cents. Whether there was 
a Professor Doane or not, there was a 
brassy orchestra, and a large well- 
waxed floor, over an eminently respect- 
able drug store. It was considered a 
haunt of fashion among Amy's friends 
— the half-dollar entrance fee giving it 
a tone of wealth and exclusiveness. 
Amy, herself, went but seldom. She 
was fond of dancing, but not with 
Neugan, who was too short and 
bumped a great deal. 

This Saturday, however, she would 
not have missed for a kingdom. The 
three preceding nights she sat up late, 
fashioning a new waist by the light of 
a small, ill-smelling oil lamp. She 
would have dearly loved an entire new 
dress. The daughters of well-to-do 
butchers and bakers who appeared 
there in emphatic novelties, would 
shame her shabby black skirt with their 
smart, white cloth ones, and Leroy, she 
knew, was critical. But even this cheap 
silk muslin waist emptied her purse. 

As a creation, however, it was 
decidedly a success, and balancing on 
a chair that Saturday night to scrutin- 
ize her belt in the mirror, she decided 
happily that, after all, she could brave 
the comparison. 

Excitement, bom of eager anticipa- 
tion, sparkled brightly in her dark 
eyes, and flushed her cheeks with a 
pink, deeper than her waist. Every 
line of the tall, slender figure was pliant 
with pretty grace. 

At the academy Neugan watched her 
with a sort of bewildered and hopeless 
worship. He danced even more badly 
than usual, treading on her toes, and 
forgetting entirely to reverse, but she 
did not seem to mind. 

From across the crowded hall she 
was conscious of Leroy's eyes on her in 
arrested admiration, then, in deepening 
significance. When he came to ask her 


to dance, she met his banter with a 
gaiety that transformed her. 

They dance<l together three times, 
and at the end of the third he asked to 
see her home. 

It was the crowning moment — but 
she remembered Neugan. 

Leroy met her explanation with a 
careless laugh. "Oh, all right. I 
won't butt in on your steady." 

"He isn't mv steady," she declared. 
"No ?" scofiingly. 

"No, he's not — he's just a friend, 
but I don't want to be mean to him. 

Any other time " 

"There's no 'other time' with me," 
he interrupted grandly. "If you're 
going with me at all, you're going with 
with me now !" 

Amy's heart stood still in the cold 
clutch of dread. The story of Maggie's 
acquaintance, who had failed to keep 
his engagement, rushed over her. 
Opportunity, it seemed, came but 

once. If she denied him now^ 

She looked up, and his eyes, the eyes 
of a man who brooked no denial, 
smiled down conqueringly. 

"All right then," she yielded breath- 
lessly. "I'll go — with you." 

It was no easy matter to explain this 
to Tom. She sought him, trembling 
almost, and at the first word of shamed 
apology he flared into quick, amazed 

"What do you mean ? Are you 
going home with him ?" 

"I didn't want to," she pleaded, "but 
Tom, if I don't — " her eyes sought his, 
asking the understanding that would 
save her further words. 
He waited stolidly. 
"Don't you see ? If I don't — he — 
he won't ask me again." 
"What's that to you ?" 
"It's — oh, Tom !" The tears came 
to her eyes. "You always said you'd 
do anything for me, and now, when it's 
the thing I want most of all — ■ — " 

He took it without a word, consider- 
ing it slowly, in his eyes the surprised 
blink of an animal balked in its first 
rush of rage. 

"Oh, all right," he brought out at 
last. "I'm down and out." He turned 
on his heel. 

"Tom — I'm awful sorry." She fol- 
lowed a step timidly. 

"Forget it," he muttered. "Go on, 
have a good time." 

The queer, 'hurt feeling with which 
she watched him disappear stayed 
strangely with her through the rest of 
the evening. She could not quite for- 
get it, even in all the intoxication of 
Leroy's open attachment. They 
danced the remaining dances together 
- — the most conspicuous couple on the 
floor; men winked when they passed, 
the girls giggled and nudged each other. 
In the cloak room Maggie fell on her 
in a rush of friendly excitement. 

"My, you handed it to Tom," she 
exclaimed in a tone in which disap- 
proval was smothered by wondering 
admiration. "I didn't think you had 
the nerve !" 

The fingers buttoning the jacket — 
Tom's jacket — faltered. 

"Tom didn't care," Amy tried to say 

"Well, you're a winner," the other 
girl pronounced. She looked out to 
where Leroy waited, the center of a 
jovial group. "And I don't blame you, 
neither," she owned in frankness. 

Neither, in point of fact, was Amy 
blaming herself. She held it her mis- 
fortune to have things happen so, but 
the fault itself was clearly on fate's 
shoulders. Yet she could not forget 
Tom's face, and depression gained on 
her as she sat in the car beside Leroy, 
who talked and joked boisterously 
across the aisles, in high feather with 
the occasion and himself. 

A shout of farewell pleasantries 
followed them off the car and down the 
still, street. 

"Seems to tickle 'em, doesn't it ?" 
chuckled Leroy. "Gee, but it was a 
facer for your friend I" 

"Oh, he didn't mind," Amy declared. 

"Didn't he though ! Well, you 
ought to have seen his face when the 
fellows jollied him. They gave it to 
him, plenty." 

"They shouldn't," she cried dis- 
tressfully. She had given Tom into the 
hands of his enemies, but she was ready 
to turn on them for tormenting him. 

"You're a good one to talk ! A 
fellow that can't keep his girl deserves 
to lose her, anyhow ! If you ever serve 
me such a trick," he squeezed her arm 
fondly, then clenched his fist in illus- 
tration, "I'll give him this, see ? But 
that little snipe — ^why he just shrunk 
out of sight !" 

"Tom can fight," she declared 

A man never wins a woman by dis- 
praising her last lover. "He can 
fight," she reiterated, half pulling her 
arm away from him. 

"Huh— why didn't he, then ?" 

The girl was silent. She knew why 
he hadn't fought, and she also began to 
divine, dimly, that the knowledge was 
above thie man's comprehension. It 
was hard for Tom to hold his hand, 
and she saw, now, how hard some other 
things had been. The excitement of 
the evening ebbed, leaving her cold and 
a little tired. 

At the door she remembered that her 
key was in Tom's pocket. 

"I'll have to knock," she explained. 

"Well, you needn't begin yet." 
Leroy seemed suddenly to have come 
very much closer; his hand, which had 
been on her arm, slipped around her 

Ojntinued on page 202. 

Nurse Lind's 

Heart Case 


By Katherine McFarland 

Illustrated by Gertrude Spaller 


THE bell which awakened the 
inmates of the Nurses' Home in 
St. Mark's Hospital each morn- 
ing at five-thirty had scarcely 
ceased its sharp, imperative call when 
Nurse Lind sprang out of the narrow 
cot. such as is used ir all hospitals. 

Her room-mate, still surveying the 
tiny clock on the table as though very 
much inclined to think the bell had 
been rung hours too soon, turned 
sleepy enquiring eyes toward the 
rapidly dressing girl. 

"Why such haste, Lind ? You are 
rather out of your usual pace, it seems 
to me." 

"Oh, I've got to make an extra smart 
appearance to-day. I'm going on 
duty on fourth floor, and I am deter- 
mined to do all in my power to keep in 
Sister Martha's good graces. You 
know, my time is up next week, and if 
I can keep from any misdeed on that 
floor. I'm going to do it." 

"Well, I wish you luck," returned her 
friend, as she rose and commenced her 
own toilet. "But if you succeed in 
staying up there one whole week, with- 
out having extra time imposed, it will 
be a miracle. Sister Martha simply has 
to call someone down once a day, and, 
as we nurses are the most available, we 
get it." 

By this time Nurse Lind had com- 
pleted dressing and was adjusting a 
freshly laundered cap on her somewhat 
rebellious brown hair. Ever since her 
probation she had received frequent 
admonitions concerning the sjime, 
which wpuld not, despite her efforts, 
lie flat in the orthodox, professional 
manner. Although one of the Ijest 
and most careful nurses on the staff, 
she never could become quite as prim 
and mechanical in manner as a nurse 
in training is taught to believe proper. 

The nurses of different denomina- 
tions training in St. Mark's were 
numerous. Therefore, morning prayers 
held in the large chapel were only for 
those belonging to the Church of 
Koine, the Protestant girls holding 
their devotions in the study. 

At the close of the simple 
service, they immediately fell 
to discussing the arrival of a 
new house s.urgeon, whom few 
had seen, as he had arrived only 
the previous night. He was 
also to be the professor of an- / 

atomy and considerable curi- 
osity was felt about him. His 
predecessor had been a stern 
disciplinarian, and his de- 
parture had been entirely welcome. 
While all were chattering and sur- 
mising as to the new man's appear- 
ance, the gong for breakfast sounded, 
which put an end to the discussion. 

The morning meal in the nurses' 
dining-room is a very brief affair. 
After a short grace and roll call, all 
hurry through the meal and repair to 
their various duties, some to fry bacon 
and make toast in the main kitchen 
below stairs, others to set trays for 
patients' breakfasts in diet kitchens on 
the different floors. Nurse Lind pre- 
sented herself for duty on the fourth 

Sister Martha, a tall, stern woman, 
was feared and disliked by all the staff 
of nurses. Only to the patients did she 
ever show a kindly disposition, and to 
them she was all that could be desired. 
Her greeting to Nurse Lind was curt 
and characteristic. 

"You are late in reporting, Miss 
Lind. Kindly do not let it occur again. 
I am very busy this morning and need 
extra help, although I do not suppose 
a new nurse on this floor will be much 
assistance to me. We have a number 
of typhoids, and several new patients 
expected. Last night the new house 
surgeon was up until five so he must 
not be disturbed Ijefore noon, if jws- 
sible. 1 have written my orders. You 
may attend to them, as you are a 
Senior. I place you in charge for the 
time being." 

When Nurse Lind looked over the 
orders she decided to attend the most 
urgent at once. 

"Temperatures to be taken — a 
Junior may do that," she thought. 



"Medicines to be given. Let me see. 
Hypodermic (strychnine). Heart case, 
likely. I'd better administer that 
without delay. What is that number — 
is it a three or a five ? Sister does not 
write her orders any plainer than nec- 
essary. It's a five, I think; yes, that is 
it. Oh, I certainly do not like this 
floor ! It seems odd that I've never 
been sent here before in my three 
years' training." 

While so thinking, she was not idle, 
but deftly prepared a new syringe for 
the hypodermic, carefully testing it to 
be sure it did not leak, and that the 
needle was sharp and unobstructed. 

When all was ready she quietly 
walked down the long, silent hall, 
glancing either side as she passed along 
for number five. As she hesitated 
before a partly closed door, a nurse 
came hurriedly out, scarcely pausing 
as Nurse Lind asked her, "Where is 
number five ?" 

"Empty room further down," then 
hurried on her way. 

"Empty ?"murmured she. "Patient 
must have just come in and Sister 
ordered the hypo as a stimulant." She 
continued on her way, until the 
number she .sought was reached. Gent- 
ly knocking, she quietly opened the 
door and went in. 

The blind was drawn, making the 
room dim, and, as she raised it, she 
saw lying on the bed, a young man of 
possibly thirty, wearing a bathrobe. 
A comforter was drawn lightly over 
him. He appeared to be sound asleep. 
The nurse gently took his wrist in her 
cool steady fingers, and while counting 




the pulse, which seemed singularly 
normal for one suffering from heart 
trouble, she studied his face. How 
young he was to he so afiflicted ! It 
must he only a slight attack, as he 
didn't look as though he'd been sick 
for any length of time. The patient 
appeared to be in a heavy slumber. 

He never moved as she rolled the 
sleeve of his robe back from the white 
muscular arm, and rubbed a small 
portion with an antiseptic fluid. 

"Poor fellow, probably he has had 
quite a trip from some of the small 
towns. This hospital is the only one 
within a radius of fifty miles," she 
thought. "He is tired out, I can see 
that. I'll be as gentle as I can and per- 
haps he will not waken." Deftly, she 
held a fold of flesh between her thumb 
and finger and inserted the needle 
gently, yet quickly, down among the 
muscles. Then slightly withdrawing 

.•" wfT^ifiBiia 



it, she slowly injected the contents of 
the syringe, then firmly held a finger 
over the spot. 

Raising her eyes to his face she was 
startled to see a pair of brown eyes 
regarding her with amusement and 
perplexity. Greatly surprised to find 
what she thought a sick and soundly 
sleeping man awake and apparently 
laughing at her. Nurse Lind uttered an 
exclamation of surprise. 

"Oh I You — why you are awake ! 

You really frightened me. I tried not 
to disturb you. I'm sorry." 

"I am not," answered her patient; 
"in fact, I'm quite happy to be awake 
and able to thank you for your kind 
ministrations, but I cannot compre- 
hend why I am so favored." 

"Favored !" echoed the nurse. "I 
don't understand you. Orders were 
for a hypodermic given at once. I 
have only obeyed instructions." 

While speaking, she had risen to her 
feet, struggling to conceal the embar- 
rassment she so keenly felt. She could 
not tell why, but this patient seemed 
so different from the ones she usually 
attended, so well and capable; in fact, 
he caused her usual quiet, professional 
manner to show more embarrassment 
than she ever remembered feeling 
before. He seemed to be treating her 
orders, as well as herself, as a nice little 
comedy being enacted for his special 

His eyes still held their 
amused' expression as he 
raised himself to a sitting 
posture, saying to the nurse 
as he did so, "Please sit 
down and do not be angry 
if I seem rude and ungrate- 
ful to you, but what I can- 
not see through is why Sister 
should order a hypo given 
me. Heaven knows, sleep 
came to me without any 
persuasion, after my forty- 
eight hour trip and my hard 
night on my arrival." 

While he was speaking 
the nurse's face was a study, 
embarrassment, perplexity, 
consternation all struggling 
for mastery as the scarlet 
blood flooded neck and cheek, 
even staining her brow with 
its vivid hue. 

"Oh, what have I done!" 

she thought. "He must be 

the new House Surgeon; 

and she, a Senior trying to 

excel in her work on the 

dreaded fourth floor, had 

made the awful mistake of 

giving the hypodermic to 

the new doctor instead of 

the patient with heart 

trouble. She remembered 

wondering at first which 

figure was in the orders — 

Sister's writing was so hard to make 

out." Her knees seemed too weak to 

hold her; the room a crimson mist filled 

with awful noises. She sank into a 

chair, covering her face with her 


"What can I say ?" she faltered. 
"It's all my mistake. I misread the 
room number — it looked just like a 
five — and I — I — oh, I thought you 
were a heart case I And now I'll never 
get square with you !" 

The doctor hopped nimbly off the 
bed, and crossed to the limp and dis- 
consolate little figure in the stiff chair. 
"Nurse ! Nurse !" he pleaded, 
"don't feel like that. It's all right. 
I'll never tell a soul. Good Lord ! you 
don't think I'd get you in wrong for 
this, do you ?" 

She gave him half of one drooping 
eye, doubtfully. 

"You see, it's partly my fault," he 
went on. "I haven't any business 
sleeping in a patient's room. But 
when I got in last night they weren't 
expecting me, and my room was just 
the way Dr. Cadaway had left it — 
some room, too ! So I hunted up the 
night nurse on this floor, and she put 
me in number five— and the next thing 
I knew, there you were giving me a 
business-like hypo." 

He chuckled irrepressibly, and Nurse 
Lind's visible mouth-comer twitched. 
"I knew you could take a joke," he 
declared triumphantly. "That strych- 
nine won't do me a bit of harm — my 
heart needs stimulating at times. 
Besides — " 

"Click, click, clack !" came down the 
hall. There was no sound of footsteps, 
but the soft click, click, clack had an 
ominous sound to the girl. A sister ! 
no mistaking the sound of beads. 
Only too well did every nurse know it. 
It broke in on the night lunches, stolen 
visits to classmates' rooms, and for- 
bidden chats with the students. It 
was always the signal for a general 
alarm to the fun-loving nurses. 

"Sister Martha !" ejaculated the 
girl, her face a moment ago so flushed 
fading to a ghastly white. Instantly 
the doctor's quick mind grasped the 
significance of her frightened words. 
In a second he had opened the ward- 
robe doors and hurriedly lifted her in, 
shutting the doors softly after her. 
With such haste did he move that he 
was lying on the bed sleepily rubbing 
his eyes as the Sister's knock sounded 
on the door! He waited until it was 
thrice repeated before he drowsily 
asked, "Who's there ? Come in." 

"Sister Martha," came the grave 
reply as she entered the room. "I am 
very sorry to disturb you, but an 
emergency case has just been brought 
up and we haven't any other available 
room, so this must be used. Your 
room is ready for you, if you wish to 
continue your sleep." 

While speaking to the doctor she 
was glancing around to see how much 
preparation was required. As her eyes 
rested on the table she discovered the 
syringe and thermometer, which the 
nurse had left when so suddenly 
startled by her approach. Annoyance 
and surprise showed in her stem face 
as she picked them up, saying as she 
did so, "Such gross carelessness ! 
Nurses, doctor, never learn to be care- 




fill in putting such things away. If 1 
knew the one responsible she'd be 
tauglit a lesson." 

Dr. Frain felt ver\- thankful indeed 
that he had hidden the nurse. If a 
simple act like the lea\'ing of a syringe 
on a table was so huge an error in the 
Sister's sight, what would she think 
should she discover Nurse Lind's pres- 
ence in his room ? 

"Very well, Sister, I'll let you have 
the room shortly," he said. He quickly 
prepared to liberate the nurse as the 
Sister closed the door. But to his con- 
sternation she did not go on down the 
hall as he expected. Instead she seated 
herself outside the door at the chart 
cupboard and prepared to make out 
the morning reports. 

"Lord help us," he groaned. "She's 
settled there for an hour unless I can get 
her away, and in the meantime some 
one else will have come in to do up the 
room. This is a dilemma. Still, the 
girl is safe for the time being, unless 
someone looks in that wardrobe. I'll 
go out and see if I can help the situa- 
tion from the outside." But fate 
seemed destined to thwart his plans, 
for as he stepped into the hall two 
nurses entered. 

"Now what can I do ?" he thought. 
"What good will I do by getting Sister 
away while those two are inside .■* 
This is getting beyond me. I dare not 
confide in those nurses. They may be 
the kind that would be glad to curr\ 
favor with the Sister by telling. No, 
1 must extricate the little girl myself. 
But how ? Shall I go to the far end of 
the hall and give an alarm of fire ? 
That would certainly clear the coast. 
But as I could not substantiate the 
alarm, and, as I do not wish to have 
my sanity questioned so early in my 
new position, I will have to think of 
something better. While I'm thinking, 
that poor girl is cooped up in that 
beastly cupboard affair, and probably 
scared half to death." 

As numerous half-formed plans 
swept through his head he slowly 
walked the length of the hall, so any 
onlooker might imagine him on his way 
downstairs. He felt deeply, truly con- 
cerned over the nurse's detention in her 
embarrassing position. If she had 
remained in view in number five when 
Sister Martha came in she would cer- 
tainly have been compelled to give a 
satisfactory explanation of her pres- 
ence in the doctor's rwjm, and by so 
doing confess to being guilty of mis- 
reading orders; a grave offence in any 
hospital and more st) in this case as the 
Sister's figures would be called into 
question. Now, if she was caught 
coming out of the wardrobe it would 
be even more incriminating. "But 
what can I do !" muttered the doctor. 
"I suppose I am not responsible for her 
mistake but I bundled her into that 




confounded cubby hole, con- 
found it. I've got to get 
her out." 

When Nurse Lind was shut 
in her prison she fully ex- 
pected to be liberated as soon as 
Sister had left the room and passed 
out of sight, but, as the long min- 
utes dragged on she began to feel 
uncomfortably warm and weak in the 
small space. She hadn't room to sit 
down, and even though there had been 
she was afraid to attempt a change of 
position for fear of making a noise, 
which would lead to her discovery by 
the nurses doing the room. She knew 
they were her juniors and it would 
never do to ask their silence. It 
seemed an hour since being shut in, 
though in reality scarcely fifteen minutes 
had elapsed when she was startled to 
hear the creaking of the wheeled 
stretcher, then the opening of the door, 
and Sister Martha's voice saying in her 
sweetest tones, "Carefully, airefully. 
Nurse. Just a moment and we will 
have you safely in bed where you will 
feel easier." 

Then a half stifled groan and .sounds 
of someone being lifted into the bed. 

The Sister's voice again, "I will 
remain. Nurse, you go quickly for 
Doctor Frain. Mr. Prichard's own 
physician is not here yet and we can - 
not wait any longer." 

Then the sound of the nurse's exit, 
and again came the Sister's voice, 
smooth and .s<iothing, "The pain is 
quite severe, I know. But you will 
soon be easier. Close your eyes and 
rest, if possible, until the doctor comes. 
I will go ami prepare a stimulant for 

Then silence, deep and unbroken. 
Save by an occasicmal dcei) moan and 
incoherent mutterings it seemed to the 
imprisoned nurse that the patient was 
in a semi-delirious state, but even so, 
dare she risk the chance of detection 
and leave her uncomfortable quarters ? 
While these thoughts were running 
through her head her jxisition became 
more and more unbearable, the air hot 
and stilling and a faint, drowsy, chok- 
ing sensation seemed to be stealing 



over her. She knew sometliiiig musl 
be done, and quickly. Belter discovery 
by the patient than to faint and pos- 
«ibly fall out and arouse the whole 
floor. After listening intently to make 
sure no one was approaching, she 
softly and slowly opened the door and 
nervously glanced at the patient, who 
seemed to be in great pain, his eyes 
almost closed. Softly she stepped out 
and tiptoed quickly to the door, opened 
it, and darted into number three next 
•door. It was with a sigh of thankful- 
ness that she saw the occupant fast 
asleep. She scarcely felt in a condition 
to give a second hypodermic just then. 

When Sister Martha returned with 
the doctor they found the patient as 
Tie had been ever since his admittance, 
feverish and apparently in great pain. 
A couple of hours previously he had 
slipped while running to catch a train, 
the result being a skull fracture of 
indeterminate seriousness. 

While examining the fracture, 
Doctor Train's mind continually kept 
straying to the wardrobe, even though 
hedared not allow his eyes to do likewise. 
If Sister Martha would only leave him 


alone a few precious seconds, he could 
liberate the nurse, never knowing she 
had been able to do so herself. He 
would send Sister on an errand, then 
accomplish his work before she re- 

"Kindly bring my case from my 
room," he rcciuested, and she, being 
only too willing to assist the fine-look- 
ing new physician, hurriedly went out. 

In an instant he reached the ward- 
robe, and threw open the door, only to 
find it — empty. 

Consternation and dismay swept 
over him. She had been discovered — 
and by whom ? Discovery would 
almost certainly mean the loss of her 
cap and extra time imposed. She 
might even be expelled. Perhaps at 
that very moment she might be in 
disgrace and alone. He must help her. 
There was something peculiarly attrac- 
tive about her. 

A moan from the bed recalled him tu 
his patient, and as he bent over the 
man. Sister returned. 

The patient had recommenced his 
mutterings, half-intelligible phrases fall- 
ing from iiis lips. "Nurse got out," he 

muttered uneasily. "Pretty nurse — 
oh, doctor, stop the pain — my head's a 
furnace — very hot. I must get that — ■ 
There she is, came right out — Nurse ! 
nurse — no, no — not you," this to 
Sister Martha. "Pretty nurse — came 
out of box " 

The doctor laid his hand softly over 
the man's lips, and changed his posi- 
tion slightly, saying "Delirium, Sister. 
Some morphine " 

"Certainly," she agreed. "I will 
send a nurse." 

The doctor felt a weight lifted from 
his mind. Evidently the girl had 
slipped out in an opportune moment 
and been seen only by the delirious 
patient. He would see her again as 
soon as possible. And even as he 
reflected. Nurse Lind came in with a 
hypodermic. She had pulled herself 
together in short order, and her manner 
was gray and business-like. Only a 
flush reiiiauicu in her cheeks, and as the 
doctor spoke to her, it deepened and 
spread into a rosy glow. He took the 
hypodermic from her, and administered 
the injection himself. The patient 
Continued on page 221. 

Farming With Explosives 

EXPLOSIVES, like fire, have 
always been man's best friend 
and his greatest enemy. Men 
have fast learned how to pre- 
vent or, at least, how to greatly check 
severe fires until to-day fire-protection 
in practically every village, town or 
hamlet is recognized as an absolute 

So it has been with explosives, for 
those powerful gases concealed in 
pulpy material or in powder form 
which have wrought not a little de- 
struction have at the present time not 
only proven invaluable in the larger 
achievements of construction but have 
invaded — perhaps the last place the 
old time pioneer whould have expected 
^the farm. 

For, explosives on the farm, though 
as yet, of course, not in general use, 
have proven a decided success. As in 
all experiments their use at first was 
very limited. A few farmers, perhaps 
with some knowledge of quarrying, 
utilized them to destroy particularly 
inconvenient tree stumps. Naturally 
other uses for the explosives suggested 
themselves until to-day dynamite or 
blasting powder is not only used to 
break up boulders which may render 
worthless a valuable part of a field and 

By J. J. Larkin 

Illustrated from Photographs 

stumps of trees 
the efforts of 
for removal, 
ing the farmer's 
breaking up of 
pan — the lower 
cannot be reached 

which defy 
mac hinery 
but is prov- 
friend in the 
subsoil or hard- 
strata which 
by the plow or 

which has become hard — in rejuven- 
ating orchards; in planting trees; 
in splitting logs; in making roads; 
in digging wells and, a most import- 
ant innovation, in excavating ditches. 
Particularly effective is it, too, in 
breaking up log jams on a river or a 
lake, though not many farmers are 
concerned in these difficulties. 

To the ordinary man, dynamite and 
danger are synonymous. Time was 
when a suggestion of using explosives 
on the farm in other than weapon form 
would have been regarded as a sign 
of insanity. The world moves, how- 
ever, and at the present time respon- 
sible persons can use and handle 
dynamite just as safely as they can 

handle gasoline, matches or coal oil. 
True, accidents may occur, for dyna- 
mite is not at all suitable to entrust to 
a child or a careless laborer. Neither 
is a fractious colt which is likely to run 
away ; or a binder or other valuable and 
intricate machine which may be almost 
irreparably injured. Accidents will 
occur with dynamite but if properly 
handled there is no more danger from 
it on the farm than there is from fire, 
flood, storm or any of the other num- 
erous mishaps which afTect the average 
farmer. Improved manufacture and 
time-tested methods have rendered 
accidents practically nil, where proper 
care is exercised. 

It is a race between explosives and 
electricity on the farm just now and, 
oddly enough, perfected appliances for 
the use of the latter have greatly aided 
dynamite-using for electric batteries 
which will "fire" charges of explosives 
from a considerable distance, and will 
fire practically as many charges as the 
farmer desires, have added greatly to 
safety and in some forms of explosive- 
using on the farm are practically 

Guess-work is no longer the chief 
factor in using an explosive. With its 
great element of danger, it has been 



superseded by set rules which any man 
who handles or desires to handle ex- 
plosives can secure. 

A strong economic factor in the use 
of explosives on the farm is its bearing 
on the labor problem. Everybody 
knows how for some seasons now the 
wail has gone throughout the land that 
suitable farm labor was almost as 
scarce as the proverbial hen's teeth. 
Everybody knows how the east— and 
its newly arrived population acquisi- 
tions from across "The Pond" — 
swarms west every summer when the 
harvest is ready to be garnered — ^at 
necessarily high labor prices. Scarcer 
still is the supply of suitable farm —^ 
help of the permanent variety. fejj 

Right there is where the use of 
explosives at least minimizes the 
labor problem. For instance, take 
ditching by explosives. On a 
conservative estimate it is claimed 
three men using ditching powder 
will accomplish as much in a day 
as could a dozen men in the ordinary 
manner. Power is obtained cheap- 
er — except perhaps in smaller jobs 
— from explosives than from tht 
worker's arms, legs and shoulders 
driving a pick or shovel. 

Nor is there as much technique 
in using explosives as might .b( 
imagined. In general the method 
to Ik- followed depends, of course 
on the work to be performed. 
Explosives, first let it be under- 
stood, are sr)lids or liquids whicl, 
can be changed almost instantan- 
eously by a spark, great heat or a 
shock into gases having many 
hundred times the volume of the 
explosive in its original form. 
Coal and wood are changed 
slowly into a large volume of 
gas by burning; water is changed 
slowly into a large volume of gas pj- 
(stcam) by heating it. This is ^ 
the whole theory of explosives. 
By it much in their use which would 
otherwise seem difficult to ,'explain, 
is easily understood. 

Blasting explosives are divided into 
two classes — Low Explosives or blast- 
ing powders which are exploded by a 
epark, and High Explosives commonly 
known as dynamite, which are exploded 
by a hard sharp shock. There are 
numerous kinds of high explosives or 
dynamite each having some particular 
property which makes it different from 
every other kind. Some kinds will 
burn if a spark falls on them and most 
kinds can be l)umed if put in a fire. 

When dynamite is handled with bare 
hands it usually causes a head.iche. 
Old glovea arc therefore nearly always 

There is a popular misconception of 
dynamite in the public mind. News- 
papers in reporting outrages such as 
lH)mb-throwing by anarchists; safe- 


cracking by burglars, etc.; incorrectly 
report them as caused "by dynamite." 
The result is an erroneous but wide- 
spread impression that a dynamite 
cartridge will explode if dropped on the 
ground or thrown against the body of a 

As a matter of fact safe crackers and 
bomb-throwers do not use dynamite 
cartridges at all; they would not be 
suitable for their purpose as it is so 
difficult to explode them. What tnese 
criminals use as a rule is nitro-glycerin. 

True, there is a certain proportion of 
nitro-glycerin in dynamitecartridges but 
that dangerous liquid is scientifically 



with damp clay tamping packed firml^^ 
above to the top of the hole and the^ 
exploded all together from the surfac 
by the use of electricity. The result of 
this shot will be to blow out a funnel- 
shaped opening in the centre, and the 
bottom is then squared up with another 
circle of holes drilled straight down a» 
close to the sides as possible. 

Ditching is another decidedly inter- 
esting feat. Stumping will excavate 
ditches entirely, cleaning them out to 
grade ; giving the sides the correct slope 
and spreading the earth excavated over 
the land some distance away. In the 
same way much valuable land can be 


compounded with wood pulp and other 
ingredients in such a way that dyna- 
mite can be absolutely depended upon 
not to explode accidentally if handled 
with proper care. 

Dynamite, when used for blasting, 
is exploded by a detonator and a long 

Perhaps no use of dynamite on the 
farm seems as interesting and as sys- 
tematic as well-sinking. Wells arc 
generally sunk through rock or ground 
which cannot be dug to advantage 
without the aid of explosives. In 
well-sinking, when the rock is reached 
and the earth is properly shored, a 
circle of four or five holes is started 
about half way between the centre and 
the sides of the well and pointed at 
such an angle that they will come close 
together near the centre when they are 
three or four feet deep. These holes 
are loadccl about h.ilf full of powder 

saved by blasting straight channels to 
straighten and shorten the course of 
creeks and streams. It is not necessary 
in this work to blast a large ditch or 
channel for if the current is once 
started through a small one it will soon 
wash out to the proper size. 

To blast a ditch through swamp- 
ground, a row of holes down to within 
four inches of the grade of the ditch are 
drilled from eighteen to twenty-four 
inches apart and in such a position 
that the bottoms of the holes will fol- 
low the center line of the ditch. Whea 
these are filled and the primer is in 
position they are exploded simultan- 
eously by means of electric light fuses 
and battery. In this way ditches can 
be dug up to seven feet wide at the top; 
three and a half feet wide at the bottom 
and four feet dtn^p, the width and depth 
depending on the depth and distance 
ap.irt of the holw. fiitchos from six- 


tcc!! to twenty feet wide require three 
rows of holes with three or four feet 
between the rows. The cost, including 
labor, for ditches from three to four 
feet deep, three feet wide at the bottom 
and from fiva to seven feet at the top 
is only from two to four cents a lineal 

In tree planting by explosives the 
principal object is to open up the sub- 
soil so as to make room for root growth ; 
conserve moisture and to drain the 
surface properly. When preparing the 
ground for new trees the holes are gen- 
erally bored about thirty inches deep 
on the spot. In many places it is the 
custom to shovel off the fertile top 
soil in a circle about the hole, before 
blasting, and to pile this to one side for 


they are mor* than thirty feet apart. 

The surface of the earth is not 
afifected much in blasting subsoil or 
hardpan for tiie simple reason that the 
aim is to loosen the earth down deep. 
In the ordinary clay subsoil and in 
plow soil, holes are spaced fifteen to 
twenty feet apart and nearly three 
feet deep. If properly done, it is 
claimed it will not be necessary to 
break up this subsoil oftener than once 
in ten years. 

Swamps and ponds, except where 
they are close to rivers, lakes or the 
ocean, are caused by spring or surface 
water collecting on low ground which 
is underlaid by clay or other subsoil 
that the water cannot sink through. 
When it is not practical to drain these 

several cartridges with a long fiisc 
lighted, is thrown onto the ice cakes, 
the object of course being to break up 
the large cakes of ice into smaller 
pieces, which will thus be prevented 
from piling up. 

But l<jg jams are broken up and the 
timber started down stream on its way 
again in a different manner. In this 
case the explosive is placed on the logs 
at a point where the timber is loosest 
and exploded by a blasting machine on 
the shore through electric wire con- 

Boulder blasting is'foUowed in much 
the same manner as in removing 
stumps. It is again a method of attack- 
ing the obstruction at its weakest point. 

These, then, are the chief uses to 


filling up the blasted hole to the proper 

When cultivating orchards by blast- 
ing between the trees, the spacing 
between the holes depends on how far 
apart the trees are planted and the 
condition of the subsoil. In Ontario 
and other provinces where many 
orchards grow over hardpan, holes are 
often drilled from three to five feet 
deep and sometimes only six feet away 
from the trees. The general rule how- 
ever is to bore the holes three feet deep 
midway between the trees on diagonal 
lines when they stand fifteen to twenty 
feet apart; midway between them on 
square lines when they are from twenty 
to thirty feet apart and on three sides 
of each tree ten feet awav from it when 

swamps by ditching they can often be 
permanently dried up by shattering the 
impervious subsoil with stumping. 

Particularly useful is this new 
"farmer's friend" in removing obnox- 
ious stumpy. And in this the methods 
employed naturally vary considerably 
from those in other tasks. It is usually 
necessary, in blasting stumps, to place 
the charge under the centre of the 
stump so that the part offering the 
greatest resistance will be hit first and 
hardest. In order to keep the stumping 
powder from splitting the stump and 
wasting a part of its force a stout chain 
is generally wound around the stump. 

Ice gorges can be moved effectively 
with .stumping powder. In this opera- 
tion, the explosive, tied together in 

which explosives have been applied on 
the farm with success, though the 
innovation has also proved effective in 
digging holes for posts; in building 
roads where rock had to be cut away 
or graded and in splitting logs; Quite 
likely ideas for its further use will fre- 
quently suggest themselves to the 
farmer especially as the powder com- 
pany supplying his explosives keeps in 
the lead in experiments and shows 
particular desire to supply information 
to agriculturists as to its uses and best 
methods. In fact in view of steady 
improvement in manufacture and form, 
it may not be surprising at all soon to 
find broad acres even ploughed by 
explosives used carefully — systematic- 
ally — scientifically. 

They That Live by The Sword 

By Frank Lee Benedict 

Illustrated by Clayton j. Knight 

II ■ 



SAY, Payne, Mrs. Landry is 
here ! — only got off the steamer 
this morning, and is on exhibi- 
tion already. Look out for your 
sell, Mrs. Payne; your orange-blos- 
soms are six months old !" 

The speaker was that old beau, 
Livcrmore Carroll; the place Mrs. 
Hunter's rooms, on a reception night. 
Harry Payne pushed past, fairly 
dragging Sidney forward; but, with a 
woman's quickness she found time to 

"You must put on your spectacles, 
dear Mr. Carroll. Then you'd see I 
shall be too busy having other people 
lo<jk at me to attend to your consider- 
ate advice, whatever it may mean." 

"Oh, I don't think anybody ever 
accused Carroll of meaning anything," 
added Harry, laughing, more ready 
with a retort than men usually are, 
when somebody has stung them, though 
Sidney felt his arm tremble beneath 
her hand. 

As she moved on through the gay 
crowds, Sidney wished, from her very 
heart that she had told Harry, in the 
da\s of their engagement, what she 
knew about his past. If she had, she 
would have stood upon a different 
footing now; but Mrs. Landry's name 
had never been so much as mentioned 
iKiween them, much less the fact that 
Harr\- was known to have been in love 
with her. 

"Don't let that woman make your 
acquaintance even, if you can help it; 
we don't want to know her," said her 

Miss Kellogg was singing. A long 
impossible bit of instrumentation, by 
two pairs of amateur hands, followed, 
and in the midst of it Sidney, stand- 
ing a little back of the piano, raised her 
eyes to meet those of a lady near, sur- 
rounded by a little group of men, and 
queening it, as a pretty woman may 
be held excusable for liking to do. 
Sidney recognized her at once. At 
the time she learnc<^l Harry's secret 
she had seen a portrait of the woman 
whose treachery had driven him nearly 
mad. This brilliant creature, whose 
eyes met her own with a curious glance, 
was Isal)el Landry. 

Presently, the tortured piano got a 
liitlf rest, and while Sidney was pro- 


perly adding her meed of compliments 
to the praise the brace of unconscion- 
able damsels who had performed were 
receiving, Mrs. Hunter's voice said at 
her elbow: 

"Dear Mrs. Payne, let me make 
you acquainted with Mrs. Landry. 
You are both such favorites of mine, 
that I want you to know each other." 
jJiBy the odd expression in several of 
the countenances about her, Sidney 
knew that she was watched by people 
who were perfectly cognizant of the 
old story, and waiting to be amused by 
this encounter between Harry Payne's 
wife and the woman who had jilted 
him. Sidney turned slowly round, 
gave one pretty look of surprise, let it 
change into the sweetest and brightest 
smile of pleasure, as if the very sight of 
the iDeautiful face before her filled her 
with eagerness to know her friend's 
other "favorite," and said, 

"I am very happy to meet you; I'll 
not have Mrs. Hunter liking you the 
best." Then another admiring look 
and a charming laugh, as if the second 
glance at the beautiful creature wrung 
the confession from her, "Only I'm 
afraid she'll not be able to help it." 

If Argus had been staring at Sidney 
with all his eyes he would have sworn 
she was speaking from impulse; but 
the perfection of the thing was, that 
he would have supposed she had never 
even heard of Mrs. Landry in her whole 
life before. 

It was the enemy's turn now, but 
there was too palpable a meaning in 
manner and words as she answered : 

"It's so kind of you to say nice 
things to me; but where you are con- 
cerned, I'm afraid I can't expect to be 
liked best by Mrs. Hunter, or anybody 

Several busybodies exchanged smiles, 
to show that they understood who was 
meant by the general phrase, and held 
their breath to see if they were not to 
get a little more amusement out of the 
scene, but Sidney defeated that. 

"Oh, dear ! somclnxly else is going 
to play," sighed she. "Do let's sit 
down a moment, for they'll not let us 
talk here." 

Mrs. Landry followed her, some- 
what disap[)()inted, and more angry, 
that Si(lnr\- had so far had the best of 

the encounter. She felt malicious now, 
and wanted to stab her antagonist 
sharply, for, in her over-weening self- 
confidence, it never occurred to her 
that this pretty, rather girlish-lookmg 
creature could be a match for her 
powers. But Sidney kept her down 
to ordinary topics so artfully, that she 
was a good deal at a loss, and there was 
nothing ill natured to be done for 
several moments. By the time the 
music ceased, Mrs. Landry's quick 
eyes perceived Harry Payne standing 
in the middle of the room, and said, 

"Ah, there is your husband 1 Do 
make him a sign to come here; we 
used to be good friends once, but he 
got very angry with mc about — about 
what was no fault of mine. You must 
make him promise not to bear malice!" 

"Angry with you ?" questioned Sid- 
ney, with delightful innocence. "I 
can't fancy that; but if he ever was, I 
dare say he has forgotten all about it — 
the most forgetful creature !" 

She beckoned to her husband. He 
was not a man to do anything awk- 
ward, so he did not hesitate a second 
about obeying his wife's gesture; but, 
under his smile, Sidney could see 
plainly that he was furious with her — 
worse than that, troubled by the sight 
of this woman, who, until meeting her, 
he had l>elieved could excite no feeling 
in his mind but that of contempt or 

"Harry," said Sidney, before he 
could speak, "Mrs. Landry says she is 
sure you have forgotten her," 

"I was only so surprised that I could 
not believe my eyes," returned he, 
adding proper words of welcome, and 
doing the thing remarkably well. 

"And I don't think I was modest 
enough to say I was sure you had for- 
gotten mc," said Mrs. Landry, laugh- 

"No How was it ? ^'ou said he 




was angry with you. That was it; 
and I told you I was sure he had for- 
gotten it. You know you are the most 
heedless creature in the world, Harry !" 
Sidney cooed in her turn. "And you're 
not to bear malice, sir, because Mrs. 
Landry has just begged me not to let 
you. But, what was it all about; do 
tell me." 

That was her crowning stroke, and 
all either of them could do, was to get 
away from the subject as fast as pos- 
sible, and plunge into the first bit of 
talk that oflfered. The crowd; the 
heat; the horrible retribution that 
ought to befall amateur musicians; 
Mrs. Landry's voyage; her courage 
in crossing in April; and Sidney kept 
the ball rolling, and held aloof any 
possibility of awkwardness, or a scene, 
until the woman beside her was so 
angry, that she could with pleasure 
have throttled her with her pretty 
fingers on the spot. As for Harry, he 
had always considered his wife an 
innocent, rather childish creature, and 
only thought that she chattered out 
of entire unconsciousness of what the 
scene meant. With a man's usual 
inconsistency he was vexed at her lack 
of perception, and hardly knew which 
woman he hated most for the moment. 
"I don't see Mr. Landry," he said. 
"No; we only landed at noon. Mrs. 
Hunter came and dragged me out; but 
poor Mr. Landry was not well enough." 
"Rheumatism ?" questioned Harry. 
"You must be very careful of him," 
and Sidney leaned back, and slowly 
fluttered her fan in enjoyment of his 
impertinence, for she knew as well as 
he did that the gentleman had been a 
grandfather when Isabel married. 

"Mr. Landry is always dreadfully 
ill at sea," pursued the lady, addressing 
Mrs. Payne, as if she had not caught 
Harry's remark. "I want you to 
know him — such a heart ! Ah, dear 
Mrs. Payne, I was wiser than all the 
rest of you girls. It's very nice to be 
an elderly man's darling." 

"I suppose you don't finish the 
proverb out of politeness," said Harry, 
rather pettishly, and Sidney would 
have liked to box his ears for making 
the blunder. 

"Not a bit," quoth Mrs. Landry. 
"You know I never hesitated to tell 
you the truth." 

People were trooping out to the 
refreshment-room; some man came 
and took Sidney away; she was inex- 
pressibly grateful for the release. Driv- 
ing home that night, Harry burst out 

"I'm sure I told you we didn't want 
to know that worldly, frivolous wo- 

"Mrs. Hunter brought her up to 

introduce," said Sidney. "I could not 

help myself — she seems charming, and 

.■.. ';\ciite. I wcrc'tr I never 

heard more aljout her. Hut wiiat did 
she ever do to make you dislike her ? 
She said you used to be great friends, 
but that you got angry about some- 
thing that was not her fault." 

All Harry could do was to turn sud- 
denly sleepy, and mutter something 
between the yawns, about the stupidity 
of going about to parties and balls 
night after night. Sidney let him 
alone; she was too clear-sighted not 
to see that the best hope for their 
future peace, would be in a frank con- 
fession on both sides; but it was so 
difficult at this late day — she was so 
fearful of seeing him pained or humili- 
ated that she had not the courage to 
attempt the bringing of it about. 

For a little while Harry Payne 




Struggled against the fascinations of 
the woman who had so sorely wounded 
his heart; but Mrs. Landry was deter- 
mined that he should yield. 

But she was dealing with a very wise 
little woman. Sidney understood her 
tactics as clearly as if Mrs. Landry 
had made a plain statement of them. 
She did her foe more justice too, than 
many of her sex would have done under 
the circumstances. She saw that Mrs. 
Landry was impelled by a thirst for 
admiration and a keen love of power, 
and a personal spite against her, Sid- 
ney, but was too cold blooded, and too 
clear headed, ever to let her heart lead 
her beyond the limits of mere flirta- 

The two women were inexpressibly 
sweet to each other, and Mrs. Landry 
insisted on rushing into an intimacy. 
Harry could not well keep at a distance 
when she came out in the character of 
his wife's friend. Indeed, he did not 

struggle very long; he was soon her 
devoted slave, and Sidney had the 
humiliation of perceiving that he was 
terribly in earnest. She suffered 
cruelly, and there were often times, 
during the next six weeks, when she 
was ready to declare the struggle un- 
endurable; but she was fighting for 
her husband's heart, for all that could 
give her a hope of happiness, and she 
would not be vanquished. A poor 
heart to fight for, lookers-on might 
have said, but it was the only one Sid- 
ney cared about; besides, she was 
possessed of an indomitable obstinacy 
under her mild exterior, and the idea 
of defeat was almost as hard to bear a» 
her suffering. She would not give in; 
she would show her husband the differ- 
ence between herself and this woman, 
who, after proving so faithless in days 
gone by, was maliciously anxious to 
ruin any hope of peace for him in the 

Mr. Landry remained ill, or at least 
sufficiently suffering to keep to the 
house for several weeks. By the time 
he was about again, his wife and Harry 
Payne had glided into as pretty 
a flirtation as one could wish to see, but 
it was by no means the lady's only 
affair. The husband knew that, though 
Harry only suspected it in moments of 
jealousy. Mr. Landry and Sidney 
waxed quite confidential very soon — 
that is, the confidence was on the 
elderly gentleman's side, and Sidney 
listened with a pretty respect for his 
age not often found among this genera- 

"People call my wife a flirt," said he; 
"and so she is. I don't like it, and I 
don't pretend to; but there's no good 
in making her unhappy." 

"That's really very considerate," 
replied Sidney, unable to resist laugh- 
ing, though she was by no means in a 
merry mood. 

"If she were ever devoted to one 
man, I should interfere — she knows 
that," pursued Mr. Landry. "But 
there's no checking her; just now, it 
may be your husband, or another; 
to-morrow, maybe, that handsome 
young music-teacher you sent her — 
and half a dozen besides." 

Sidney lost the thread of his dis- 
course as he verged into excuses for his 
wife, and invented scores of noble 
qualities wherewith to endow her, but 
she managed to look interested — all the 
while she w^as meditating upon the light 
which his revelations had cast upon her. 
If she could only prove to Harry that 
the beautiful flirt was just as eager to 
listen to other men's whispers as to his, 
and repaid them with the same sweet 
smiles and eloquent glances, Sidney 
knew him well enough to be certain 
that he would hate the woman to the 
day of his death. 

It was not more than a week after. 


that Geoffrj' Renshaw came over from 
England ; and the gossips who were 
busy with Mrs. Landr>''s name, did 
not hesitate to disclose that he had 
come on her account, and to hold up 
their hands in horror at her conduct; 
all the while they paid court devotedly 
to her wealth and position, and ma- 
noeuvred as hard to obtain invitations 
to her balls and parties, as if they had 
been tickets for Paradise. 

From first to last, Mrs. Landry 
managed as only a woman could have 
done, to make it perfectly .jvident to 
Sidney that it was a personal spite 
against her, and no return of an old 
tenderness which prompted this attack 
upon Harry Payne. But Sidney was 
her match; she bore herself so cau- 
tiously and evenly, that the most keen- 
sighted of those who watchcKl, were in 
doubt whether she was aware of the 
way her husband flung himself at the 
beauty's head. 

Passing through the hall one morn- 
ing, she met a new man-servant stand- 
ing there, studying the address of a 
letter with a puzzled face. 

"What is that, James?" she asked. 

"I beg your pardon, ma'am; it's a 
note Mr. Payne told me to carry. He's 
gone out, and when I came to look, the 
address is so blotted, I don't know 
where it's to go. If you please, I don't 
think I could have clone it — " 

"Let me see," she interrupted, taking 
the envelope out of his hands. 

The blotted superscription was leg- 
ible enough to her eager eyes; it was 
addressed to Mrs. Landry! It is use- 
loss to deny the fact — Sidney's first 
impulse was to open the letter and 
•read it; but the unworthy fcK.ling passed 
in an instant. She knew there must be 
something strange in her face, for the 
man was looking curiously at her. 

"It is a note that Mr. Payne directed 
for me," she said, quietly. "Take it a; 

"She handed back the niissi\e, and 
told him the address; then hurried away 
to escape his apologies and assurance 
that he could not ha\e been to blame. 

It was not a pleasant morning that 
she spent in her own society, and she 
felt that her last hold on patience and 
resfjiution was giving way. She was 
almost ready to vow that if there came 
nr) end to this insane folly tm her hus- 
band's part, she would make one at 
whatever cost. This constant lever 
of unrest and excitement was too 
humiliating to be borne. She cried a 
little even in the solitude of her 
chamber, grew so ashamed of her 
own weakness that her spirit rose 

"I'll not gi%'e in," was her conclusion, 
after those hours of passion and grief. 
"It might be all very fine to do high 
tragedy, and go into a convent like a 
woman in a novel; but I'll not! I love 


my husband, and he shall come back to 
me, and own he has been a fool, and 
Isabel Landry sliall accept such terms 
of peace and mercy as I choose to offer." 

But the means .■* It was an answer 
to that question which Sidney racked 
her brains to find, but only worked 
them into an intense nervous headache, 
which made her sick and blind. That 
would never do; they were invited to 
Mrs. Landry's reception this very 
night, and she could not go with red 
eyes and pale cheeks. 

Fortunately, Harry was to dine with 
some friends at his club, and come 
home to dress and take her, so she had 
plenty of time to recover herself, and, 
like a sensible body, went out in search 
of fresh air and distraction, instead of 
weakening her powers by a loiigcr 
season of morbid self-communing. 

She could only think of one bit of 
very feminine revenge for the moment. 
She hapi^ened to know that Mrs. 
Landry was to wear a dress of pale blue, 
and she put herself into an entirely 
fresh and bewitching gown of one of the 
new marvelous tints of azure, which 
would make her hostess, by contrast, 
look like a faded convolvulus. She 
succeeded perfectly; she perceived it 
by the angry light in Mrs. Landry's 
eyes, when she saw her enter the room; 
perceived that even Harry looked at 
the lady in surprise, though in his 
masculine ignorance he had no idea 
what was the matter, or that it was his 
own wife's dress which made the 
usually brilliant coquette look so 
washed-out and dull. 

It could not have been a pleasant 
evening to Mrs. Landry, in spite of her 
tact and her ability to act several parts 
at once. Her husband w'as by no 
means satisfied with her conduct of 



furiously jealous of the other; and they 
had both reached a pitch of idiocy, to 
which the spoiled beauty did not like 
her admirers to go. Just then she 
would have been glad to be rid of them 

And Sidney, apparently occupied 
with other persons and matters of her 
own, never lost a point of the little 
drama, and enjoyed maliciously the 
strait in which Mrs. Landry found her- 
self. If only something would happen 
to give her that long-watched oppor- 
tunity I The evening dragged on; a 

late, and had only a few hours before 
given her warning as to the limits 
which he should insist upon setting to 
the frt>e moral agency of her actions. At 
the bottom, she was afraid of him; she 
knew that, lenient as he had always 
Ix^n to her spirit of coquetry, he would 
lie sternly unforgiving toward any 
imprudence which could compromise 
his name. Harry Payne and the young 
Englishman were watching her, cacli 

gay enough one to all appearances, 
though each of the persons whom Sid- 
ney studied, would probably have 
pronounced it alx)Ut the most unen- 
durable they ever six;nt in the whole 
course of their lives; and she, in her 
pain and wrath at her husband's folly, 
was almost ready to declare, as she had 
done scores of times, that she would 
bear it no longer. 

Continued on page 204. 

Working the 

Biggest Farm 
In Canada 

By Frederick Doyle 

Illustrated with Photographs taken on the 
Ciceter Estate 


WHAT tiller of the soil twenty- 
five years ago ever dreamed of 
a scene like this ? 

It is a dark midnight on the 
open stretches of level prairie in West- 
ern Saskatchewan.. Seven searchlights, 
moving east and west and north and 
south with slow regular progress, flash 
across the flat fields, the guiding lights 
in a great conquest of the soil. Behind 
their beams which stretch a long lane 
of light along the grassy prairie, work- 
ing powerfully in the darkness are 
seven titans of the prairies, forty horse- 
power gasoline engines pulling gang 
plows. Moving quietly, relentlessly as 
they are, the mind can hardly grasp the 
immensity of their work. For each of 
these engines is leaving behind it a 
wake of plowed earth twelve feet in 
width. And seven engines are pulling 
plows. All night long then, and all day 
long on the biggest farm in Canada, at 
the season for such work, the green sod 
is turned under in swaths whose com- 
bined width is eighty-one feet ! 

Have you seen this sight ? If you 
have, you know how mightily man now 
grapples with the earth to give the 
millions bread, and if you have seen 
this fight for life on the biggest farm in 
Canada, you know that there, where 
the battle is greatest, the man who is 
in charge, if he is to make the proposi- 
tion pay, must have at his command 
all the resources that wealth and agri- 
cultural and mechanical genius can 

Perhaps in a land where 
everything is big, where farms 
as a rule are bigger by far 
than they are anywhere else 
on earth, the attention of West- 
ern Canada should be focused 
on the Ciceter Estate — for 
that's the name of this 
farm, — not so much because it is the 
biggest farm as for the reason that it is 
the biggest model farm. Yet since it is 
great in size and great in operation 
there is something to be gained by 
every North, American in seeing the 
whole farm in all its aspects. 

Let us meet the commander-in- 
chief, L. Benson Boyd. He is young, 
very yoijng, .-nd believes in having 
young blood do his work. And as he 
shows us about Lis sixteen square miles 
of perfect farm land, splendidly man- 
aged, you will be inclined to agree that 
Benson Boyd is right, both in theory 
and practice — at least that all he has 
done and is doing on these 10,240 acres, 
every inch of which has been put under 
plow, is right. 

You may ask him first where he got 
the name Ciceter, the tongue twister. 
Well, it came from the days of the 
Roman conquest of Britain, and it 
survived in the changed form of 
Cirencester. The latter is the name of 
the baroniaj estate of the present Earl 
of Bathurst. Boyd one time visited the 
Earl's estate, and was delighted with 
its beauty. With such an ideal in 
mind, he took the name "Ciceter" and 
the sixteen miles of Saskatchewan were 
so christened. The Earl, however, is 
not the owner of Ciceter, as has some- 
times been supposed. 

Before getting down to business at 
Ciceter, let us take a look about us, for 
indeed it is a pleasant place. Why does 
it seem so pleasing. Certainly the eye, 

ranging over 3,200 acres in flax last 
summer, 2,800 in wheat and 320 acres 
in oats for stock feed, would find much 
to delight it, but there is something 
besides nature's beauties ! Every- 
thing on this western farm conforms to 
a color scheme. Ever>' building, ever>' 
machine, every painted article is bright 
green with a white border. The 
Ciceter green and white wagon train 
is noted in all that country-. Uniform- 
ity in color costs nothing, adds to the 
attractions of the farm — "Why not 
have it ?" says Boyd. 

The biggest demonstration farm on 
earth, that is what Ciceter is, and the 
practical purpose of this article will be 
to show that it deserv-es to be a leader 
in Western Canada's agricultural prog- 
ress because it is demonstrating in a 
vast money-making way what the 
government and railroad demonstra- 
tion farms are doing in a smaller way. 
And for the very reason that it is 
making money on a big scale, it will 
have the attention of the farmers and 
their respect more than any farm run 
for the sole purpose of pointing out 
right methods. 

In view of this statement, and the 
continual and very wise agitation in 
favor of mixed farming, it may seem 
contrary to say that Ciceter is pri- 
marily a grain growing farm, and that 
it is the intention to keep it so. But 
it can be made plain that for Ciceter, 
it is right that is should be. 

Ciceter Estate it on the Canadian 
Northern — the railroad runs right 
through the farm — the nearest town 
being Hughton, which is south and 
west of Saskatoon. Everyone knows 
this is in a fine grain country — almost 
perfect steam plow land. The soil is 
unexcelled, and the climate assures big 
crops regularly. Where nature has 



done everything possible for grain, 
why not raise grain and raise it all the 
time ? 

At Ciceter they do raise it — all the 
time. Sixty-nine thousand bushels of 
grain were produced there for the crop 
of 1913. Of this thirty-six thousand 
wpre flax, 22,000 were wheat, and the 
oats amounted to 12,000 bushels. One 
640 acre tract of Marquis wheat 
yielded thirty-nine bushels of No. 1 
Northern per acre over the entire 
tract ! This was on summer fallow. 
One field of 500 acres of flax yielded 
twenty-four bushels to the acre ! The 
sntire flax crop was sold for May 
delivery at S1.30 per bushel, while the 
wheat brought for the same delivery 
^'^J^ cents per bushel. 

( irain pays at Ciceter — but look you : 
Ciceter is not going to be lessened in its 
productive power by continual crop- 
ping. Last summer 4,000 acres were 
summer fallowed in the most perfect 
manner. The fallow land was plowed, 
double disced and drag harrowed three 
times. The farmer who follows the 
lead of Ciceter will be guaranteed 
maximum crops. 

Though grain is its main crop, 
Ciceter takes a long lead in diversified 
farming. It does so simply because 
Boyd believes that the farm he man- 
ages should supply its own food 
demands absolutely. He buys sugar, 
salt and coffee — and there he stops. 
Not an egg, not a pint of milk or a 
pound of butter, is Ixjught for this 
farm. It supplies itself with these and 
with pork, beef, poultry and vege- 
tables. Would that this could be said 


about every farm in Western Canada — 
and our prosperity will tremendously 
increase when every farmer does stand 
on his own legs in this way. 

There is a very interesting example 
seen at Ciceter of the economy and 
general satisfactoriness of a farm's 
filling its own needs in preference to 
letting them be filled by outside 

Before Boyd's time, Ciceter farm, 
which was not then Ciceter in name or 
management, lived on condensed milk 
and bought butter — just as thousands 
of our farmers are doing who ought to 
be supplying themselves and families 
with the fresh home produced articles 



at practically no cost instead of paying 
out their good money in purchases of 
questionable value. 

One of Boyd's first moves was to put 
on his farm two Holsteins and one 
Jersey — not blooded cattle he says, 
but just good honest milk cows which 
cost S75 per head — cows such as any 
farmer can have and ought to have. 
These cows furnished milk and cream 
for the entire staff of the estate — no 
small number of men and women with 
an appetite. Think what the freshest 
and richest of milk meant in added 
efficiency to the farm help, think of 
the contentment it gave the workers. 
These things cannot be estimated in 
dollars, as can the 
sa\ing on the pur- 
chase t)f nine hundred 
dollars' worth of con- 
densed milk. But 
evidently the three 
cows were not satis- 
fied with what they 
had done, for they 
modestly presented 
I he farm with three 
line calves that .soon 
rew up and became 
>'l equal value to that 
< if their mothers. The 
lierd of milk cows at 
( "iceter has since been 
increased to sixteen 
head, and there are 
I so now twenty head 
■ I young cattle for 
i)eef purposes. Ciceter 
has a modern, hy- 
i;ionic butcher shop 
in which is killed and 
dressed all of the meat 
which is used on the 

Water is flowing 
through the I'an- 
Continucd on page 217. 



This departmenL is under the direction of "Kit" who under this familiar pen 
name has endeared herself to Canadian women from Belle Isle to Victoria. Every 
month she will contribute sparkling bits of gossip, news and sidelights on life as 
seen through a woman's eyes. 

'X'HCSE whcm, for reasons of our 
•'■ own, we will call "The Watchers of 
the Night," are like the wise virgins, 
trimming their lamps, for — "behold, 
the Bridegroom cometh." This year 
of 1914 is affirmed by them to be the 
year of the second coming of Christ — 
as king — according to Biblical compu- 
tation and prophecy. Quite apart 
from "the signs of the times" which 
were predicted as being evidence of the 
"Fast days"- — not the end of the world, 
but the end of the age which would 
usher in the reign of our Lord, — there 
are many things which point to 1914 
as being the Great Year. It is difficult 
to know just where to begin when one 
tries to put it down upon paper, for 
the topic throbs with interest and is 
fraught with no little awe and is, 
besides, not easy to make plain. 

As you may know, seven is the com- 
plete number in Scripture and all the 
Jewish law was based on this number. 
For instance, there were to be six days 
of labor and the seventh was the Sab- 
bath, or rest day, and after the seventh 
Sabbath or forty-ninth day, came the 
fiftieth, or day of Pentecost, when the 
High Priest went into the Holiest of 
Holies to make atonement for all the 
people. The law regarding the land 
was that it was to be tilled six years 
and allowed to lie fallow the seventh, 
and in order to let the people be sure 
of their focd during the Sabbath years, 
they were told that the crop of the 
sixth year would be so abundant that 
when they came to harvest the crop of 
the years after the Sabbath years, they 
would have old store to throw away. 
After the seventh Sabbath year, or 
forty-ninth, came the fiftieth, or Year 
of Jubilee when all the land was re- 
divided equitably among the adult 
males, so that no man could alienate 

the land from his descendants beyond 
the Jubilee Year. 

Now- the Israelites (which we now 
class as all Jews) observed this law — 
so far as we can recall from memory — • 
for about 285 years, and then, becom- 
ing rapacious, planted the land the 
Sabbath year, and the crop was so 
abundant that they were able to sell to 
their Gentile neighbors and become 
rich. This w-as repeated till the tenth 
year when the caterpillar locust ar- 
rived and ate up all the crop and there 
came a famine. But that did not 
teach them a lesson, and the law of the 
land became a dead letter, and for this 
they were cast off and told that they 
would be scattered among the nations 
and be without a king or country for 
"a period of seven times." 

Now from fulfilled prophecies we 
have learned that a "time", in Scrip- 
ture is a period of 360 years, so that 
seven "times" would be 2,520 years, 
and as Zedekiah, the last King of 
Israel, died B.C. 606, by corrected 
chronology, 1914 would see the end of 
the "casting off of Israel," and as we 
know that Christ is to be their next 
king and will sit on the throne of his 
father, David — which was an earthly 
throne — we must naturally infer that 
He will come, a spiritual king — to 
reign over an earthly people in the 
land God ga\'e unto their fathers w^hich 
none of them have ever seen, showing 
that the resurrection of the dead must 
be back to this earth. God confirms 
this in Ezekiel in His explanation of 
the "vision of dry bones" which were 
the "whole House of Israel" and to be 
"taken up out of their graves and put 
back unto the land God gave unto 
their fathers." 

Another illustration of the opera- 
tion of sevens is the age of the Earth. 
With all due respect for men of science 

referred to in Scripture as "falsely so- 
called," which makes the earth varying 
millions of years old — it is fairly 
rea.s(jnable to conclude that the six 
days of creation during which God 
worked were six periods of 7,000 years 
each, or 42,000 years, and that He 
rested on the seventh 7,000, when He 
turned His completed work over to 
man. This being the case, at the end 
of 7,000 years of man's rule would . 
come the 50,000 year, or the Year of 
Jubilee — when the land, or earth, 
would be re-divided among the males. 
As we know that the Millenium is to 
be 1,000 years when man shall rest 
from his labors, what is more reason- 
able to suppose than that it will follow- 
after 6,000 years of work, and this sLx 
thousand years will end, as far as we 
can learn from chronology, in 1914. 
Then, we are told in Scripture that 
after Christ has reigned 1,000 years on 
the earth, and put down all rule and 
authority — but His own — He will 
"hand over the kingdom to His Father, 
and Himself become subject to the 
Father, in order that God may be all 
in all." 

This is why the Watchers of the 
Night are trimming their lamps for, 
"Behold the Bridegroom cometh." 
This is why 1914 is expected to be the 
last year of the age but not of the 
World — the Great Year "when man 
shall rest from his labors." Of the 
"signs of the times" w-e hope to be able 
to speak in a later issue of Canada 


Janus am I ; oldest of potentates ' 

Forward I look and backward, and below 

I count — as God of avenues and gates — 

The years that through my portals come and 

• ■ go. 

I block the roads and drift the fields with 

I chase the wildfowl from the frozen fen ; 
My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow, 
My fires light up the hearths and hearts of 


]_rAWTHORNE, in one of his delight- 
ful sketches, portrays the Old 
Year, as an old, tired woman. Weary, 
bedraggled, worn by the w'orld, she sits 
upon the steps of Salem City Hall. 
Her garments are ragged; her shoes 
W'orn to holes. Beside her stands a 
capacious band-bo.x containing the 
trifles she has picked up in her travels 
through the months "to deposit in the 
receptacles of things past and for- 
gotten." An odd collection surely ! 
Here, mingled together are fashion 
plates, the dark hair of men, the time- 
stolen bloom of beautiful women, the 
tears of the affiicted — so soon dried ! — 
bundles of l3ve-letters breathing a 
passion which had not outlived the 
year, packets of broken promises, of 
lovers' vows, of friendships forgotten. 
To this old crone sitting under the 
city clock, steps the jaunty New Year, 




young, lovely, dressed in the latest 
fashion. She, too, carries something. 
It is only a basket full of hopes and 
promises, new annuals and almanacs, 
and a few New Year's gifts for the 
children. The whole sketch is touched 
by the sad humour of Hawthorne. It 
fills one at once with hope, desire, and 
despair. Shall the New Year, so 
bright, so care-free, so full of grace and 
joy, become in a few short months like 
the crone who sits on the City Hall 
steps, old, withered, shabby, carrying 
about with her the broken resolutions, 
the faded love-letters, the smashed 
hopes, the utter failures ? It cannot 
be, we say, as we pin our faith to the 
skirts of the New Year, and pour into 
her prettily decorated basket our rich 
hopes, our undying resolutions, our 
passionate love, lofty ambitions and 
everlasting optimism. With the same 
old hopeful, faithful welcome, we 
greet the New Year. Every New 
Year's Day fresh hopes are born, the 
soul is renewed, the body braced for the 
fight. We shall begin with a clean 
slate. Our promises shall never be 
broken, our love shall never die. We 
shall fight the good fight and win. We 
are gods just descended from Olympia. 
'The world is mine oyster and here, 
in my hand, lies the trusty blade, keen 
from the scabbard that shall cleave my 
way through the months to fortune, to 
fulfillment, to Love, the immortal." 
Thus say we. 

After all it is probably the fact that 
we do receive something year by year 
that is worth living for, that inspires 
the faith and hope with which we wel- 
come the fresh beginning. Even 
though the leldamc's bonnet-box be 
filled with our failures, we send her and 
them to the dustbin where lie the 
eternal years. Troubles we have had, 
and death and his satellite, grief, but 
do we not always remember the losses, 
the sorrows more keenly than the joys 
and brightnesses of the year ? There 
are few to whom the year that has 
passed has not brought something 
worth living for. A new friendship, 
an increaKc of knowledge, a growth of 
faith, and access of prosperity — some- 
thing to l;e grateful for, to be glad of. 
And tlic new jjath lies before us. We 
see it flecked with sunshine, hedged 
uith high hope, paved with ambition; 
and though we may lose much-^even 
our li\es or our love, — assuredly some 
gain will be ours. So here's to the 
young lady and her basket of hopes. 
Here's lo ihe lovers' ^ows■ — may they 
remain ste.'.dfast and true; here's to 
I lie </ld friends, with welcome for the 
new; here's to ideals, may they be 

.ilized; to ambitions, may they be 



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of the subtlest sort. To see things 
from the point of view from which we 
are intended to see them is comincn- 
place; but to go behind the scenes, to 
see the author's manuscript, the sculp- 
tor's half-fini.shc(l work, the artist's 
sketchy conception of his great picture, 
delights the best of us. Never can the 
Pedlar forget the majestic exit he 

made from the theatre to go behind 
the scones to interview the great 
artiste Bernhardt. He was a cub. 
then, and his foe.^ trembled in his 
lKM)ts at the thought of meeting the 
magnificent tragedienne face to face, 
of even saying to her in his feeble 
college French — "Comment vous parte: 
vous .''" Yet no one seeing the I'edlar 
traverse the aisle with splendid steps, 
his hair curling with importance, his 
air superior — as of one who pitied the 
common people sitting there in their 



To begin with, it is perfect. To the end 
it remains perfect — the Edison — 

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No musical mechanical triumph has ap- 
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after you have played it over 3,000 times. 

The Blue Amberol is a perpetual, practically un- 
breakable record that reproduces in an amazing 
way the art of the performers. Don't miss the 
opportunity to hear it played. 

Any Edison dealer will be glad to demonstrate the 
Blue Amberol for you. 


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I For Social Play 

I Be sure jotir Phopping list In- 
I cludoa somo bright new packs 
j of dainty ConRi-essOards. Jhey 
; are always welcomo. XJt-antifuI 
designs in, colors. Expertly 
! made. Always somethinK new. 

Air^itthion Fmbh j^X„^ 


For General Play 

Bicyclequnlity made and main- 
tains Bicyclo reputation. Ap- 
p^eoiat^?d aliko by tho^e who 
sell and those who buy. I'ned 
in all pa rts of the %vorld. 
Popular price. 

Ivory or Air^ushion Finish 


chairs for which they had paid fabu- 
lous prices — would for a moment 
imagine that poor fellow's trepidation 
and anxiety. He, the chosen one, 
armed with IjckjIc and pencil — he, — 
would s(x>n look into the long eyes of 
the divine one, would regard her 
slender litheness, would note the fash- 
ion and fabric of her garments, the 
timbre of her velvet voice, and recite 
it all in print for the common people 
to read over the teacups the next morn- 
ing. He was going behind the scenes, 
which is what we all delight in; which 
makes us love to jjeep over the shoulder 
of Pepys as he watches his wife putting 
on her new black stockings, or dip into 
the memoirs of naughty old court 
ladies wha have court secrets to tell. 

It is this passion for eavesdropping, 
for going behind the scenes and watch- 
ing the Bernhardt apply her dainty 
maquillage, that makes a diary such 
fascinating reading; we find out some- 
thing that in the everyday course of 
events would be hidden from us. The 
same charm pervades "Confessions," 
and "My Pasts" and "Memoirs." It 
makes de Quincey and St. Augustine 
alike interesting, yet "confessions" 
have not quite the charm of a page 
from Marie Bashkirtseff or Pepys. A 
diary is much more convincing — a real 
diary, not those little books in which 
we moderns write telegrams of ten 
words or so such as — -"Snow today. 
Turning colder. Judy had eight pup- 
pies. All black," but an ample volume 
whose sheets are blank of lines and 
cash-columns, and which does not 
check the imaginative romantic im- 
pulse by such useful information as 
"Moon rises at 7.10 A.M.," or that 
"Sun sets at 4 P.M." 


TT takes a genius to write a diary. 
He must be at once an historian, a 
humorist, a dramatist and a lover of 
detail. It is not given to everyone to 
appreciate trifles; in many years of 
journalism we met with but one man 
who understood the full value of 
detail, of the minute things that make 
up so much of life. It is the mediocre 
mind that has a passion for great 
achievements. Your incomplete artist 
will always try to produce a Battle of 
Waterloo six feet by twelve; your ris- 
ing theologian is moved to write an 
enormous book on the relation of 
science to religion; your halfgrown 
schoolboy to indite an epic, three 
hundred pages long. When bursting 
with ambition we first took our "pen 
in hand," we felt that only a magnum 
opus was worthy of our ink. We 
bought reams of paper, quarts of ink, 
pounds of blotting pad; and squaring 
our elbows sought to leap into fame by 
means of a fat dictionary, a box of 
emotions, a basket of exclamation 




points, and bag of sesc|uipedalian 

'Tis ever thus. We would leap into 
the world full grown Miltons, Macau- 
lays, Raphaels, Beetho\ens. We 
make diaries ! Leave such stuff to the 
miserable little Pepys, the dull Evelyns, 
the hysterical Bashkirtsefifs ! 

Alas ! poor little people we began 
and pigmies we remain. 

But let us to our diaries. This is the 
month in which to begin the new 
record. We have added 1913 to the 
pile of little faded black and green 
covered books of the vanished years, 
and are ready to fill this, clean, red- 
edged, fat volume with our tawdry 
scribblings. There was only one 
diarist. He was a little man who wrote 
in cypher the most minute and delight- 
ful history and gossip of his time, and 
his name was Samuel Pepys, F.R.S., 
Secretary to the Admiralty in the 
reigns of Charles II, and James II. 



'HE discovery of bubonic rats m 
Seattle some time ago placed that 
rei)ellant little animal again in the 
spotlight. The other day we encount- 
ered a large, shaggy, brown haired 
fellow sitting sunning himself on the 
barn steps. He was a rat of parts — or 
without them— for on some ill day for 
him the trap had snatched off his tail 
and left him without that natural and 
useful appendage. He looked steadily 
out from the door for a moment, 
trembled, and nipped off down his 
hole between boards. Ever since the 
catastrophe which befell his tail he had 
defied and derided all sorts of traps. 
He ate the fish off one, twisted the 
door of another open after gobbling up 
the cake, and turned a third upside 
down as in crmtempt. And he is still 
practising these pranks. But his 
worst trick is the malicious manner in 
which he destroys what he cannot 
devour. Our one hope is that some 
day he will pay for his ravages. 

The old Egyptian symlx)lism of the 
rat is utter destruction — the destruc- 
tion of everything in the w-ay of eatables 
from the fresh hatched chick to the 
choicest Cf)m in the bam. A second 
symbolism among the ancients still 
better fits the rat's case, since it is 
judgment, due to the rat's gift of judg- 
ing between the best food accessible 
and that which is not quite so gfKxl. 
As a scavenger — in sewers, for instance, 
the rat excels. This is his only claim as 
far as utility goes. In other matters 
the case is black against him. Wher- 
ever he wanders he leaves a track of 
pillage or death. The farmer has the 
heaviest score against him. Every- 
thing on the farm contributes towards 
the keep of this savage spoiler. Could 
the value of what a full grown'rat con- 
sumes and destroys during twelve 




Of course you should "eat more bread" 
and less meat — but be sure your bread 
contains all the body-building material 
in the whole wheat grain prepared in a 
digestible form. The only bread that 
fulfils all these requirements is 

Shredded Wheat 

the natural, elemental food, not "treated" or 
compounded with anything — contains no yeast, 
no baking powder, no chemicals of any kind — 
just pure, whole wheat steam -cooked, shredded 
and baked. Served with hot milk it makes a 
nourishing, satisfying dish for a cold day. 

Always heat the Biscuit in the oven to restore 
crispness. Two Shredded Wheat Biscuits with 
hot milk or cream will supply all the energy 
needed for a half day's work. Try TRISCUIT, 
the Shredded Wheat Wafer, for luncheon with 
butter, cheese or marmalade. 

Msd« only by 

The Canadian Shredded Wheat Co., Ltd., Niagara Falls, Ont. ^w^lCons^E.s, 

months' residence on a farm be justly 
computed, one would be amazed at the 
amount. He wastes and ruins many 
times more than he eats, and so des- 
perate becomes the nuisance that often 
a professional rat-catcher is employed 
to keep down the ever increasing horde. 
Apropos to this, we remember an 
occasion when our district in Ireland 
was overrun by rats, and one John 
Goaly — between times the village 
butcher — was engaged to drive them 

.iway. The i)rcniium was five cents 
(or ii'jx'nce) a rat. John arrived, like 
the public executioner, with a bag full 
of instruments. Like the hangman, he 
brought rojie, several rusty old tra[)s, 
and an anti(iuated shot-gun- — a g<Mxl 
one, quoth he, since it peppered two 
absentee landlords and f)ne ganger in 
its day. Thus armed, and .irraycx] in 
felt slippers. John stole about the 
house while the family slept all uncon- 
Continued on page 221. 




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is observed in every detail of its 
preparation— even to the wrapping 


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Mothers should give only the well-known 

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The many millions that are annually used 
constitute the best testimonial in their fa- 
Tor, they are guaranteed by the proprietor 
to be absolutely free from opium. 
See the Trade Mark, a Gimi Lancet, on 
every packet and powder. Refuse all 
not so distinguished. 

Small Packets, 9 Powders 
Large Packets, 30 Powders 


pANADA MONTHLY is glad to 
-^ note that the so-called "sex story" 
is on the wane. We have been too 
long in the wallow. The better maga- 
zines are taking up editorially the 
question of smut, and making a 
determined stand against its appear- 
ance in their columns. 

Life has always maintained that it is 
possible to he funny without being 
indecent, and through the whole wave 
of prol lem stories, and increasingly 
broad jests that have been flung at us 
alike from the printing-press and the 
stage, it has held to its standard of 
cleanliness, and has driven home some 
keen thrusts against the offenders. 
Recently it printed, without editorial 
comment or explanation, a dialogue 
between a subscription agent for a 
certain magazine distinguished for the 
class of stories it prints, and the small 
boy that answered his ring. "Do you 
take the Blank Magazine ?" he in- 
quired. "Sure !" said the youngster. 
"Four of 'em. One that dad hides 
from mother and sister. One that 
mother hides from dad and sister. 
One that sister hides from dad and 
mother. And one that nobody knows 
I've got in my room." 

Editorial comment on this dialogue 
is superfluous. The unanimous shame 
of that family is self-evident, and as 
succinctly keen a statement of the 
case against the salacious magazine 
as we have ever heard. Some readers 
perhaps may laugh over it. In our 
opinion it is not funny. Probably 
when Christ drove the money-changers 
out of the temple there were unthink- 
ing folk who chuckled to see the grey- 
beard brokers run. 

Everybody's and the Outlook are 
also against evil. Witness this edi- 
torial which appeared in the former 
for November. 

Do you tell indecent stories to your family ? 
Do you and your family entertain people who 
like, and like to tell, indecent stories ? Whose 
con^'ersation is always just a bit off color — 
but not too much ? Who like to make sala- 

cious allusions concerning your family's 
friends ? Do you really like to have such 
people on terms of intimacy with your wife, 
your daughter, or your son ? Or don't you 
manage to avoid having them around ? 

If you are naturally particular about the 
people who come within your family circle, 
why aren't you just as particular about the 
hooks and magazines and newspapers — 
which have as great an influence within that 
circle ? 

Especially the magazines. For they are the 
most eagerly read, the most entertaining, and 
hence the most subtly influential. 

In large measure, the magazines follow the 
larger trends of popular taste and emotions. 
Some lead, it is true; but most of them follow 
the popular bent. 

Just now — in fact for the last few years — 
we seem to have been wallowing in a bog of 
filth. Books, the theatre, the magazines — 
each purveyor of public entertainment has 
tried to outstrip the others in stnut. 

Just smut. Sometimes clever, sometimes 
artistic even, usually insidious, and often 
vulgar. But smut, just the same. 

It seems almost as if we were about to live 
up to Shaw's characterization of us: America's 
o'licial flag should be white — and black on the 
other side. 

But every such tide of public taste and emo- 
tion has its ebb. It is now turning, .^tanyrate, 
it is true that people are beginning to discover 
tlie difference between decency and smut, even 
when both appear in respectable form and 
between hitherto respectable magazine covers. 
But people are only beginning. Smut is still 
attractive, surreptitious, and profitable. 

The Outlook says some direct, plain 
things that need to be said, and says 
them with its usual simple clarity: 

The men who deal with se.\ problems on the 
stage or in fiction, not because these problems 
open up the abysses of human life, but because 
they appeal to physical instincts and fill 
tlieatres and sell editions, are more respectable 
in station than the owners of houses of ill- 
fame, but they are in the same business; they 
are one and all panders, and there is no more 
infamous class of occupation. 

The talk about art for art's sake, truth to 
life, daring to face the facts, is pure hypocrisy 
in the case of men and women who exploit 
passion for business purposes. . . . The 
emphasis on the physical grows more emphatic 
and audacious, and its object is unmistakable; 
semi-nakedness is e-xploitcd for business pur- 
poses; it is a bid for the support of a class in 
the community who are attracted by indecency 
so long as indulgence in that taste does not 
jeopardize their standing as respectable people. 
Formerly, this kind of illustration was con- 
fined to semi-obscene _i journals. If those 




journals had increased in number, it would 
have been an ominous sign of lowered rnoral 
standards; but the appearance of these illus- 
trations in publications widely read by respect- 
able readers and taken in respectable homes 
is a much more serious matter; it means that 
editors and publishers believe that this form 
of appeal to physical impulses and sex curiosity 
meets public taste and is an available method 
of getting business. 

The trouble is that smut is profitable. 
And to a certain kind of publisher, 
anything that is profitable is proper. 
So reasoned the merchants who took 
opium into China. • So reason the 
capitalists who send their agents to 
get rubber from South America — no 
matter how, but get it, — and maim or 
kill helpless natives who do not bring 
the precious stuff fast enough. 

Everybody's continues further: 

Now not all the magazines go in for the 
salacious. There are exceptions. Everybody's 
is one of them. And yet the other day we 
received quite a jolt from a clergyman in 
Kansas who wrote to us, cancelling his sub- 
scription to Everybody's. His letter was 
written in duplicate, and sent to several other 
magazines. In part it says: "Neither does 
one need to be a Puritan or a blue-law advocate 
to deplore the erotic stories and the nude 
illustrations to which so many of the maga- 
zines descend to-day." 

We wrote him: "We are honestly disturbed 
by your paragraph which deplores erotic 
stories and nude illustrations with the implica- 
tion that we have drifted in that direction. 
We are conscious of no offense. It is startling 
to find that we are paying a penalty for having 
published what we do not publish." 

His interesting letter in reply discusses the 
situation throughout the magazine field, admits 
that he generalized rather carelessly, and says: 
"I have offered my wife a pound of chocolates 
to find similar material in your magazine, and 
she has Jailed. Hence the apology. Also I 
discovered Captain Scott, and read it through 
with great interest, and find 1 have been hust- 
ling over Everybody's. By way of concrete 
apology I am adding Everj'body s to an order 
I am sending in through a local dealer. This 
correspondence has been immensely interesting 
and informing to me. I have always thought 
of editors as high-brow individuals who throw 
your letters into the waste-basket. Certainly 
I shall send no more circular letters to a group 
of magazines." 

As you can sec from the above instance, we 
are not wholly disinterested when we want 
salacious matter eliminated from the maga- 
zines. The bad repute of some is inevitably a 
reflection on all magazines. Undoubtedly a 
great many people think that Everybody's 
publishes smut. But they are people who 
haven't read Everybody's. *i 

We are told that it pays to print smut. The 
audience for that kind of trash, we are assured, 
is large and eager. And the advertisers come 
after the large audience. And with the adver- 
tisers comes more money for the publisher. 
And then, more smut — at higher rates to the 
artistic smutmongers. 

It's a vicious circle. One of the most vicious in 
this country. And you don't need to be told why. 
The unfortunate thing is that smut seems 
to pay. 

I'l<-;i'^<- pardon us if we appear somewhat 
-' 1 : ■ '>us and unctuous. Everybody's has 
It. i! ir,. We know it. We know some of 
them. Our friends and our enemies keep us 

But don't put us down in the smut column. 
We don't want it. A ml we don't want the bigger 
circulation that goes with it. 

We art getting along very nicely without it, 
rli.iiiL- v,.i. ( liir limit. iti't" ■•i '•■■■ i^-jisofa 

Double Breasted Ulster 

of Conservative lines. 

Always worn for solid comfort in the wirtter by 
men who study their health. Now taking the place 
of fur at one-quarter the cost, and twice the 

See our many models made with Notch or Shawl 

collars. Split or plain sleeves, full belted backs. 

Prices $18. to 50.00. 

In evtry 
Important town and city in Canada. 

clean, helpful, entertaining, progressive maga- 
zine, is higher now than it has l)een for years. 
And steadily going up. 

It's going up because there is an ever- 
increasing audience for our tyjie of work, 
despite the present popular spasm for smut. 

But all this is our personal magazine problem. 
It is here presented to you simply because we 
want to be entirely frank in a discussion in 
which we are directly interested. 

This salaciousness hurts us. We might make 
capital out of it; but we don't want to. If this 
be unctuous superiority, make the most of it. 

But we want indecency in the magazines 
suppressed because it is Ixid. Because it is 
wrong. We want it stopped, just as we want 
any public disease stopped. This infection of 
smut has liccome a fester on the hmly [inlitic 

It will have to be treated and eliminated ju^■ 
as we're trying to eliminate political grafi. 
corporate oppression, industrial violence — by 
public opinion and action. 

In the particular case of the "scarlet sheets," 
the remedy is fairly simple and instantly 
efficacious. Readers and advertisers can sho\ /l 
all the smut out of them at one fell swoop. 

All you have to do is remember that a iii.n:.i 
zine depends upon its circulation. 

No circulation — no smut. 

As for the men themselves who own and edit 
the scarlet sheets — well, it does seem that the 
theologians have been a bit hasty in banishing 
the old-fashioned hell. 

And if it were not for the fact that our federal 
Constitution prohibits cruel and unusual 
punishment, we might m.nkc a suggestion. 


add interest and zest to 
your winter evenings. 

Make the most of the fun 
of flash-light work and the 
fascination of developing and 

No dark room by the Kodak 
system— and every step sim- 
ple, easy, understandable. 

t;ct a fopy of our Intfrestlng mid Instruotlve little l><K)k 
Ml Hoiii*- with thf Ktxlak." It rtiowi you many Kwiak 
home portraits and hnw to make them. Krct- nt your dful^rn. 
nr Kv mall. 

TORONTO '■•"'™" 


Because we Ijelieve in a clean maga- 
zine, because we have always believed 
in a clean magazine, and always will, 
because we have refused alike unclean 
stories and unclean advertising, be- 
cause we feel that too strong emphasis 
cannot be laid on the value of publish- 
ing decent stories for people who either 
are or want to be decent, we art 
reprinting the editorial in full. And 
wherever in it the word "Everybody's" 
appears, we should like our readers to 
supply also the words CANADA 
MONTHLY. We cannot indorse the 
editorial too strongly, or say too 
plainly that we are, always have been, 
and always will be for decency and 
cleanliness in all departments of .CAN- 


\yHEN Whitman sang his pagan 
* chant to the makers of new coun- 
try, he omitted to mention the news- 
paper man. 

To-day, the keen-eyed old observer 
of humanity would not make that 
mistake. The newspaper is one of the 
big forces in the new towns of the west, 
and the newspaper owner-editor-press- 
man-compositor-reporter-devil is one 
of the most faithful and hopeful of the 
town boosters and builders. Ahead 
of the preacher, ahead of the doctor, 
ahead of the lawyer frequently ahead 
of the geographer, the newspaper man 
is the first of the professions to build 
his pine shack in the new village, 
import a little press, a font or so of 
job type, and settle down to printing 
the cheery, undespairing, optimistic 
voice of the community. 

All honor to him. All honor to his 
battered little trunk, and his wheezy 
little engine, and his subscription list 
that is half paid in pork and flour and 
the occasional festive chicken. AH 
honor to his faith in the future of his 
town, and his patient upbuilding of it. 
He is a true pioneer. 


T'HE romantic side of war has been 
^ exploited throughout the ages, and 
the public notion of it is glory and 
gallant charges, epaulets and gold lace, 
soldiery singing "Annie Laurie" by 
the camp fires, and the fanfare of bugles. 
This, riaturally because, as Kipling 
puts it, "there is more joy in England 
over one soldier who insubordinately 
steps out of a square to rescue a 
wounded comrade than over twenty 
generals slaving even to baldness over 
the gross details of transport and com- 

Taken merely as a matter of book- 
keeping in human lives and millions 
of money, the practical expense of war 
is astonishing. 

In the first Balkan War Bulgaria 
lost 80,000 out of 350,000 men with an 



jus* ideal where 
'nourishment and 
'warmth and ease of 
'preparation are valued 

^Contents of one packet make a 
quart of rich, nourishing soup, 
a p'ateful ot which, with bread, 
offers a delicious, sustaining meal 
There are eleven varieties — . 
each distinctive, each delightful \ 

Mulli«at«wnT, Scotch Brotb. 
While Ve<elable. Lentil, Pea. 
Tomato. Ox Tail, (irccn Pea. 
Celerjr, Onion, Mock '''urtle 


r. E. Robson & Co. 

25 Front St-. East 


(^l^p^ij^yj Mhtt^^t^fCe^ 

It's as easy as winding your watch. 
For years the "A.A."SelfFiller has been 
giving universal satisfaction. It can 
be filled from an ink-stand, ink-well 
or bottle by simply twisting the but- 
ton. It's cleaned in the same way, and 
it will not leak or blot. 

_^j-=-^ is rigidly maintained by 
i^l Arthur A. Waterman & Co. 

Ask your druggist, stationer or lew- 
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showing our complete line of self- 
fillers, middle joint and lower loint 
fountain pens. 

Price, $2.00 and up. 

Not connected with 
The L. E. Waterman Co. 

expenditure of $240,000,000. Greece 
lost 10,000 out of 150,000 men with an 
expense of $56,000,000. Servia sent 
250,000 men to war and 30,000 were 
killed; she spent 8124,000,000. Mon- 
tenegro furnished 30,000 soldiers of 
whom 8,000 were sacrificed, with 
$3,000,000 spent. Turkey lost 100,- 
000 men out of 450,000 and the loss in 
monev amounted to $322,000,000. In 
all, $745,000,000 were spent in order 
that 228,000 men might be killed. 





The Woman of It 

Continued from page 173. 

"Faith is what has made Canada, 
they tell mc," he said. "I'll be happy 
to take a lesson from you, Mr. Monro." 

"Good !" said the other man. 
"That's a spirit worth cultivating." 

At that moment Lord Merton caught 
sight of Valerie. "Come," he said, 
"we must not take up Mr. Monro's 
time, and Miss Monro is signalling 
us." They vanished, and Monro 
gazed after them reflectively. 

Denzil Merton was rather between 
two attractions. He had gone to 
fetch his friend from the opera house, 
which had been crowded from floor 
to ceiling. 

Robert had been shouted at and 
applauded and made much of, enthu- 
siasm could go no further. Perhaps 
he was ever so little carried off his 
feet by it. It was not human na- 
ture, not to be excited ! He felt 
that he could sway these men and 
women, rouse their emotions, make 
them laugh or weep, bring back to 
theni thoughts to which they had long 
been stranger, and the sense of power 
intoxicated him a little. He had such 
<ikk1 eye-sight that he could watch 
I he expression of many a beautiful 
lace in those times, when he was not 
.ihsorbed by his singing. Altogether 
the wf)rld was being very kind to him, 
so it was no wonder that Martin 
thought for a moment that he had 
rather a good opinion of himself. 

And even here, in the midst of this 
ultra-gay throng, among these lovely 
and fashionable women, he felt that 
he had his triumph as he walked along. 
Women looked at him, glad to find 
that the hero on the stage had so 
heroic a look off it. In fact, one 
dowager expressed the public opinion 
when she said to her daughter-in-law, 
"No one man has any right to mono- 
(xjlize sf) many attractions." 

The dance was just ending and the 
two men made their way towards 
Valerie. Monro watching her, thought 
that she knew they were coming al- 
though she stof)d with her back to 
them. He could not help waiting to 
see how she would greet them. 

She turned at Dcnzil's, "Miss 
Monro," and held out her hand to him 
— then as he intrtKluced her, she gave 
the slightest, the very slightest inclina- 
tion of her beautiful heatl to Robert. 
It was the l)arcst acknowledgment of 
the intrtxluction, that was all. 

Martin gave a little short laugh and 
went on watching. Robert Sinclair 
Hushed in a hot, boyish fashion and 
drew himself ui). Hut Denzil had not 
seen anything, he never did see any- 
thing except Valerie, when he was with 

This is the Mayor of Spotless Town, 
The brightest man for miles around. 
The shining light of wisdom can 
Reflect from such a polished man. 
And so he says to high and low: 
"The brightest use 

Some housekeepers use 
three or four different 
kitchen cleansers. 

Economical house- 
keepers use only Sapolio. 

Why? Because the 
many economical uses of 
Sapolio are simply aston- 

Not a particle of Sap- 
olio scatters or wastes. 

Use Sapolio if you 
would give all tinware a 

brilliant polish (not to 
be had with coarse 

Sapolio will quickly scour 
knives, forks, and all kitchen 
utensils and metal household 
apphances. It thoroughly 
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grease from forty -and -one 
lurking places. 

Sapolio is the hrisk house- 
keeper's stand-by for all- 
around household cleaning. 

It is quick to polish and 
scour — slow to use up. It 
cannot waste. 




On re(iuest, we will mail a Spotless Town Cut-Out fo 
children. It consists of the Spotless Town background, 8J 
inches loii(j, and nine Spotless Town characters in color, whic 
cut out to stand as placed in front of the Town. This makt 
a very attractive miniature town for the playroom. 

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So/c Manufacturers New York Cit; 

The girl stooped down lo ihc liiilc 
man, "You have come for your dance," 
she said gently to him. "You all but 
lost it, you should have come earlier." 

"I could not, Robert was singing," 
said Denzil taking her card from her 
and putting his name down in the 
space she had indicated. 

"Other men came early." 

"They had not the privilege of 
waiting for him," he indicated Robert 
who stood there, with .i pcrjilexed look 
on his face. 

"Well, you cannot li.ivr cn (•r\-thing," 

s.iid X'alcric, .inti llicii KolxTt liirncd 
to her. "May I hope for a dance. Miss 
Monro," he asked timidly for hin). 
He had the impression that he was 
being snubbed. 

She shook her head, "Oh no," she 
said quickly, "I have no dance for 
you Mr. Sinclair." 

The impression became a certainty. 
Rolx-rt flushed a deep, angry red. 
She had not even expressetl regret. 
If she did not feel it, politeness might 
have induced her to feign it, at least, 
in her own house. But she was so 





This is the old-fa ah ioned lace made on the cushion, and was first introduced into England 
by the Flemish Refugees, It is still made by the village women in their quaint old way. 

Our Laces were awartbd the Gold Medal at the Festival of Empire and Imperial 
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BUY some of this hand-made Pillow Lwe, it lasts MANY times longer than machine made 
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the villageMace-makers, bringing them little comforts otiierwi e unobtainable on an agricultural 
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containing 200 striking examples of the lace makers' art. and is sent post free to any part of the 
world. Lace for every purpose can be obtained, and within reach of the most modest purse. 

Collars, Fronts, Every sale, however small. Is ' 

Pla-vtrons.Jabots, Yokes. ^ support to the industry, i 

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Cl'>ths, Tabic Centres, 

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$1.50, $2.00, up to ,*5.00 

each. Over 300 designs 

in yard lac^ and inser- 
tion from lOc.. 15c., 25o., 

45c., up to i^a.OJ per 



Mrs. Armstrong having 
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girls connecied 

with herinclnstry, 

some beautifulex- 

amples of Irish 

haiid made lacea 

may be obtained, 

A 11 work being sold 

direct from the 

lace-makers, both 

the workers and 

customers derive 

great advantage. 

(lA in. deep.) STOCK— "Wheel Di i^n. 
Price 25c. each. (Half shown.) 

COLLAR— Pure Linen. 

No. 910.— Lace li in. deep. 

No. 122.— ^Oo. per yard. 

MRS. MOLLY ARMSTRONG, OIney, Bucks., England. 



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Grocers and department 

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beautiful, as she stood there in her 
slim girlishness, the light shining on 
her brown hair, and her vivid red 
mouth with its slightly lifted upper 
lip catching a gleam from the lamps. 
"I never saw a girl so provokingly 
lovely," he said to himself, in the midst 
of his irritation. "Those limpid, 
crystalline eyes of hers are enough to 
drive anybody out of his senses. If 
she were only alluring, it wouldn't 
make much difference; but that girl 
has a soul." 

So, alas ! have other men reasoned, 
looking on bright eyes, that may or 
may not be a mirror of their owner's 
real self. Nature paints brilliantly the 
things that she wishes to make attrac- 
tive for her own purposes. Whether 
or not the girl had a soul, it was 
evidently not to be shown to the opera 
singer in private life, and Robert 
could only bow and turn away. He 
was not out of earshot when he heard 
an ordinary looking young man request 
the pleasure and receive Valerie's pro- 
gramme from her gracious hands. 

"So the goddess does not condescend 
to singers, eh ?" he said a little bitterly 
to Denzil. 

The plain face of the little man grew 
perplexed. "I don't understand it," 
he said slowly. "This is most unlike 

"I do," said Sinclair lightly, affect- 
ing a carelessness that he did not feel. 
He had been made so much of since 
his success that he was horribly hurt 
by Valerie's slight. "Undoubtedly, 
my successor is a catch." 

"It's only Alington," said Merton. 
"LordAlington ? Exactly. A peer." 
"Oh, that doesn't count for much 
these days," said Merton. "Probably 
he is a friend of hers." 

"Perhaps. Girls are mercenary, 
aren't they ? It's the inevitable result 
of society, I suppose, but this ever- 
lasting bargaining is — ugh 1" He 
made a quick, foreign gesture of dis- 

"She is not like that," said Merton 
soberly. "I am sure of it. Why, 
Bob, she was tremendously interested 
you — wanted to know all about 
-asked me about you the next 


day after I had been to see you, and 
seemed fascinated by even,'thing I 
told her. I can't imagine what reason 
she had for this; but I know she must 
have had some good one." 

"Well, we'll see," agreed Sinclair 
lightly. "Come along and find me 
some partners, warranted to be of a 
good disposition. I don't think I 
could stand another knockout in one 
evening — that comes of being a spoiled 
child, you see." 

Denzil made no reply, but introduced 
him judiciously, and certainly Sinclair 
had nothing to complain of during the 
ensuing half hour. The debutantes 
wej-e all delighted to dance with him, 





avin^ Soa ps "^ 

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OaVInfi lime because they give a quick and copi- 
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03 VI ng t neigy because they prepare the beard per- 
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Ssvinft Worry because you will anticipate your 

shave with a smile of satisfaction 
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U because so little soap is required to 

Money ^nake a big, thick, creamlike, lasting 


Dept. A, Glastonbury, Conn. 

Affor ShavitiR use Williams' Talc Powder. 


Suit Case Sets 

In order that those < 
with our new toilet rrquisites 
may have an opportunity to try 
some of them, we have prepared 
very attractive sets of samples 
which we call "Men's Suit Case 
Sets" and Women's Suit Case 
Sets." These are handsomely 
decorated boxes, each contain- 
inR five trial size reproductions 
of our regular packages. Either 
set will be sent for 24 cents 
in stamps if your dealer does 
not supply you. 

PleaM mentioa Cahada MoiaiiLv when you write to advertlaen. 



Because the Body-Building Power of Bovril hat been 
proved to be from 10 to 20 times the amount taken. 


Hobbs Gold Medal 

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These Machines have been produced to abolish the drudgery of 
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Simplicity itself. There is no 
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Weight, crated, about 
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// your dealer cannot supply this Washer, write direct to : 



though mothers and dowagers occas- 
ionally shot him an estimating glance. 
But they were all sugar-sweet to him, 
and his spirits revived with the return 
of the atmosphere he usually lived in. 

"Upon my word," he said to him- 
self, as he handed over one of the 
prettiest brides of the season to her 
next partner and saw her eyes loath 
to leave, "I really think that rebuff 
was good for me. I think too much of 

But Denzil Merton, sitting out his 
dance with his divinity, ventured upon 
a word of rebuke. 

"You were not kind to my friend," 
he said to her. 

Valerie played with the silk tassel 
that ended her long, transparent 
sleeve, through which the roundness 
of her white arm shimmered. 

"Wasn't I ?" she inquired, with her 
most innocent air. 

"No." Then, "Why didn't you 
dance with him ?" 

"He came too late." She laughed. 
"Lochinvars must be on time in these 
days of taxicabs." 

"But you gave Alington a dance 
after refusing Bob." 

"Alington— is Alington." Valerie 
wafted her fai i with the air of a woman 
of the world. I he sweetest of ingenues 
enjoys feeling her power occasionally. 

Merton made a sharp sound in his 
throat. "So that was it," he said. 
"I declared to Bob that it was not." 

"You are not very clear," said 
Valerie, glancing at him under her 

"He said it was a pity that all girls 
were bargainers, and I said you were 
not one of them. But it appears — " 
He broke off. This side of Valerie 
was new to him. 

"Oh !" Valerie dropped her air of 
worldliness. "It wasn't either !" she 
declared femininely. "How could you? 
It — it was just that he came in like a 
sort of conquering hero, and was so 
perfectly sure that I had a dance all 
saved up for him — and — and — I'm 
perfectly ashamed , of you, Denzil 
Merton !" There was something like 
a catch in her voice, and Denzil was 
instantly contrite. 

"No, no, Valerie. I didn't believe 
it. But — you did it so flatly, you 
know. You hurt him more than you 
knew. And you said — just now — " 

"I can't help what I said just now," 
said Valerie, injuredly. "I didn't know 
what you meant. But if you think 
that that silly Lord Alington is any- 
thing to me except a pair of feet and 
monocle, you are mistaken. I don't 
want him — and I don't want anybody 
else — unless I want him." The god- 
dess was very much of a child now. 

"Valerie," began Denzil, but she 
would have none of him. "No, don't 
explain," she said. "I don't think 



your friend is so very much hurt, after 
all. He is evidently enjoying himself 
thoroughly now." — Sinclair had just 
swept across their range of vision with 
a delightfully pretty giri. His golden 
head was bent down to hers, and they 
were laughing together. Valerie watch- 
ed them until they were hidden by 
the other dancers, and smothered a 
little sigh. "Take me back, now," 
she commanded. 

"Say you forgive me, first. It was 
horribly impertinent of me to speak 
of it," he entreated. 

"There's really nothing to forgive, 
she smiled. "It is good for me to be 
snubbed sometimes, just as it's_^good 
for him. Probably we are both'^ofj'us 
spoiled children." She rose, and^jheld 
out her hand. "Shake !" she said. 
"That's western talk." And Denzil 
took her slim hand, but instead of 
shaking it, he held it, and looked wist- 
fully in her eyes. 

"What a good friend you are," she 
said, on a lower note. 

"I wish I could be a lover," he said 
gently. "Oh, Valerie ! why do appear- 
ances count for so much ? A plain 
little man like me ought not to be able 
to love so. You don't know how it 

"I am a pig !" said Valerie remorse- 
fully. "I'm sorry. Every time I play 
a little feminine game with you, I am 
as ashamed of myself as if I'd been 
caught stealing sheep. You take it 
so hard. Why in the worid don't you 
laugh and let it go ?" 

Denzil shook his head. "I'm not 
made that way," he said. "Think 'of 
yourself imprisoned in an uninterest- 
ing little body, the best anyone could 
say of you that you were a well-mean- 
ing little chap — you'd take life serious- 
ly, too." 

"But if they knew you as well as I 
do, they'd say you had a heart of 

"A golden head is worth a dozen of 
'em," returned Denzil. Sinclair was 
passing them again, and Valerie's eyes 
followed him. He was still dancing 
with enthusiasm, still interested in 
his partner, and laughing with her. 
Yet somehow Denzil knew that he 
was conscious of them both, and that 
Valerie was conscious sharply of him. 
She broke the situation, with a woman's 
intuitive skill. 

"You must take me back," she said. 
"I.ord Alington will be looking for me, 
and I really think we've given Signor 
Sinclair time enough." 

"Why do you call him Signor ?" 

"Singers are always called that, 
aren't they ?" 

"Not when they are my friends." 

"He isn't a friend to me, yet. The 
footlights are a barrier." 

"They wouldn't be, if you knew him 


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"I shall never know him better," 
said Valerie decisively. 

"If you feel like that, I suppose you 
never will," said Denzil ruefullly. 

"You mean he will never come 
again ?" 

' don't quite see that he can." 

"Have I been as rude as all that ?" 
she asked, rcmorcsfully, and then, with 
a pretty turn of£her head, "Shall I try 
to make amends ?" 

"I don't think he would see it, now," 

said Denzil candidly. "You see, he 
has his pride, and I don't think^,he'd 
stand being patronized." 

I won't patronize him. I will be 
humble," said Valerie solierly. Z^ 

Merton laughed, in spite of him.self. 
"You humble ?" he asked. "Well,— 
you are always you. Tr\' it." 

"If I had been as rude to you, ;v'ould 
you forgive me ?" 

"You would not be rude to me," he 
said, with ;i f|iii(k intuition that sur- 




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Grocers Sell Mapleine — 

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Send 2c stamp for Recipe Book. 

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prised her. "You are always too 
sorry for me." 

It was a true indictment, but al- 
though she did not want him to believe 
it, there was no time to argue about 
the matter, for at this juncture Lord 
Alington arrived. 

"My dance, I think, Miss Monro," 
he said calmly, and carried her away. 

Denzil watched them go, and hated 
Lord Alington from the bottom of his 
gentle heart. 

"They dance well," he thought. 
"They all dance well. They are tall 
and look like men and can put their 
arms around her waist, confound them! 
while I sit and look on. And she is so 
sorry for me that she is kind to me ! 
My God ! it's a pitiful little tragedy, 
isn't it ?" he said to himself, trying to 
get his feet out of the way of a long 
train and knowing that its owner was 
anathematizing him. "I am nothing 
but an awkard lout." 

Impatiently he made his way out of 
the ballroom, and joined the group of 
elder men at the top of the stair, where 
his host was dispensing whiskey and 
soda and joining in racy talk of politics 
and Canadian affairs. The music 
played gaily, the dancers' feet flashed 
over the polished floor, the candles 
glowed in their great Louis XIV. gir- 
andoles. There was the scent of 
flowers and the attractive odor of a 
large and well got-up crowd. Just like 
a ball, like anyone's ball, except that 
it had a snap and a swing to it — and 
then suddenly across the whirling dance 
rang the sharp cry of a woman in pain, 
and the acrid scent of burning cloth 
filled the air. 


The music stopped in the middle of 
a bar, and Lord Merton found himself 
looking with scared eyes into Monro's 
whitened face. For half a second no 
one moved. 

"Good God ! it's Valerie !" said 
Monro, and in a breath, Merton knew 
not how, he was leaping after the long 
figure of the Westerner, thrusting aside 
the groups of frightened dancers, to a 
clear space in the ballroom's centre, 
where a golden head bent above 
Valerie, and long strips of delicate 
fabric, charred and blackened, lay 
scattered about her on the polished 
floor. A fallen wax candle, still smok- 
ing in a welter of melted grease, bore 
witness to the tragedy. 

Swiftly Monro slid an arm under 
the girl, and lifted her gently from 
Sinclair's supporting grasp. His blue 
eyes ran rapidly over her arms and 
shoulders, scanning the delicate skin. 
The burning fabrics had been torn 
away so quickly that she was not hurt. 
A red mark or two on her upper arm 
was all the damage, and Monro raised 
his eyes to the singer's face. 



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or Le«ming-Miles Building, Montreal. Canada. 

"It was you, wasn't it ?" he stated 
rather than inquired. "Good work. 
Let's get her out of here." 

A dozen hands offered help, but 
Valerie opened her eyes, and shook 

"I'm all right, dad," she said. Don't 
carry me. I'll go on my own feet." 

"That's my girl,"" he answered, and 
gently helped her away through the 
sympathetically anxious crowd that 
divided to let father and daughter 

To be continued 




Completely Equipped f.o. b. Toledo, Duty Paid 

With Electric Starter and Generator, $1425 

Awarded "First Position" at the World's 
Greatest Automobile Show 

THE cxtraordiiiaiA- supremacy of the 1914 
(herland has been officially recognized by 
the Automobile Chamber of Commerce. 

Because the Willys-Overland Company 
did a greater volume of business during 1913 
than any otlier firm in this organization, it was 
awarded the position of honor at the great 
National 1914 AutomoI)ile Show in the Grand 
Central Palace, New York City. 

Do you know that the 1914 Overland is to- 
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entire civilized world ? 

Even in Detroit, the automobile hub of the 
world there are more Overlands being sold than 
any other car of this type. 

The Overland has made, established and 
w on for Toledo w th its individual plants alone, 
the title of the second greatest automobile city 
in the world. 

Has it ever occurred to >ou that there 
must be some substantial reason for such un- 
paralleled success ? There is, and here it is. 

No other factory in the world can build a car 
the equal of the 1914 Overland for less than $1500- 

Our price- $1250. 

The motor is larger — but the price is lower. 

The wlieelbase is longer— hut the price is 

The tires'are larger — but the price is lower. 

The new car has electric lights throughout — 
even under the dash — ^but the price is lower. 

It is magnificently finished in dark Brewster 
green, with running boards and wheels to match, 
trimmed in polished nickel and aluminum — but 
the price is lower. 

Then there is a larger tonneau, a jeweled 
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and deeper upholstery — but the price is lower. 

There is an Overland dealer near 
See him to-day. 


Lileraturt on request. Please address Dept. 3. 

The Willys-Overland Company, Toledo, Ohio 

Electric head, side, 

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Storage battery 

36 horsepower 


33x4 Q. D. tires 

114 in. wheel base 

Mohair top 

curtains and boot 





Electric horn 

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• mention Canada Monthly when you write to advertben 



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Montreal - St. John - Ottawa - Toronto - Vancouver - Victoria 

Continued from page 176. 
"Aren't you going to say gotxl 
night ?" 

"Good night," she echoed with a 
nervous little laugh. A new shyness 
of him filled her. Leroy — as a reality — 
was an unknowTi quantity indeed. 

"That's no way to say good night," 
he scoffed. 

"It's my way," she parried, with a 
touch of gay authority. 

He laughed so boisterously that she 
glanced up at the neighlxjrs' windows 
in alarm. 

"Gfxxl ! Now I'll show you my 

"No^no !" She held him off in a 
girl's panic. "Please not to-night." 

But he only pressed closer, prisoning 
her in a comer of the doorway. 

"I don't suppose you ever kissed a 
fellow before ?" 
"No— I never !" 
"Sure not; girls never have." 
"Truly, Harry — truly, I haven't !" 
His answering laugh stung her. 
Something callousinit atoncehumiliat- 
ed and enraged her. Tom would have 
believed — she thought, instinctively — 
Tom would have understood. 

"You're going to, now, anyway," 
he persisted. "My girl, don't say 'no' 
to me !" 

She had thrilled earlier in the evening 
at that mastery in the vibrant voice. 
Now her heart was knocking against 
her side in sudden terror of his uncom- 
prehending strength. She became con- 
scious, too, of his thickening speech 
and whiskey-laden breath. 

Swiftly she evaded him, pleading, 
entreating, commanding. "Don't, 
Harry — not now, you've been drink- 
ing ! Don't dare to kiss me !" 

When he understood that her resis- 
tance was genuine — no feint of the 
game as it was usually played — the 
obstinacy stirred him to anger. Pin- 
ioning her guarding hands with one of 
his big strong ones, he caught her chin 
and turned it ruthlessly to him. 

That one moment filled every fiber 
of her with quivering disgust, the 
insistent lips, the heav>' breath, the 
brutal force were utterly hateful and 
roused a fury that trebled her strength. 
Wrenching free, she struck him across 
the mouth. The blow astounded him; 
he only glared speechlessly back. 

"You — go !" she cried chokingly. 
"Go — or I'll wake the house !" 

When he had gone she shrank back 
into the darkness, and her hands sought 
and covered up the shame of her face. 
To have waited — for the hero of her 
heart, and then to have been plundered 
by a masquerader, coarse, half drunk- 
en ! Her dream, with all its glory and 
beauty, was shattered in a thousand 



fragments She had thought that 
when men loved, they loved in Tom's 
way. Now she saw that the way was 
Tom's. Bitterness and smarting 
reproach possessed her. 

"Oh, Tom — Tom," she wept softly, 
scarcely knowing what she said. 

Then a quick thought, an overpower- 
ing impulse, sent her hurrying down the 
street. Neugan's home, a little old- 
fashioned cottage, back from the walk, 
and on a lower level, held no light. 

He could not have returned, for the 
snow that had been gently falling for 
the last two hours was undisturbed 
about it. Cautiously she tiptoed down 
the walk, and shrank into the shelter 
of the doorway. It was very cold; she 
shi\'ered and tried to warm her stiff 
hands with her breath. It was late, 
too — sometime after one — and utter 
lonesomeness possessed the silent 
street. There was no light anywhere, 
save the lamp-light, at the comer, 
flaring in the bleak wind. Once the 
sountl of steps drew her peering out, 
but it was only a neighbor, lurching 
unsteadily homewards. Then a great 
fear grasped her. Tom was no drink- 
ing man, but now, perhaps — -the fear 
quickened as the slow moments drag- 
ged by — endless as eternities — and 
then, when at last she heard his steps, 
heavy, deliberate, but steady; heard 
the click of the little gate after him, 
and knew that he was upon her, then, 
in her relief from her fears, and her 
confusion at being there, her knees 
shook under her and she drew back 
into the farthest corner. 
"Tom," she whispered. 
He stared astonished. 
"It's only Amy." 
"Well, what are you doing here ?" 
It was precisely what she did not 

"I came — you've got my key." 
Mechanically he drew it out. You'll 
catch your death of cold. How long 
have you been here ?" 

"Oh — hours ! I wanted — I wanted 
to say I was sorry, Tom, I've been 
dreadful. He isn't — he — oh, why did 
you let me go with him ? Why didn't 
you make me stay with you ? 

The eternal feminine of it stag- 
gered the man. 

He did not attempt a reply. 

"Say you forgive me," she besought. 

"Sure, I forgive you," he repeated 

unemotionally. "You needn't worry 

about me. Amy. Come on home — 

you're freezing." 

She hung back. "Oh, Tom— I— I 
want to make it up to you. .Ain't 
there something ?" 

She waited, but he shook his head 
unconiprehcndingly. He had been 
hard hif — this talk of making it up only 
teased him. 
She began to cry. 

A quick light shot into his blue eyes. 
His arm stiffened. 

"What's he been doing to you, 
Amy ? What's the matter ? I'll 
knock him into bits if " 

"Oh, no — no, it's nothing," she 
declared, then illogically. 

"It's you !" 

"Me ?" 

"Yes. Oh, don't you see — how it is 
—now ?" 

And as Tom, incredulous of happi- 

ness, stood amazed, her slim hgure 
swayed toward him and in the dark- 
ness he felt her flushed cheek, salt with 
tears, pressed softly against his. 

He put a doubtful arm around her 
to steady her, and as he folt her yield, 
looked down at her tenderly. 

"I'U never — never — hurt yon again, 
Tom," she avowed tremulously as ho 
gathered her to him with heart full to 
overflowing with his new found h.'ppi- 




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Live by the Sword 

Continued from page 185. 

There had been no talk of dancing; 
hut Mrs. Landry found somelxxly to 
play and with the very first waltz had 
difficulty to keep Harry and her Eng- 
lishman from coming to an absurd 
quarrel as to which she had promised 
her hand. But Sidney, on the alert, 
managed to carry off the Englishman, 
and did it so well that theaflfair attracted 
slight attention. Not long after, some 
awkward dancer contrived to set his 
foot on Sidney's dress, and to rip it to 
such an extent that a visit to the dress- 
ing-r<jom became necessary. She met 
Mrs. Landry on the way out, and that 
lady, more in a mood than ever to con- 
vince the world that she and Sidney 
were on the most intimate and affec- 
tionate terms, insisted upon going with 
her. She had got rid of Harry for an 
instant ; but Sidney was still leaning on 
Geoffry Renshaw's arm, and he pro- 
posed accompanying them upstairs. 

"1 don't think you'd be of much use," 
said Mrs. Landry. 

"Can you sew ?" laughed Sidney. 
Finding that they both meant to be 
merciless and quiz him, he gave way, 
somewhat Sheepishly. 

"I believe I have your fan," he said 
to Mrs. Landry. He took it out of his 
coat pocket, and handed it to her. 
Sidney saw her look a little odd, but 
could not understand what there was to 
disturb her, or make her so eager to 
hurry away. 

The two ladies left the drawing- 
room, and mounted the stairs, Sidney 
somewhat in advance. Mr. Landry, 
searching for his wife, for the express 
purpose of signifying his disapproba- 
tion of a good deal that had taken place 
during the evening, caught the flutter 
of a blue dress on the stair-case, and 

He dropped his handkerchief; as he 
stooped to pick it up, he saw a letter 
lying by it, and, supposing that had 
also fallen from his pocket, he picked it 
up, peered at it with his near-sighted 
eyes, and, finally untwisted the crump- 
led sheet, and began to glance down the 
page, by the light an Egyptian maiden 
held on the landing. Only a few words ; 
then he looked up, white as a man who 
had met a ghost, fairly reeling, till he 
had to seize the bannisters for support 
in the spasm of rage and suffering that 
came over him. 

"I will wait for you here, in the 
librar>%" Mrs. Landr>' said. "I'm 
tired to death, and can just rest com 
fortably, while the maid repairs youi 
damages; they're so stupid- down 

Sidney nodded, and hurried on, gla I 
to be rid of her society on any terms 
for the untamed savage that women 
occasionally have to subdue, as well as 
men, was so- rampant in her breast, 
that she found it very hard work to 



talk decorous commonplace, with this 
woman, who had wounded her so deeply. 
In a few moments Mrs. Landry recol- 
lected what had been slipped into her 
hand along with the fan; searched in 
her dress— the letter was gone. She 
started up from her chair, and had 
reached the door, when she met her 
husband, confronting her with a look, 
such as she had never before seen on 
his face, and holding out toward her 
the letter she had dropped. Isabel felt 
her blood turn to ice at sight of it, and 
her husband's look. For days past 
Renshaw's devotion and absurdity had 
reached a pitch, which had decided her 
she must get rid of him. She liked to 
know that men were wild about her, to 
have them show their devotion in every 
possible way; but to let any man delib- 
erately make love to her, in open words, 
she would not do, and that Renshaw 
had tried. Remembering that, she 
could imagine what a crazy rhodomon- 
tadc that epistle must be. Her hus- 
band's face was enough to reveal what 
its effect had been upon him. 

Almost any woman's nerves would 
have deserted her; but though Isabel 
could hardly stand or breathe, she 
managed to say, collectedly, 

"Is that you ? I am waiting for Mrs. 
Payne; somebody tore her dress, and 
Rosa is mending it." 

"I picked this up just now on the 
stairs," returned her husband, holding 
out th2 letter. 

"Very careless of the servants to 
leave waste paper about," she an- 
swered, playing with her bouquet. 

"You dropped it as you came up," 
he went on, in a slow, dreadful voice. 
"I have only read four lines; they are 
enough to show me that the married 
woman who is capable of receiving 
such a letter is not fit to be my wife." 
"What do you mean ?" she broke in, 
trying to find refuge in an appearance 
of anger. "Have you taken leave of 
your senses ?" 

"I wish I had," he answered bitterly. 
"I feel as if I had retained them a day 
too long. Isaljel, who wrote this letter?" 
"If you've read it, you ought to 
know; I dfm't," she answered, defi- 

"I told you I had not read it; I 
picked it up, thinking I had dropped it. 
I just read enough — it was — was — " 

He could not finish ; he turned away 
his head for an instant, with a groan 
of intense suffering. Seeing him so 
moved, it occurred to Isabel, that the 
best chance she had was in making a 
clean of it, and throwing herself 
on^his mercy, siiying it was the first 
time the man had ever written her; 
that she would never see him again — 
would do anything — promise anything. 
But before she could speak, he had 
found voice again. 

"I have been very lenient to your 

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coquetries, because I thought they 
came merely from a love of general 
admiration; but you must have gone 
very far, when a man presumes to tell 
you in plain words, that he loves 
you— " 

"She was interrupted by a voice that 
made them both start and turn round. 
There stood Sidney Payne, saying, 

"I beg your pardon. Oh, Mr. Lan- 
dry, you here ?" She looked white and 
troubled; her eyes wandered uneasily 
alxjut. "I — I have lost something," 

she continued. "I thought perhaps I 
had dropped it here." 

"What have you lost, Mrs. Payne ?" 
demanded Mrs. Landry, sharply; "not 
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"Yes, yes," exclaimed Sidney, 
eagerly, yet in a dreadfully composed 
way. "I — dropped it on the stairs." 

"Is this it ?" he asked, holding out 
the crumpled note. 

"Yes; it's mine," she said, stretching 
out her hand to take the letter, but he 
held it beyond her reach. 


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There was a second's silence. Isabel 
could not speak at first; she did not 
understand what motive prompted the 
act, but she knew that Sidney was try- 
ing to save her, and for an instant felt 
such fierce hatred toward her, that she 
was almost ready to dare everything — 
but only for an instant. 

"Why, give Mrs. Payne her letter, 
Charles !" she exclaimed, suddenly, 
and tried to take it out of his hand ; but 
he retreated a few steps, and remained 
looking from one woman to the other. 
Isabel followed him, and whispered 
bitterly, "Your pretty, modest little 
favorite ! She came up stairs with me. 
I knew it must be hers, but would not 
say so ! Before you insult me by a 
similar accusation, remember that I 
am always frank and open, and not 
capable of stooping to secret letters, 
or stolen interviews." 

Sidney stood perfectly still; she was 
very pale, but had the air of a woman 
who meant to bear whatever she had 
brought upon herself. She could not 
hear what Mrs. Landry said to her 
husband, but she knew as well as if the 
words had been spoken aloud. She 
understood the woman's character so 
thoroughly, that she comprehended to 
be thus saved from peril would only 
be a ground for fresh hatred. 

By a fortunate accident she had not 
found the maid in the dressing-room; 
she rang, but nobody answered, so, 
after looking vainly about for needles 
and thread, she went back to the library 
to ask her hostess what was to be done. 
She heard Mr. Landry's voice; the 
strangeness of it caused her to pause 
involuntarily. Then the first words 
that reached her made her understand 
the whole affair, only she supposed that 
the letter the husband had found was 
the one Isabel had that morning 
received from Harry. 

She must save him — claim the letter ; 
there might be exposure, disgrace, 
worse than that— danger to the man 
she loved, if she hesitated an instant. 
She rushed into the room; her fright 
and confusion looked so like conscious 
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suspicion she was acting for any other 
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There was still a brief silence alter 
Isabel's whisper, then Sidney, wild to 
get the fital epistle in her hands, 

cried out. , , , , 

"Give me my letter, Mr. Landry— 
I have told you that it is mine; you 
have no right to keep it for an instant. 

Mr. Landry's face changed; the 
anger and absolute despair gave place 
to a look of mingled contempt and 
sorrow, but Sidney met his glance 

firmly. , 

"Give me my letter," she repeated. 
"Don't you hear !" cried Isabel, try- 
ing again to snatch it from his hand. 
"Wait a moment," he said, waving 

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his wife aside. "Mrs. Payne, you admit 
that this letter is yours — " 

"Do you want her to say it again ? 
interrupted Isabel, mad with anxiety 
to end the scene. 

"Yes," he answered. "Before she 
claims it — before she is willing to— I 
want her to look at this page." 

Isabel tried to interpose between 
them, but before she could do so, Sid- 
ney was leaning over Mr. Landry's 
shoulder. She recognized the writing 
at once, for Renshaw had several times 
sent her and her husband invitations 
to supper. Such a sense of relief and 



joy came over her that for the first time 
she felt weak and faint. 

"Ah, you had not read it," exclaimed 
Mr. Landry, believing that she started 
back in fright. 

"Do you still claim it ?" 

The room went round and round with 
Isabel ; she caught hold of the chair by 
which she stood to keep herself from 
falling. Then she heard Sidney's voice, 
low and distinct, 

"I still claim it ! Give me that letter." 

Mr. Landry folded up the closely- 
written sheet and retaining it in his 
hand, turned toward his wife. 

"Isabel," he said, "I beg your 

The wretched woman had sunk into 
a chair, and covered her face with her 
hands. Sidney stood immovable. In 
a moment more he went on. "Mrs. 
Payne, I had grown to like and respect 
you. I must say now, unpleasant as it 
is, that all intercourse between yourself 
and my wife must cease. I have a still 
more disagreeable duty to perform — 
I shall give this letter to your husband; 
it is to him you will have to answer the 
question as to the writer." 

Isabel fairly shrieked aloud; every- 
thing was lost. 

"For God's sake," she moaned, "give 
up the letter !" 

"Let my husband see it !" exclaimed 
Sidney. The way out was clear at 
last; she could free Harry from the 
toils that had been about him; and 
whatever his anger might be, she could 
trust him not to expose the thwarted 
flirt by look or word in that presence. 
"Send for my husband, Mr. Landry ! 
I will account to him; any delay 
on your part is only an added in- 
sult to the words you have already 

Isabel Landry tried to shriek again, 
but could only crouch lower in her 
chair, with a faint gasp of mortal 
agony. Mr. Landry had gone; they 
heard his voice in the hall, addressing 
a domestic. Sidney stoic softly to her 
enemy's side, and touched her hand. 
Isabel retreated. 

"You have ruined me !" she gasped. 
"Oh, there's no pity, no womanhood 
in you." 

"I have saved you," returned Sidney. 
"You don't know either my husband or 
myself, if you think we would try to 
harm you now." 

Mr. Landry was back in the nwtn; 
he walked up and down in silence. 
' ibel still sat with her face hidden, 

(I Sidney stfwd trembling with the 
Kixat j(jy that filled her heart. 

There was a step in the gallery; 
Harry Payne entered, glanced about in 
iHtonishment, and said, 

'What's the matter, Sidney ? Did 
"U send for me ?" 
"Yes," she replied, moving toward 
liim. "Mr. Landry has found a letter 

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of mine on the stairs; he feels it his 
duty to hand it to you, as he read a few 
words of it — " 

"Not knowing what it was," inter- 
rupted Mr. Landry. 

"Exactly; I never impute mean 
motives," said Sidney. "The letter, if 
you please." 

Mr. Landry placed it in her hand. 
Harry stood stupefietl. His first 
thought was, as Sidney's had Ix-en, that 
it was the letter he had written Isabel, 
and that his wife, aware of it by some 
means, meant to help him out. Sidney 
took the letter, turned the page, and 
her eye fell upon some lines that seemed 
to have been written expressly to serve 

her purpose. "I am jealous of Payne. 
You say you despise him for his weak- 
ness and vanity; that you only flirt 
with him to tease his wife — " 

She gave the letter to her husband 
and pointed to these words. He knew 
the writing, too; read what she wished, 
foldtxl the letter, and s;iid quietly, 

"After my wife's telling you this 
letter was hers, you have been guilty 
of a great impertinence, Mr. Landry." 

"Oh, Mr. Landry was good enough 
to suppose; it a love-letter," cried 
Sidney. "He has already told me that 
all acquaintance between myself and 
his wife must cease." 

"How very good !" said Harry, with 




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"More Sonnets of an Office Boy" 

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^ It will bring back your boyhood days with a bump. The world will 
seem brighter to you. Every man will be a good fellow. You will be a 
better fellow yourself. You can get it for 75 cents. 

If youT news dealer is sold out send direct to 

Vanderhoof-Gunn Co., Ltd., Publishers 


a bitter laugh, while Mr. Landry stared 
at them both, and came to the con- 
clusion he was out of his senses. "Sid- 
ney," pursued her husband, pitilessly, 
"was Mrs. Landry equally severe in her 
virtuous indignation ?" 

"That," replied Sidney, "is a ques- 
tion she must answer for herself." 

Isabel struggled hard to get back her 
composure; but the scorn and con- 
tempt in the face of the man who had 
so lately been the slave of her merest 
caprice, was more than she could bear, 
and she sobbed aloud, in mingled rage 
and humiliation. 

"I can only offer my excuses," Mr. 
Landry said. "I believed that I was 
doing right. Since you know what the 
letter is, there's an end ! I did by you 
as I should have wished you to do, had 
it been my wife." 

"Sidney," said her husband, ringing 
the bell, "if you'll get ready, I'll order 
the carriage. We needn't detain either 
.Mr. or Mrs. Landry from their guests." 

"When you both have had time to 
think, you will at least do justice to my 
motives," Mr. Landry said. 

"Oh, we do justice to everybody's 
motives don't we, Sidney ?" said 
Harry dryly. 

"Perfectly," she answered. "I 
assure you, Mr. Landry, I am not 
angry. I'm very much obliged to you, 
on the contrary." 

"And I," he said, "am only too 
thankful to find that you are what I 
always thought you, one of the best 
little women I ever met. Isabel, I will 
go down stairs; try and persuade our 
friends to forgive me — you know how 
sorry I am." 

As soon as he was out of hearing, 
Harry moved towards Mrs. Landr>', 
and said, 

"Let me restore this letter to its 
rightful owner. I may not have 
another opportunity, as I am only too 
happy to share in the verdict of dis- 
missal which has been pronounced 
against my wife." 

Another instant, and Isabel Landry 
was alone. She had just strength to 
dart to the fire-place, and bum the 
fatal letter; then, for almost the first 
time in her life, fainted completely 

Sidney had won her husband once 
and forever; and when he made his 
confession, she was not slow with hers, 
for she felt, what everybody must, 
sooner or later, that there can be no 
possibility of peace for two married 
people, who have joined their lives, 
while there was a secret left unrevealed. 

"Smoking again ? I thought you'd 
cut it out." 

"Well, you see, when I've convmced 
myself that I can cut it out whenever 
I want I start smoking again." 



Sorrow of Toronto 

Continued troni page l'.)3. 

tory sentence she should have had 
before she had Milhe, and the little 
family is institutionated abroad upon 
the world. 

"I'd like to know where Kathaleen 
is," said the old voice sadly, "she was 
that pretty !" 

Nowadays Kathaleen's one-room 
home is tenanted by Mrs. McNamara 
and the less said about her the better 
too. She does washing by the day, 
though, when she can get it, taking her 
two children over to her late-lamented 
husband's mother. The late-lamented 
isn't dead, just tramping, and his 
unfortunate wife is rather glad of it. 
When the mother-in-law isn't accom- 
modating, which sometimes happens, 
the yuiiiRSte s are locked in the room. 
There was a fire the other day and 
Mrs. Wilkins "rescued" her feather bed 
and the Jew lady's youngsters, but 
the fireman had the situation in hand 
before she remembered the other 
children who might have been tucked 
in between sheets of flame and nobody 
the wiser. 

The other room downstairs has three 
men in it, labourers and roustabouts 
all. In the i)re-Mercer days of Katha- 
leen's immoral l)ut freehanded mother, 
Mrs. Wilkins did many a quarter's 
worth of washing for the second floor, 
but the present female tenant is a 
washlady by trade. 

And the men don't seem to ever 
get any done. Miss, and as for scrub- 
bing floors, they've got a carpet on 
now, so they never need none." 

As we crept downstairs in the unex- 
purgated twilight where the odors 
held carnival, the nurse reminded 
me of the J(jbbses whom I had visited 
one day last winter. The father of the 
eleven open-mouthed young ones in 
the sixteen a month house earned 
ten dollars a week. The mother 
searched the bargain counters, did the 
.sewing, cooking and cleaning. Mary, 
aged thirteen, sworn fourteen, worked 
in a factory. Hattie, aged ten, 
practised on the washboard every day 
after school. 

"But they'll pull through, I think," 
said she with constitutional hopeful- 
ness, "for he doesn't drink and they're 
none of them lazy." 

When drink enters into the |)roblem, 
as it does more often than not. it com- 
plicates it tremendously. Authority 
looks with the uncompromising e>«- of 
disap()roval upon brutal father ard 
wxldon mother, and rightly, for the 
human animal, bereft of such slight 
\arnish of civilization as is worn 
even in the Ward, does strange and 
terrible things. To wiser heads than 
thiise of the peering and curious chil- 
dren, the problem of poverty compli- 




Baker's Cocoa 



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of high qualib?. Its 
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make it a food drink 
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great '\)alue. 

Booklet of CKoice Recipes sent free on request 


EsfablisKed 1780 


catid 1>\- drink is ho|3ele,ssly puzzling. 

Rena's is a harder case. She was 
seventeen, and a braver little heroine 
never wore her shoes out looking for a 
house to live in that had been con- 
demned by the Health Department 
and therefore, in the interval before 
demolition, could be rented cheaply 
enough to i)ark in the five youngsters, 
the tubercular mother and the father 
who was ne\er himself when sober. 

The mother died, thanks to the fate 
that occasionally puts a stop to the 
|K)pulation, and the poor little misfit 

tubercular baby went with her. The 
load wasn't too big for Rena now, as it 
had been. She could carry the four 
brothers and dad. But Authorit\ 
couldn't stand for such a menage. 
Dad was sent to the Jail Farm, the 
brothers were C. O. D.'d to various 
institutions and Rena, the inother- 
heart of her bleeding, was left free 10 
walk upright when all she wanted was 
her load. 

Maybe it's best. Maybe Rena 
couldn't have loved them back from ih< 
depths. But the nurse thinks she could. 



'Route of Courtesies" 


Thru Pullman Sleeping Cars 

^ , During January, 1914 

TUESDAYS --V/V7 Salt Lake City 
SATURDAYS-V/Vr Kansas City 


J. C. PETERSON, General Agent, F. E. COLE, District Passenger Agent 

WINNIPEG, MAN. 222 Bannatyne Ave., WINNIPEG, MAN. 

W. R. SHELDON, District Frt. and J. H. MURTAUGH, Jr., Travelling Agent, 




Please mention Canada Monthly when you write to advertisers. J 





The King sHi'gh way 

Continued from page 1 69. 

exct'iit on certain days of the week. 

Altogether, the total provincial 
expenditure in 1912-1913 amounted to 
about $10,000,000. Compare this with 
figures south of the boundary for a 
moment. In 1904 the state of New 
York provided an appropriation of 
$50,000; in 1909, it was providing 
$50,000,000. Do we need to go any 
farther ? 

Somebody may ask here, "What is a 
good road ?" According to the good 
roads advocates, it is: 

1. A road that is smooth and re- 
mains so, and imposes the least resist- 
ance to travel. 2. A road that is 
built of material which is lasting, and 
not affected injuriously by rain or frost. 
3. A road that is good at all times. 
A road that is good at certain seasons 
and bad at others, depending on the 
weather, is not a good road. It may 
fail when most needed. 

Such a road is the Pacific Highway, 
and such should be the Canadian High- 
way that the good roads enthusiasts 
prophesy for the Dominion. Some 
people have called the idea of a main 
road reaching from coast to coast a 
chimera. But it is not; neither is a 
new idea. Long before steam engines 
rumbled their way across old Ontario, 
the men of that day had a vision of a 
highway from sea to sea. At the time 
of confederation a transcontinental 
road was one of the inducements offered 
to the western provinces — a promise 
that to-day still stands unredeemed. 

To-day, the sentiment in favor of 
good roads is stronger than it has ever 
lx;en before, the recognition that good 
roads are a necessity, not a luxury, is 
general, and becoming even more so. 
The people demand good roads, and 
are sending men to their councils, their 
legi.slatures and parliaments pledged 
to work for them. The good roads 
associations are helping the movement 
by disseminating information, giving 
lectures, and sending deputations to 
wait upon governments when measures 
favorable or inimical to our highways 
are before the deliberative bodies. 
The Ontario and Manitoba Good Roads 
A.ssociations are doing good work. 
The Canadian Highways Association 
is carrying on an extensive propaganda 
urging the construction of the national 
transcontinental highway. 

\V. J. Kerr, the president of this last 
association, is well known on the Coast 
as one of the most prominent gocwl 
roads enthusiasts. He was one of the 
first Canadians to join with the people 
of the United States in const ructini; 
the F'acific Highway. Possessed of 
large means, he has contributed $'0,000 
towards the expense of the first year's 
work iif the ass<K-iati<»n,an(l has\'olun- 

As the Birds Southward Fly the Trend of 
Travel is along the Southern Railway— 

Premier Carrier of the South 

Open Winter, Delightful Climate, Outdoor Life, Golfing, 
Tennis. Riding, Motoring, Complete Recreation at — 

Augusta, Ga., Aiken, S. C, Charleston 

S. C, Summerville. S. C, Columbia, 

S. C, Savannah, Ga., Bruns- 

wich, Ga., Jacksonville, Fla., 

and all 

Direct Line to Atlanta, 
Ga., Birmingham, Ala., 
New Orleans and 


Up-to-date through Pullman service 
including Drawing Room and State 
Room cars. Soutliern Railway din- 
ing car service. 

Stop-over privile,;es are allowed on 
Winter- Tourist Tickets at Asheville, 
N.C., andother points in the "Land 
of the Sky." No extra charge. 

Winttr Tourists Tickets now on salt. For f»U 
iHformaSion, iltustrated booklets, etc. communis 
cote with either of the foUowing 

Southern RaUwav OSces: 
New York— AIbt. S. Thweatt, E. P. A., 26» 5th Aveaae. 
Montreal, P. Q.— G. W. Carter, Trar. Pass. Agt., 9 St 
Lawrence Boulevard. 

NOTE : The lands along the line of the Soulhern Railway 
are most fertile and offer attractive advantages to the investor, 
homesee'er and manufacturer — write for particulars. 



Premier Carrier of 

the South 

Proud are the owners of ROSS Rifles 

It is something to say "this is the .same make of rifle which won the King's 
Prize at Bisley, England, and the individual Paliner Trophy at Camp Perry, 
Ohio, U. S. A." — no other rifle ever achieved this dual success. 

"Ross" Sporting Rifles are not only most accurate and powerful, but 
they are extremely speedy, an important point in big game shooting. The 
"Ross" breech action is the safest and quickest made. Fancy placing five 
shots in 2 2-5 seconds in a strip 4 feet 6 inches by 5 inches ! 

Whether for yourself or as a gift, you cannot get a better rifle. 

Ross .280 High Velocity Rifle, $55.00 
Ross .280 Sporting Cartridge $7.50 per 100 

If your dealer cannot supply you, write for illustrated catalogue and full 

information to 


tecred to shoulder the financial respon- 
sibility necessary to assure the success 
of the propaganda for the next few 
years. T-. S. Baxter, mayor of V'an- 
couver, is the treasurer, and Frank E. 
Mutton, of Toronto, is first vice-presi- 
dent. The list of membersof theexecu- 
tive council include Mr. A. E.Todd, of 
Victoria, who achiex'ed some measure 
of fame by pathfiiiding on the route 
of the Pacific Highways, Ix-ing (In- 
first automobilisf to make the thrf)iiKli 

trip from Tia Juana to Vancouver: 
W. A. Anderson, of St. John, N. B.: 
George A. Simard, of Montreal; W. G. 
Trcthewy, of Toronto; J. W. Fleming, 
of Brandon; George Tiionipson, of 
Indian Head; James McGeorge, of 
Edmonton ancl George Black, of Daw- 
son, are the other members of the 
council. There are also a number of 
district rep esentativesin each province, 
these gentlemen having jurisdiction 
over their particular h calit\'. The 













Unexcelled Road Bed Supeib Dining Car Service 

Courteous and Attentive Employees The Scenic Route Through Canada 

The International Limited 

The Train de luxe of Canada 
Runs daily between Montreal and Chicago 

One of the finest and fastest long distance 
trains in the world. 

Winter Tours to 

California, Colorado, Etc. 

Apply to your nearest agent for copy of Grand Trunk "Winter 
Tours Folder," sent free on application. 


Passenger Traffic Manager 



General Passenger Agent, 



For advertising matter and all particulars apply to^any agent of the System, 
including J. Quintan, Bonadventure Station, Montreal ; or C. E. Horning, 
Union Station, Toronto. 

otJiceis t)f ihc organization fre()ucml\ 
find scope for their usefulness in the 
districts where they reside, on occa- 
sions when (jucstions alTeclinj; the 
impnnenient of local roads are heiny 

On the lower mainland ol i>iiiish 
rolumbia, for instance, there is a very 
bad piece of road between the cities 
of Vancouver and New Westminster. 
With a view to having this state of 
affairs remedied an association was 
organized in the winter of 1912, known 
as the Westminster Road Improve- 
ment Association. The officers of the 
Canadian Highways Association co- 
operated with this body and attended 
a large number of meetings and depu- 
tations, speaking not only in favor 
of this particular stretch of land, but 
with a view to creating an interest 
for good roads all over Canada. ."Xs a 
result of the agitation in this district a 
large grant was made by the provincial 
government for the improvement of 
this particular stretch of road, and 
work is now well under way which will 
before long make this inter-city artery 
a splendid highway. 

It f)ften happens that a member of 
the Canadian Highways Association 
wishes to bring to the attention of his 
local council the condition of the roads 
in his district. In this the assistance 
of the officers is often sought, and 
always cheerfully given. 

At the association's headquarters, 
in New Westminster, is maintained a 
bureau of information and statistical 
department that is always at the ser- 
vice of anj' member of the association 
or any one else interested in good roads. 
No charge is made for advice or infor- 
mation unless considerable clerical 
work is necessary, when a small fee is 
charged, and this only to non-members. 

Physical difficulties, long thought 
unsurmountable, hinder the building 
of the Canadian Highway in British 
Columbia. No province in the whole 
Dominion has .so much to overcome 
in the scheme of this transcontinental 
road, but engineering skill and a wise 
expenditure of millions of dollars are 
working woiiders. Mountain paths 
for years believed passable only by a 
sure-footed burro or packhorse, when 
thoroughly surveyed and explored. 
ha\e given place to wagon roads, the 
steepest gradient on which does not 
exceed eight per cent, and on which 
the average is only three per cent. A 
way is hewn through a forest of pine, 
cedar and hemlock, a bridge is thrown 
across a deep abyss or roaring chasm, 
a gap is cut in the mountain's side, a 
steel structure spans the barrier of 
water, and the road is built. 

Road-building in British Columbia 

is more than a business. It is a science. 

No two sections of the country require 

I like treatment. Topographical diffi- 



cullies beset the pathmaster at everj' 
stage. Sometimes the trouble is to 
find a suitable grade; sometimes the 
difficulty is in the shifting substrata, 
sometimes in a sliding mountain, some- 
times in the absence of necessary road- 
building material. But all of these 
difficulties are somehow always over- 
come or avoided, and before long the 
British Columbia section of the Can- 
adian Highway will be advanced 
suffi(ientl>' so that an automobile will 
Ix- able to make the trip from Van- 
couver to the border line of Alberta, 
and on into that province for a con- 
siderable distance. 

The prairie provinces have their 
difficulties to face in this great road 
construction scheme. Earth roads, 
primitive in many places, bad nearly 
everywhere, are all that Alberta, 
Saskatchewan and Manitoba can boast 
of at this stage, and the problem which 
the Canadian Highways Association 
has to face is more one of rejection than 
selection. For a couple of hundred 
miles eastward from Winnipeg, no 
road at present e.xists, and a similar 
difficulty is to be faced around the 
great lakes. But with the hearty 
co-operation of the provincial depart- 
ment of public works of Ontario these 
difficulties will be eventually over- 
come. Quebec and the maritime pro- 
vinces already have good roads, but 
these need linking one with the other 
and welding into a uniform stretch. 

From the western limit of Vancouver 
Island to the city of Halifax, the Can- 
adian Highway is to be studded with 
diamond shaped signs, showing the 
cardinal points with a little black 
arrow pointing cast. The first of these 
signs was planted, with much form and 
ceremony, in the picturesque village 
of Alberni, on May 4, 1912, by Pre- 
-.ideni W. J. Kerr, in the presence of 
iwelve hundred persons, nearly all of 
whom had travelled from three to six 
hundred miles to witness this unique 
• md interesting event. 

The route of the Canadian High- 
way, while it is yet subject to change, 
has been outlined as follows: 

-Alberni to Nanaiino; Vancouver, 
Westminster, Chilliwack, Hope, Prince- 
Ion, Rossland, thence to Trail, crossing 
I he Columbia l)y the new britlge now 
in course of erection, and via Summit 
Creek, along the old Dewdncy Trail to 
Creston, thence following the main 
irimk road into Alberta. From the 
British Columbia Ixnmdary the road 
joes almost direct to Madeod, thence 
>n to Lethbridge and Medicine Hat, 
|)artly rjver the old surveyed trail, and 
partly on road allowances; from Medi- 
cine Hat the road is through Cole- 
ridge, Irvine and Walsh, thence on to 
Maple ( reek, just outside the IioUndary 
line. Fntcring Saskatchewan the road 
heads almost directly for Swift Cur- 

Canadian Pacific Railway Co. 

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TRANS-CANADA . Splendid trains 
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If you are interested consult C. P. R. Agents. 


General Passenger Agent, 


General Passenger Agent, 

A. C. SHAW, 

General Passenger Agent, 

rent, thence it follows closely the Can- 
adian Pacific Railway to Waldeck, 
thence east across Lake Chaplain, 
then following the north boundary of 
township sixteen through Moose Jaw 
to Broadview, and from there following 
a south easterly direction, part of the 
way on surveyed roads paralleling 
the Canadian Pacific Railway, in line 
to Fleming, thence straight east to the 
Manitoba boundary, striking this pro- 
vince at the north east angle of section 
one, township thirteen, range thirty, 
west of the first meridian. Through 

Manitoba the road is through the olde 
settled districts of the province, traver " 
sing the cities of Brandon, Portage la 
Prairie and Winnipeg. East of Winni- 
peg there is a good road for about 
twenty miles, after which .sparsely 
settled country is entered. The road 
along the great lakes is not yet out- 
lined, but it is the intention to touch 
at Port Arthur, the Soo, Parry Sound 
and then head almost due east for 
Ottawa. From the capital city the 
route is towards Montreal, passing 
probably to the south of this city 




Are well known attributes of the 


R M. S. S. "Royal Edward" "Royal George" 

The fastest steamers in the British-Canadian Service, 
which have created a new standard of appointment and 
exclusive features in all classes of accommodation. 


From St, 

John, N.B. 
Jan. 14, 1914 
Jan. 28 

From Bristol. 


Feb. 25 
March 11 
March 25 
April 8 









Wednesday, Feb 11. 
Wednesday, Feb, 25. 
Wednesday, March 11. 
Wednesday, March 26. 
Wednesday, April 8. 
For Quebec and Montreal. 

And regularly thereafter. 

*WiUidrawn for annual inspection. 

Cabins de luxe — Suites and rooms with 
private baths at rates that appeal. 

For all information apply to Steamship Agents or to the following 
offices of the Company: 

52 King Street, E., Toronto, Ont. 226 St. James Street, Montreal, Que. 
683 Main Street, Winnipeg, Man. 123 Hollis Street, Halifax, N. S. 

Canada Life Building, Princess Street, St. John, N. B. 

Canadian Northern Steamships, Limited 

and stretching east to Sherbrook, where 
it will swing northeast, paralleling 
the boundary line of (he state of Maine, 
taking a south easterly direction a few 
miles from Riviere du Loup and then 
by the most direct route through New 
Brunswick and Nova Scotia to Halifax, 
touching at Moncton and Truro on 
the way to the eastern terminus of a 
gigantic King's Highway. 

It is difficult to ascertain the cost of 
the building of this road; because 
much of it is already built. But for 
the purpose of an estimate it may be 
assumed that it will cost in the neighbor- 
hood of S6,500 per mile. As the road 
will be approximately four thousand 
miles in length, this means S26,000,00O 
or less than five dollars per capita of 
Canada's population. The mainten- 
ance of this road will probably mean 
ten per cent, of the construction cost, 
or §2,600,000 per annum, a small 
amount indeed compared to the im- 
mense saving which will he derived 
from the opening of this great highway. 
It is intended that the financing of 
this road will be carried out jointly 
by the Dominion and by the Pro- 
vincial authorities, the Dominion 
Government furnishing fifty-one per 
cent, and the Provincial forty-nine 
per cent, of the cost. The control of 
the highway will be in the hands of 
the federal authorities. 

The provincial authorities, however, 
will have the actual spending of the 
money, but they will work under the 
direct supervision of the federal 
authorities. The engineers will over- 
see all work carried on and will ha\'e 
the power to make any necessary 
changes or alterations. The work 
would have to be done according to a 
definite standard, exception of course 
being made for places where physical 
conditions would render this impos- 

A review of the scenic attractions 
along the route of the Canadian High- 
way is impossible in the limited scope 
of this article, the many and diversified 
attractions of each province meriting 
individual treatment. 

Much has already been written of 
the beauties of British Columbia, but 
there is no use in trying to tell about 
them on paper. The chronicler may 
sit down with his conscience on one 
hand and the shade of John Knox on 
the other, determined to state simply 
the bald, inalterable facts — and before 
he has written three lines his copy 
bears the mark of the enraptured ad- 
writer describing a choice subdivision 
in Heaven. The chronicler knows. 
He tried it. British Columbia must 
be seen from the Canadian Highway 
to be believed. The prairies have a 
charm of golden grain and wide sky as 
singular as that of British Columbia's 
peaks and valleys; and the rock-ribbed 



f n iiii i iiiii i i i i i i ii i ii ii ii in iii i i i iBiniS 


j^ -^^^ 


Ma her 

Get Your 
Canadian Home 

from the 

Canadian Pacific 


WrHY farm on high-priced, worn out lands when the 
richest virgin soil is waiting for you in Manitoba^ Sas- 
katchewan and Alberta^ the great Prairie Provinces of 

Western Canada? Your new home and fortune are ready for you 
in the famous, fertile Canadian West. Why shouldn't you be one 
of the prosperous Western Canada farmers in a few years from nov\ ? 
Nowhere can you find better land than tliis rich soil of the prairie provinces. 

One Twentieth Down 

— Balance in 20 Years 

Land From $ 1 1 To $30 An Acre 

The Canadian Pacific Railway Company offers you the finest irrigated and 
non-irrigated land along its lines at low figures — lands adapted to grain growing, 
poultry raising, dairying, mixed farming, and to cattle, hog, sheep and horse 
raising — in the Prairie Provinces of Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta. 

We Lend You $2,000 for Farm Improvements 

An offer of a $2,000 loan for farm development only, with no other security than the 
land itself, guarantees our confidence in the fertility of the soil and in your ability to make it 
produce prosperity for you and traffic for our lines. The $2,000 will help you erect buildings 
and put in your first crop, and you are given 20 years to fullv repay the loan. You pay only 
the banking interest of 6 per cent. 

Advance of Live Stock on Loan Basis 

The Company, in the case of the approved land purchaser who is in a position to take 
L'ue of his stock, will advance cattle, sheep and hogs to the value of $1,000 on a loan basis. 

Magnificent soil, good climate, good market, excellent schools, good government, all 
are awaiting you inWestern Canada; and a great Railway Company whose interest it is to help 
you to succeed, is offering you the pick of the best. The best land is being taken first. Don't 
wait. Ask for our free books today. Learn why 133,700 Americans from the best farming 
states in the United States moved to Western Canada in twelve months. Thousands are 
getting the choicest farms. Why shouldn't yon, too, share in the rapid development, and the 
great increase in values that are taking place in these 
three great Prairie Provinces, where you can easily 
get a farm that will make you more money for life 
than you can earn farming in any other place on the 
Continent. This coupon, a postal card or a letter 
will liritiR you by return mail full information, handsome 
illustr:i!crl hool.s .'inil iiKips. Write and investigate today. 



Book on 

1 I Book on 


□ Book on 
(.Make a cross in the squaro opposite llie liouk wanlid) 
Address: Canadian Pacific Ry., Depl. of Natural Resources 
20 Ninth Avenue West, Calgary, AlberU. 



Dept. of Natural Resources 
20 Ninth Avenue West, Calgary, Alberta 

'I^ Town lota in all urowintf towni. Aak for information c 


Please send me the books indicated above. 



f.-.-.-^-" ' t'mBiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiniii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiH iiiiiiiiiiiiHiinnniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii/Hinni iiiii i iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

Pkut msntlon Canada Momthlv wh«o writing to sdvntiwrs. 


What You See on 

the Panama Canal 

The tropical sun rising out of the 
Pacific over the thatclied huls of the 
natives; rare flowers in splenditl pro- 
fusion; monkeys and panols chattcrir.g 
in the trees of the dense, dank, jungle; 
and the wonderful Cf.nal, practically 
complete and with ships passing through 
— all theseyou wiilsceandmoreloo, on 


Panama Canal-West Indies Cruises 

^Van. 14 Cuba, Panama. Jamaica, Porto Rico. 

Bahamas 22 days $160 »p 

Feb. 12 Cuba, Jamaica. Panama, Venezuela, 
Trinidad, Barbados. Martinic:ue, St. Thomas, Port'* 

Rico. B^Samas -29 days $175 up 

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Write for booklet "To the Canal and Caribbcaa" 

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I.aiirentians and fat farm-lands of 
Ontario that give place to the quaint 
Frencli villages of old Quebec and the 
bleak maritime provinces are all beauti- 
ful after their kind. 

When the men of vision first pre- 
sented the idea of a line of railway 
flung from coast to coast, those who 
heard it laughed. There were big 
men and wise who prophesied that it 
would be a gigantic commercial failure, 
earning not enough to pay for the axle- 
grease. Even so to-day, there are 
many who say that a transcontinental 
highway is unnecessary and impractic- 
able. Time will show the right of 
that. But in the meantime we will 
have something more to say of the 
faith that is in us. 


Wake of the Titanic 

Continued from page 167. 

"He's answering," she trilled. 
"What does he say ?" 
"What's all this dam' row about ?" 
she translated and bit her lip and 
frowned and wrinkled with amusement 
and confusion. A woman sometimes 
gets it stiff monkeying with a man's 

"Tell him," I shrilled, "that we're 
Yankees, seeking protection under the 
Yankee flag, in a Yankee harbor. The 
captain will drop for that. He's a 
Vermonter, that I know." 
She told him. 

The enormous steamer, flying her 
gallant red-white-and-blue, shifted, 
put on swiftness, and, just as the Vam- 
pire nicked a shot through our masts, 
paraded with a pompous grace between 
us and the police boat of the Newfound- 
landers. Side by side, while the Vam- 
pire vainly manoeuvered for vantage, 
we swung up the harbor and the sun 
tore the clouds apart to wink down 
upon us with a boozy eye. Roily on 
the bridge was shouting orders at the 
pilot-house, Marcia and I hung on the 
bow and winked back at the sun, 
half-drunk ourselves with joy 

"We've got through," she sobbed 
and laughed together, and suddenly I 
realized under what a strain she had 
been for us. All along I had known 
what it was to feel like a hounded crim- 
inal, but it had not occurred to me 
that she had felt it, too — and the added 
responsibility of rescuing us from the 
tangle we had got into. I laid a swift 
hand on her shoulder. " It's all your 
doing," I said, and there was a catch 
in my voice. Suddenly something 
thrilled in me, and I tightened my 
grasp on her shoulder. 

"You've everything now," she mur- 
mured and turned those wonderful 
eyes up at me again, "everything." 

"Not everything," I answered sadly, 
"and am not like to have. The hand- 
some fellows, like Roily, get the sort of 


r* Florida Water ^^ 


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TN the Bath it is coaling 
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Ask Your Druggist for It. 
Accept no Substitute I 





MW;,^' The best on the marketl ^^s^^ 

John Labatt^iF"^ London 



thing I wish most. I suppose he's won 
that now." I gazed down upon her 

The puckers wizened in between 
her brows, her face became all one 
puzzle; then suddenly she understood 
and was girlish and blushing and 
exceeding sweet to look upon. She 
twisted her face clean away and I 
dared not make a sound, waiting. 
When her eyes danced back they were 
bubbling with laughter. 

"Why don't you speak for yourself, 
Rob ?" she aua^•cred. 



^Working th e Bigges t 
Farm In Canada 

Continued from page 187. 

ama Canal to-day — a year ahead of 
time. The world has stopped and 
wondered at this, a government job 
completed far ahead of scheduled 
time; completed at less than the 
estimated cost, though several unfore- 
seen accidents occurred in the shape of 
landslides which added enormously to 
the expense of the "ditch"; completed 
with a minimum loss of life and health 
in a country where the grim reaper had 
taken a fearful toll in human life when 
the same job was attempted years ago. 

Not only has the world's biggest job 
been done successfully, but it has been 
done with an efficiency which the world 
never saw before on an undertaking of 
such magnitude. And Europe and 
America wanted to know the reason. 
It can be found in the carr^'ing out of 
one idea — care and human considera- 
tion of the man who does the work, in 
every phase of his being — an idea as 
old as the race, but one which has 
found such a great exposition on the 
job at I'anama that it has struck the 
world as a new and tremendous con- 
ception. Conditions affecting health 
were first made right for the workman; 
then he was given comfortable, hygienic 
housing and clean nourishing food. 
His intellectual, recreative and spiritual 
wants were cared for, and finally in the 
doing of his work he was given not only 
big pay but the much greater incentive 
of rapid jiromotion and reward for 
every idea, suggestion or invention 
which made it pKissible to move more 
dirt in less time, to handle more con- 
crete or in general to make things move 
faster, cheaper or better in digging 
"Goethals" Ditch." 

.And what has all this got to do with 
the biggest farm in Canada, you ? 
Just this. Boyd is applying this stune 
principle to the running of his farm, 
and he has done so since the begin- 
ning of his management. .'\nd Boyd 
will tell you, as he told me, that it pays. 

During the spring or seeding time 
Ciceter estate employs twenty-five to 
thirty men. And when the har\est 
comes you will find at work from eighty 
to ninety men. Does this number 
seem small or large ? It is large con- 
sidered as the number of hands on one 
farm, but small if you think of the 
harvest that is handled so efficiently. 
Many of these men are homesteaders. 
They fulfill the legal reciuirements of 
residence on their own farms near by, 
and make neat additions to their 
incomes by lending a helping hand at 
Circicr during rush sea.sons. The 
avi r.i^;c wage of the hands who remain 
tlie greater |)art of the year is thirty- 


Canadian Bank of Commerce 


CAPITAL $15,000,000.00 REST $13,500,000.00 

SIR EDMUND WALKER. C V.O.. LL.D., D.C.L.. President 


General Manager 


Assistant General Manager 

V. C. BROWN. Superintendent of Central Western Branches 



Interest at the current rate is allowed on all deposits of $1.00 and 
upwards. Small accounts are welcomed. Accounts may be opened in 
the names of two or more persons, withdrawals to be made by any one of 
the number. 

Accounts can be opened and operated by mail as easily as by a per- 
sonal visit to the Bank. 

five dollars per month. The average 
during harvest is S2..")() per day. 

Ciceter has never had trouble in 
obtaining |)lenty of high-class help, not 
even at harvest time. Since all 
America suffers more or less from 
shortage of laborers in the harvest, 
there must be a reason for abtmdant 
hel]) at Ciceter. There is ! Boyd's 
establishment is known as a p'ace 
where beds are dean and g<MKl, and 
where the inner man can have plenty 
«)f the best fo(Kl the countrv affords. 

Fresh meal, fresh eggs and milk are 
supplied the workers at all times, 
besides an alnuuhuu'e of vegetables 
and everything else that goes to make 
up a well-filletl table. 

The old and barbarous — to those 
with less than a farm hand's ap|ietite 

New Kngland custom of having pie 
and cake for breakfast still holds g<MKl 
at Ciceter. Never a meal there is 
served during harvest or any other 
sea.son which does not offer at least 
two kinds of cake and a pie. Ciceter 


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workers boast the best doughnuts on 
earth, and perhaps they are, for with 
cooks whf) know their business and 
freshly rendered lard from hogs grown 
on the place, they ought to be ! 

The cooks are frequently the wives 
of the homesteaders mentioned. They 
are not merely good cooks, but invar- 
iably they are good motherly, middle- 
aged housewives who care for the men 
as only such women can. Having 
women of this sort on the farm gives 
it a homelike and refining character 
that never yet existed in an exclusively 
man-made camp. Everything is com- 
fortable, everything is clean, including 
the talk of the men, for at Ciceter there 
is a notable absence of profanity and 
objectionable speech of all kinds. 

If any man is sick, he receives home 
treatment as well as the medical 
attention provided at the expense of 
the farm. If any man's socks need 
darning, these kindly women look after 
this. A farm worker at Ciceter is a 
man at home, that's all — but home is 
the best place man can be ! 

Getting back to another feature of 
the Panama idea, at Ciceter every man 
from chore boy up to master mechanic 
and superintendent is urged to be a 
man of ideas for the improvement of 
the farm and methods of doing the 
farm work. And promotion and re- 
muneration come to the man who does 
use his brains at Ciceter. 

If you were at Ciceter on a certain 
day each week, you would see some- 
thing most unusual — farm work sud- 
denly stopped, automobiles going about 
gathering up the farm hands and 
everyone making for an appointed 
place of meeting, a parliament of 
husbandmen. It may be during the 
gathering in of a bumper crop when 
every hour of work is worth money, it 
may be at a time when work is not so 
urgent, but whatever the condition of 
business, for this weekly exchange of 
ideas everything stops for two solid 
hours ! 

One privileged enough to be present 
at such a meeting would see Boyd 
presiding, drawing out by persuasion 
and (luestioning from the not too 
fluent speakers gathered there the 
ideas, plans and suggestions that mean 
the betterment, progress and greater 
profits of Ciceter Estate. 

Boyd saA's it is a remarkable fact 
that the valuable ideas most frequently 
come from those in the lowliest posi- 
tions on the farm. This is perhaps 
accounted for by the general efficiency 
of things there, for which the foremen, 
under Boyd, are responsible, and hav- 
ing attained this perfection of work as 
a whole, it is in the details only of 
carrying it out that improvements may 
be made. And the small man who 
looks after the details is of course the 
one who sees them, and at these 


Hit Hard, Shoot Far, Last Long 

They are perfectly balanced, 
handsore'y fnished and "All 
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1 ored upon the f Jreener Field 
Cup winning system guarantee- 
ing regular distribution of the 
shot over long series and maxium 
killing power. 

Free Catalogue No. 45, describes 38 

grades from $63 00 to 81,000.00. 

Send for your copy now. 


63 and 65 Beaver Hall Hill 





on the 




sessionsjtellsjhow they may be im- 
proved. !-< 

As I said, two hours of every week 
are given to this congress of Ciceter 
workers. It is popular with the men 
because it gives them something to 
look forward to — promotion ! The 
teamster by springing an idea may 
become foreman; the engineer's helper 
may become engineer; the foremen and 
master mechanic may prove they are 
live wires; from the minutes which are 
carefully kept, the management has 
material on which to base progress; 



M^— eac 
^B Th( 

and not least important of all, general 
good feeling and understanding are 

Boyd has acted as host on the Ciceter 
estate to many persons of distinction, 
members of the nobility from England 
and financiers of note from the United 
States and Canada. No one ever 
visits Ciceter without acquiring a 
broader idea of the possibilities of 
agriculture, without getting a deeper 
perception of the truth that Western 
Canada has already taken its place as 
the greatest granary of the world. 

Boyd tells with pleasure of a four 
mile trip in a traction engine which a 
certain titled lady took with him 
around a section of land at Ciceter. 
With great delight she played the part 
of engineer, and Boyd says the machine 
rose to the occasion, the engine behaved 
beautifully and the harvesting rna- 
chines behind, cutting the golden grain, 
worked with a will to show their best 

.And it is no wonder that titled ladies 
should feel something of the romance 
of the working of the gigantic equip- 
ment at Ciceter. A conservative 
estimate of the value of the farm's 
machinerj- is 8110,000. There are 
seven 40-horsepower gaso'ine traction 
engines which are tireless workers for 
twenty-four hours a day during a good 
part of the year. During the breaking 
season, April, May and June, these 
engines each haul eight plows when 
virgin soil is being torn up; and in 
turning over the land for summer 
fallow in May, June and July, each 
engine pulls ten plows. Again in 
September and October. these oxen of 
steel work day and night continuously 
on fall plowing. Where a man and 
horse can plow two acres a day, these 
engines with gang plows, in charge of 
an engineer and a plow man, tear up 
thirty-five acres of soil per day of 
twenty-four hours. 

Harv'esting a great grain crop is a 
sight which for beauty and interest is 
unetjualled in the world of agricul- 
ture. And the harvest at Ciceter is the 
king of all these sights. Thirty-five 
binders max be seen at work. F^ach 
traction engine hauls eight binders, 
each binder in charge of a driver. 
The swath of each binder is eight feet, 
with eight binders at work the vast 
of grain falls beside the reapers in 

path sixty-four feet wide — this behind 
each engine. With thirty-five binders 
at work, think of the grain that is cut, 
l)ound and stacked in the course of a 
day's harvest at Ciceter ! 

The estate owns its own threshers, 
and the operating of them is hardly 
less interesting than that of the 
harvesting machines. An unusual 
feature of the threshing at Ciceter's 
the use of portalile granaries. As the 
threshing progresses these granaries, 




'•0/a!l drinks wine is the 
vwst profitable, of medicine 
most pleasant, and of dainty 
Z'iands most harmless", 

PLUTARCH, (A.D., 26) 

Good HealthTo All 

vSuch ailments as General Debility, Loss of 
appetite, Sleeplessness, Extreme Nervous- 
ness, Bad Colds, Brain-fag, Anaemia, 
Chlorosis, La Grippe, Dyspepsia, Lassitude, 
Kxhaustion, Etc., can be rapidly dispelled 
by a few generous glasses of Wilson's 
Invalids' Port (^ la Quina du Perou). 

Dr. R. Lawrence, the eminent Phjsician, 

"I had recent occasion to presenile Wilson's 
Invalids' Tort to a patient who had been 
sufferinj; from a severe attack of La G rippe, 
with great satisfaction to niy.self, and to 
the patient who made a rapid recovery." 





which have a total capacity of 75,000 
l)ushels, are moved from section to 
section, taking care of the grain which 
accumulates more rapidly than even 
the wagon trains of ten wagons each 
hauled by a tractor can dispose of. 

These wagon trains are a pretty 
sight, and the work they do is on a big 
scale, like everything else on the big 

Ciceter has its own elevators with a 
total capacity of 60,000 bushels. The 
wagon trains work direct between the 

threshers and the elevators, ami from 
time toj^timc relieve the portable 
granaries of their wheat, flax or oats. 
At Ciceter one may see during thresh- 
ing time three trains of wagons moving 
to the elevator at the rate of six miles 
an hour, each train carrying a whole 
carload of grain. When the train 
reaches the elevator the ten wagons 
are emptied and loaded by the elevator 
into the railroad car in only ten 
minutes' time ! 
The best of machinery will wear and 


A treat 
in store 


Everybody is delio;fned 
witli the ne\Y and deli- 
cious flavour of H. P. 

Grocers and 
Stores here 
are selling 

When in the West 

Drink Western Canada's 
Favorite Beer 



E. L. Drewry 




Pies, I'uddings, Sauces and 
Ice Creams try Shirriff's True 
Vanilla. The real extract of 
Mexican Vanilla Beans. Sur- 
passes all others in flavor, 
bouquetand strength. 


will break, and this contingency is not 
unprovided for at Ciceter. Boyd has 
installed a modern and fully equipped 
blacksmith and machine shop. It has 
a jxjwerful engine lathe and the equip- 
ment which one finds in any large and 
first-class machine and iron and steel 
working shop. Fully ninety per cent 
of the repair parts of all machinery' 
used on the farm are manufactured on 
the estate — the very climax it would 
seem of the whole idea of modem 
scientific farm management. The 
machinist in charge of this shop is an 
experienced man from one of the inter- 
national tractor and harvesting ma- 
chinery companies. 

If you have now considered the 
marvels of the mechanical end of 
modem farming to your satisfaction, 
let us refresh ourselves at one of the 
numerous natural springs on the farm 
— not forgetting that gasoline ma- 
chinery does the pumping for us^ — and 
before saying farewell to Ciceter Estate 
get back to first principles and old 
delights in farming i)y taking a look at 
our never failing, ever indispensable 
friend — the horse ! 

Where machinery does everything, 
what are horses for, ornaments ?^you 
rnay ask. Though it seems' 'teo some- 
times at Ciceter, machinery really does 
not do everything in farming, and 
though predictions as to the future 
product of inventive genius are hazard- 
ous, it is fairly safe to say that it will 
be many a day before the horse is 
dispensed with on the farm. Though 
automobiles are used extensively at 
Ciceter, yet the manager and the fore- 
men use some of the finest type saddle 
horses in Western Canada for getting 
from point to point of this sixteen 
square miles of farm. Then the horse 
is thoroughly reliable in all kinds of 
weather. He can go through snow and 
over ice and deep in mud, and do so 
gallantly where, the most powerful 
engine flounders helplessly. Then for 
gardening and the small work about the 
farm the horse is as useful as he ever 
was and is likely to remain for years 
the faithful servitor of man on the farm. 
A look at the stables of the Ciceter 
Estate convinces us that Boyd knows 
horse flesh. Besides the blooded saddle 
horses, we see thirty-two of the finest 
types of Clydes and Percherons for 
working purposes. 

The results of grain farming on this 
estate have added to the glory of the 
prairie provinces as earth's greatest 
grain country; the mixed farming 
methods practiced here might well 
serve as models for all Western Canada ; 
the profits made we may well belie^•e 
have been great. And a point that 
should not be overlooked is that the 
scientific working of the land has 
increased its value intrinsically from 
twenty-five dollars an acre — the price 



3 for 50. 

A comfortable collar and 
correct style. 


Dressing Gowns and 


Jaeger Dressing (,"owns for men are 
made from pure w'ool cloths and 
pure undyed can- el hair fieeces. 
The pure wool gowns are in fancy 
checks, plain colors and f gured de- 
signs. The camel hair is particu- 
larly attractive and comfortable. 

Smoking and Lounge Jackets are 
made in equal variety of the same 
materials and fashioned to please 
the most fastidious men. In sizes 
from 36 to 46 chest. 



352 Portage Ave., Carlton Block, 


of raw^ land in the ^■icinity — to forty 
dollars an acre. 

Shaking hands with L. Benson Boyd 
on leaving, we realize that the fourteen 
years he spent in land cruising for one 
of the coast-to-coast railroads and in 
roughing it on the farms of Western 
Canada were years productive of big 
ideas and of the stamina to make them 
realities. The farmers are the back- 
bone of the nation and he is a mightily 
live nerve in its spinal column, a cap- 
tain of the world's greatest industry'. 
And he's young still — only thirty-three. 



Nurse Linds Heart 

Continued from page 180. 

rolled his head from side to side a 
moment, and relapsed into lethargy. 

"There !" said Dr. Frain, turning 
from the unconscious man, syringe still 
in hand. "You aren't the only one who 
can give hypodermics." 

The professional manner of Nurse 
Lind wavered, and broke. They 
laughed together, softly. One laugh 
like that is worth a dozen dances in 
friendship power. 

"How did you make it ?" he demand- 
ed, when they had caught their breath. 

"Just sneaked out in a minute when 
all the nurses had gone. I nearly 
stifled in that little cupboard. I had 
to get out, or faint and fall out; and — ■ 
can you imagine Sister Martha picking 
me up ?" 

"You're sure you are all right now ?" 
asked the doctor anxiously. 

"Oh, yes !" she answered, and some- 
how, for no accountable reason, she 
flushed again. "Perfectly. But I must 
go now. This is dreadfully unpro- 
fessional. I don't know what you can 
think of me, — but really — " she turned 
wistful big eyes up to him, like a child 
repentant for a fault — "I'm not in the 
habit of things like — -like this, and I'm 
dreadfully sorry, Dr. Frain." 

Mrs. Dr. F"rain has great difficulty 
in making her husband believe it was 
simply strychnine she used in her 
hyfxxlermic, for he vows that his heart 
has never been normal since. 

Pedlar s Pack 

Continued from page 191. 

scious. Of late, the rodents had 
become bold. A maid woke one morn- 
ing to find a lady rat and her young 
ones occupying a nice nest on the 
clothes which had been neatly piled on 
a chair beside the bed. Another 
employee of the house had had her lip 
piercefl by a rat while she slept. It was 
found necessiiry to pinch him with a 
hot tongs before he would let go, so all 
told, the arrival of f)ld John Goaly was 
greeted with cheers. The first night 
John caught sixteen, which he proudly 
exhibitwi next morning and was i)aid 
for. The next, he caught fifteen, and 
so on, one less each night until he 
found himself with four or five high- 
smelling gamey ones. These he threw 
in all together as it might be on bar- 
gain day — scj to say. Thus was he 
paid many times over for the original 
rats until the job-lot betrayed him in 
malodorous fashion, and he was kicked 
out by a stabUr hand whose delicate 
sense of smell he had offended by wip- 

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ing his face with a decadent rodent. 
Stable Mick gave away old John's 
secret of running a rat ranch and there- 
after the stjueakers waxed strong and 
fat until routed by ferrets and terrier. 
Seattle is hounding the bubonic rats. 
Seven of them landetl recently from a 
ship. All vessels are now being scarch- 
c<l, but s<j wise is the rat, so unerring in 
his judgment, so keen is his telepatic 
sense, that on the word of a press des- 

patch, an army of rodents was observed 
not long since leaving the ship on a 
moonlight night, as she was about to 
dock at the great western town, and 
boarding another which was weaving 
her way out of port. 


A BUSINESS man has brought an 

action against an organ-grinder for 

wilfully causing annoyance. Prose- 



Ask Your Grocer For 


—use it for breakfast to-mor- 
row — and note the satisfied ^ 
smile as your husband enjoys 
his morning cup. 

Chase & Sanborn, Montreal. 




Keep Your Eyes Young 

The Rayo Lamp changes kerosene into something very 
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The ideal l^ht for reading and sewing — far better for the 
eyes than gas or electricity. Stock carried at all chief points. 

For best results use ROYALITB OIL. 


Toronto Montreal Winnipeg Vancouver 

Ottawa Quebec Calgary Edmonton 

Halifax St. John Regina Saskatoon 


cutor found it impossible to dictate his 
letters to his stenographer while the 
Italiano was churning out "melodies" 
under his window. 

Imagine the shyness which would 
pervade the whole being of a sensitive 
business man sitting by the side of a 
pretty girl dictating letters, while a 
rude piano under his window mockingly 
insinuates — 
"And when I sleep, I always . . . 

And his name was Bill, too ! 


By Helen Clark Balmer 

THIS is not the title of a recently- 
exhumed Egyptian mummy, 
but the pet name of a dear little 
four-year-old's favorite doU. 
How well I recall the distinct visual 
shock when my eyes first encountered 
the battered features of this modem 
idol! For, indeed, Besserheart closely 
resembled a heathen war-god or a 
miniature totem-pole. I made her 
acquaintance on the occasion of a " Doll 
Show," which was given for charity, 
where her small mistress had innocently 
and confidently presented her for 
honors ; and certainly Besserheart, as I 
remember her, was an object for 
charitable consideration. But the un- 
imaginative manager of that unique 
exhibition hesitated about accepting so 
dubious a being among the becurled 
and beribboned beauties that were 
rapidly accumulating on her hands. 
However, a quick-witted assistant with 
an eye to increasing, the funds, solved 
the difficulty by making a new class 
where competitors for ugUness might be 
entered. Thus Besserheart had the 
distinction of creating a demand for 
dilapidated and pass^ specimens of 
dollkind. Apparently every nursery 
was ransacked for these queer "skele- 
tons in closets," and the result was a 
brave collection of "freaks" in every 
stage of dolorous decline, their very 
.unloveliness giving one that sensation 
of cumulative surprise which makes an 
inward agony of laughter. But none 
outdid Besserheart, who was, in herself, 
a complete crescendo of hideousness. 
It required time before I could 
calmly study her ; and what I then 
saw was a dirty waxen face tattooed 
in an impressionistic manner sug- 
gestive of small finger-nails, while 
a wisp of hair stood upright in a 
style to delight a Comanche scalp- 
hunter; the snubbed nose was clumsily 
pieced out with chewing-gum ; and, in 
lieu of an accommodating mouth, an 
empty eye-socket seemed to be the 
opening through which such dainties 
as pins and buttons were thrust for 
slow digestion. No wonder that her 
solitary eye had a hard glint and, like 



Jack Bunsby's, saw something this side 
of Greenland! 

With shorter arms than the Venus de 
MiJo ; one leg gone at the knee, and the 
other hanging by a few threads to a 
body, limp from loss of sawdust and 
airily attired in a single garment, whose 
condition was " of the earth, earthy " — 
Besserheart was photographed upon 
my memory. 

If she could be said to have expres- 
sion, it ought to have been called 
"tired," for the utter lack of atmos- 
phere caused the outlines to bo deep- 
ened into a h\as6 homeliness. I began 
to pity her; and glancing across the 
room at a rainbow- tinted group of new 
dollies blandly smiling into an unknown 
future, other changes, not so obviously 
wrought by certain small fingers, came 
to mind; and Besserheart assumed a 
softer aspect while a mist of happy 
yesterdays wrapped her in friendly 
cloudiness. And then a tiny warm 
hand slipped into mine, even as a con- 
tented little voice chattered about the 
manv handsome dolls with their won- 
derful clothes! There was never a hint 
of jealousy nor consciousness that her 
own darling was not so attractive or 
desirable; because, no doubt, the spot- 
lessly clean creatures were objects not to 
be handled with all the loving familiari- 
ty of her old, long-suffering favorite. 

How glad I was when the awarding 
of prizes gave a medal to Besserheart! 
although I almost resented the fact 
that she won it by reason of being, in 
the minds of the astute judges, " posi- 
tively the ugliest doll they ever saw!" 

Uncle Sam's Eagle Eye 

'•'■T TNCLE SAM" is a very paternal 
I I uncle indeed. A young army 
officer who has seen service on 
the Arizona plains and on the Maine 
coast ami in Cuba, tells twf) stories out 
of his own experience, to show the 
accuracy with which the War Depart- 
ment follows the movements of officers. 

"I was with a small scouting party 
in Arizona," he says, "and after two 
weeks in the desert my scjuad came 
to the railroad near a small station. 
Within ten minutes a dispatch from 
Washington was brought to me by the 
station agent. It asked if I wished 
to be transferrcxl to one of the two 
new artillery regiments then forming. 

"I answerefl by telegraph that I 
should be glad to enter either of them. 
Then we set off again acrf)ss the desert. 

"It was six (lays later when wc again 
struck the railroad, this time eighty 
miles from the [loint at which we had 
previf)usly crossed it. But my reply 
from the department was awaiting 
me. It had been telegraphed to every 


Nose Pores 

How to reduce them 

Complexions otherwise flawless are often ruined 
by conspicuous nose pores. In such cases the 
small muscular fibres of the nose have become 
weakened and do not keep the pores closed as 
they should be. Instead these pores collect dirt, 
clog up, and become enlarged. 

Be^ia to-ni^ht to use this 

Wring a doth from very hot water, lather it with 
Wo<>dbury'8 Facial Soap, then hold it to your face. When 
the heat has expanded the pores, rub in very gently a fresh 
lather of Woodbury's. Repeat this hot water and lather 
application several times, stepping at once when your nose 
feels xensitive. Then finish by rubbing the nose for a few 
minutes with a lump of ice, 

Woodbury's Facial Soap cleanses the pores. This 
treatment with it strengthens the muscular fibres of the 
nose pores so that they can contract properly. But do 
not expect to change in a weelc a condition resulting from 
years of neglect. Use this treatment persistently. It will 
gradually reduce the enlarged pores and cause_them to 
co ntract until they arc inconspicuous. _ ^^^ 

E'Tear off the illustration'"of the cake shown below and 
put it in your purse as a reminder to get Woodbury's and 
try this treatment. Try Woodbury's also for general toilet 
use^^e^whatad elightful fe eling it gives your skin.") JM 

Woodbury's Facial Soap costs 25c a cake. No one 
hesitates at the price after their finl cake. 


Facial Soap 

For sale by Canatlian dealers from coast to 
coast induding Newfoundland. 

Write to-day to the Woodbury 
Canadian Factory for samples. 

For Ac we will send a sample Cake. For 
10c samples of Woodbury's Facial Soap, 
Facial Cream and Facial Powder. For 50c 
a copy of the Woodbury Book and samples of 
the Woodbury preparations. Write to-day 
to the Andrew Jergens Co , Ltd., Ilia 
Sherbrooke St.. Perth, Ontario. 


station within two hundred miles. 
"A more striking instance of accur- 
acy occurred after my transfer to the 
East. I was traveling home on leave, 
and as the regulations require, I had 
notified the department of the day, 
hour and probable route of my journey. 
After I had been on the train for eight 
hours, at a small station the porter 
entered with a telegram, asking if any 
one of my name was present. On open- 
ing the dispatch, I found that it was 

from the adjutant-general's office, 
ordering me on detached duty. 

"Exactness of detail could not be 
carried much farther. The depart- 
ment knew the whereabouts of an 
insignificant second lieutenant, even 
when he was traveling on leave of 

The u.sual British idea of the meth- 
ods of the Americiin army is not at all 
in accordance with this incident, and 
it is interesting to note its significance. 




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floors finished with Liquid 

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White Enamel, unequa'- 
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Liquid Granite gives perfect protection 
to wood floors, linoleum and oil cloth, 
besides being the best varnish to put on. 
It is easily applied, dries quickly and 
lasts for years. 

It is especially good for floors where 
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"More Sonnets of an Office Boy" by samuel e. kiser 

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Sense and Nonsense 

Light boxes or water torches, which 
will float on the water and give a great 
flare of light for an hour, are the latest 
application of the modern chemical 
marvel, calcium carbide. In Paris 
such light Ixjxes are being sold for use 
as fireworks at celebrations, but in 
Germany they ha\e been developed 
much further. 

Cylinders of the calcium carbide are 
fired from guns like ordinary shells, so 
that a ship can surround itself with a 
circle of great flare-lights, each burning 
at three thousand candle power for 
an hour. When the cylinders strike 
the water they sink slowly and water 
seeps into the carbide. This generates 
gas and brings the cylinders back to the 
surface; and then an automatic device 
lights the gas. 

An old captain and his mate went 
into a restaurant near the docks and 
ordered dinner. The waiter placed a 
plate of curious liquid before them. 

"I say, young fellow, what's this 
stuff?" shouted the captain. 

"Soup, sir," replied the waiter. 

"Soup?" shouted the old sea dog. 
"Soup, Bill" (turning to the mate), 
"just think of that! Here you and me 
have been sailing on soup all our lives, 
an' never knowed it till now !" 

Directive heaters have now appeared 
for electric heating in homes as a sup- 
plement to regular heating systems on 
cold days, or on chilly days of the fall 
and spring when ordinary heating 
systems are not in use. The new 
heaters appear much like the little 
electric heaters that have become well 
known lately, but they have the added 
quality of largely directing heat to one 
spot. Accordingly, if a person wishes 
to warm his feet he can direct all the 
power of the heater to his feet. Para- 
bolic metal mirrors are used on much 
the same principle as a searchlight. 

Gladstone, when a boy, was visiting 
in the country and the farmer was 
showing him around. Coming to a 
field that contained a large black bull, 
the farmer said: "There's a fine, 
strong bull there, Master William, 
and it's only two years old." 

"How do you tell its age ?" queried 
the boj-. 

"Why, by its horns," said the farmer. 

"By its horns ?" Young Gladstone 
looked thoughtful a moment, then his 
face cleared. "Ah, I see. Two horns 
— two years." 

Gabe — Smith seems to be a busy 

Steve — Yes, he has hives, prickly 
heat, hay fever and a favorite team in 
five different baseball leagues." 



NO. 4 



Herding Ships by Wireless 

Win 11. \" a few months the 
Canadian > Government will 
have fenced their inland lakes 
with the invisible strands of 
wireless telegraphy. The coasts of British 
Columbia, tricky as the ledges of the 
Labrador, already are sentineled with 
the wood and steel shafts of Marconi 
machines, represent- 
ing the very latest 
thing in totem poles. 
From Sable Island, 
that tombstone of the 
sand banks, north to 
Anticosti, backwards 
into the Gulf or fol- 
lowing the currents 
through the iceberg 
promenades of Belle 
Isle, no ship can 
shout for help by day 
or night without at 
least three wireless 
men on Canadian 
soil giving her a 
cheery answer and 
drawing her from the 
ghastly list of the 

Canada is a "live wife" in radio- 
telegraphy — has been, in fact, from 
the day in 1902 when Marconi asked 
the Government for assistance in get- 
ting Glace Bay, Nova Scotia, to chat 
amiably with Poldhu, England. The 
Government gave him $80,000. Those 
were the times, just eleven years ago, 
too, when Marconi's name was poor 
backing for a bank draft — and the 
anvil brigade of "illustrious scientists" 
was rehearsing nightly in the village 

To England belongs the honor of 
giving Marconi his first encourage- 
ment, his first impf^rtant recognition 
and financial support, and of having 
the first "wireless message sent between 
two points on Salisbury Plain, a dis- 

By Robson Black 

Illustrated from Photographs 

tance of four miles. It was in Eng- 
land that Marconi took out his first 
patent, was given his first academic 
recognition, made his first cross-sea 
tests on the Bristol Channel and raised 
his first finances to put the inv^ention 
to the widest possible uses. Italy, 
Marconi's birthplace, was enthusiastic 

and considerate, l)ut it remained for 
Britishers to nourish the precious germ 
of discovery, and for Canadians to aid 
him at the genesis of trans-oceanic 
trials from Glace Bay. The relations 
between Signor Marconi and this 
country have been remarkably cordial 
and with mutual benefits of an import- 
ant character. There are now twenty- 
two stations equipped and operated by 
the Marconi Company of Canada and 
nine public-owned stations on the 
Pacific coast, all under supervision of 
the Canadian Department of Naval 
Service. Three other high-powered 
private plants are ofxirated by Cana- 
dian Explosives, Limited, between 
their works on Bowen Island in the 
Straits of Crcorgia and the mainland ; 

CopyriiU. 1914, iy iht VANDERItOOF-CVNN COM PAN Y. LTD. 

another by Mr. John C. Eaton, the 
Toronto and Winnipeg merchant, be- 
tween his yacht, store and residence. 

The wireless station being con- 
structed by the Canadian Government 
at Kingston consists of an operating 
house, a double dwelling (requiring 
over 400,000 feet of lumber), and two 

immense masts 185 feet high, the 

material used being Douglas fir. 
When this Government wireless 
system is completed there will 
be a chain of stations 200 miles 
apart from Belle Island on the 
Newfoundland coast, and includ- 
ing Father Point, Gross Isle, 
Quebec, Three Rivers, 
Montreal, Kingston, Port 
Burwell, Midland, Tober- 
mory, Sault Ste. Marie, 
to Port Arthur, at the 
west of Lake Superior. 
Tlie Canadian Gov- 
rmmcnt also has 
about eight wireless 
stations on the Pacific 

A government sys- 
tem of wireless from 
the Pas to Port Nelson is now in 
operation. A plant has been erected 
for the purp )se of keeping the depart- 
ment of railways and canals in touch 
with what is going on at Port .\elson, 
to which place there is no telegraphic 
communication of any kind. The 
wireless system has a radius of 1,000 
miles. .Ml messages from Port Nelson 
will be relayed to the Pas over the 
government wireless and from there to 
the east by the ordinary commercial 
systems. This wireless station will 
jiave the most powerful sending ap- 
paratus in the Dominion as well as 
very tall masts, of which there arc- two. 
The "crow's nest " of the sending mast 
is at a height of 250 feet from the 
ground, while th- ball of the truck is 

XU ri(Mi rtttntd. UJ 


285 feet from the base of the mast. 
Operator E. Richards, on November 
25th, reported a first trial of receiving 
instruments at the wireless station. 
Signals were obtained from Sayville, 
N. Y., Arlington, near Washington, 
Cape Cod, Mass., and Glace Bay, N. S. 

Accurate time can be obtained any 
night at nine o'clock from Arlington, 
which station obtains it from the 
United States government observatory 
at Darlington. Also the Atlantic 
coast weather forecasts from the 
Meteorological department via Arling- 
ton. All stations on the lake shores 
can be heard and most of the boats on 
the lakes. Signals have also been 
heard from stations 
on the United 
States Pacific 
coast so that this 
station can hear 
what is going on 
from both sides of 
the continent. 

This wireless 
system is distinct 
from the Imperial 
British Govern- 
ment round -the- 
globe chain, the 
contract for con- 
struction of which 
has just been let 
to the Marconi 
Company, with 
Canadian high- 
power stations at 
Glace Bay, Nova 
Scotia, Winnipeg, 
and Vancouver. 
The United States 
Government has a 
powerful station at 
Arlington, Va., 
which at times can 
communicate with 
the Pacific coast 
and the Navy 
Department con- 
templates erecting 
a second wireless 
station at ' North 
Chicago, 111. I 

Wireless is mast- 
er of the Gulf of St. 
Lawrence and the dreaded Straits of 
Belle Isle. Two stations on the north 
shore of Newfoundland bridge the wild- 
est gales to meet three of their brethren 
on the lower edge of Labrador, Chateau 
Bay, Point Amour and Whittle Rocks. 
Lining the narrower funnel of the great 
river are the stations at Clarke City, 
Grosse Isle, Cape Bear on Prince 
Edward, Heath Point on Anticosti, 
Fame Point, Quebec City, and half a 
dozen others as good measure for No\a 
Scotia. On the Pacific Coast of Can- 
ada nine posts between Victoria and 
Prince Rupert are owned and operated 
by the Department of Naval Service, 


which also undertakes to train recruits 
for telegraphic employment. 

Less than a year ago, the Minister 
of Marine and Fisheries announced a 
piece of advanced legislation compel- 
ling practically all large steamers on 
the Great Lakes, which utilize Cana- 
dian ports, to install wireless and 
engage competent telegraphers. This 
step necessitated a corrtplementary 
establishment of wireless land stations. 
Port Arthur's wireless depot was taken 
over from the Marconi Company and 
tuned up with new stations at Sault Ste. 
Marie, Tobermory on Georgian Bay, 
and Midland, each possessing a lung 
power to be heard 350 miles, the cost of 


At the top is shown Cape Race station, where the first news of the Titanic disaster was picked up; to the right 

is Point Rich station, which gives and receives the last messages to steamers passing through Belle 

Isle; and at the bottom is Tobermory Station, on Georgian Bay. 

construction averaging $15,000 apiece. 
Last November the wireless station on 
the shores df Lake Huron, above Point 
Edward, picked up signals from the 
wireless station at Darwin, near Pal- 
terator, South Australia. It was call- 
ing the wireless station at Sydney. 
The signals received here were quite 
clear and audible, although the dis- 
tance they were transmitted was half 
way round the world. This is said to 
be a record distance in wireless teleg- 

Wireless is one of those humane 
necessities which a careful government 
must lay chiefly to the debits. Except 

possibly at Glace Bay where the trans- 
atlantic messages are delivered three 
thousand miles to Poldhu, England, 
there is no station receiving enough 
revenue from commercial patronage 
to pay fifty per cent, of the cost of 
upkeep. Perhaps this is a temporary 
condition, but the annual bill for Can- 
ada's wireless system, lop-sided from 
the auditor's viewpoint, is quite incon- 
siderable when measured to the stupen- 
dous returns in service. 

The SS. Prinz Oscar, a vessel of 
7,000 tons with a large and valuable 
cargo, sailed from Montreal on Satur- 
day, June 18, 1910, bound for Rotter- 
dam, Bremen and Hamburg. On the 
following Monday, 
towards evening, 
she went ashore 
to the southwest 
of Flower ledges, 
Newfoundland , 
near the western 
entrance to the 
Straits oi t Belle 
Isle. The captain 
immediately au- 
thorized the wire- 
less C. Q. D. call 
which was answer- 
ed by the Belle 
Isle station and 
the SS. Sicilian. 
The Belle Isle sta- 
tion, in turn, told 
the SS. Prinz Adal- 
bert, 140 miles 
away, of the acci- 
dent to her sister 
ship and the captain 
of the Prinz Os- 
car, whose wireless 
range was limited, 
was informed that 
Belle Isle had been 
speaking with the 
Adalbert. Three 
hours later the Cor- 
inthian, passing 
perhaps two hun- 
dred miles off, 
talked with Belle 
Isle and then 
quest^ioned the 
Oscar as to the 
The latter replied 
that she was safe for a time at least 
and preferred to depend on the 
Adalbert, knowing, of course, that a 
rescue by a rival ship at sea involves 
the payment of large sums in sal- 
vage. During that night the strand- 
ed ship was in continuous com- 
munication with three wireless of- 
fices, also with the Sicilian and the 
Montcalm, while conversation was 
exchanged at intervals between the 
captains of the companion vessels. 
In the meantime, the news of the 
accident had been sent by wireless and 
cable to Germany, the owners replying 

need of assistance. 



with an order for the wrecking steamer 
Strathcona in Quebec harbor to pro- 
ceed to her assistance. The people 
along the Newfoundland shores had 
also heard of the affair and the steamer 
Diana steamed up from Blanc Sablon, 
anchoring near the Prinz Oscar on the 
afternoon of June twenty-first. A day 
later the Adalbert succeeded in floating 
the Oscar and towed her safely into 
Quebec harbor. The reader will have 
noted that the Oscar's captain was in 
immediate touch with sources of help 
from the moment his ship struck, that 
he was brought into communication 
with a ship of the same line and tens of 
thousands of dollars in salvage saved 
to his proprietors, and that at no 
moment were there less than three ships 
ready at a signal to steam to his assist- 
ance. Had the Oscar remained on the 
ledge another twenty-four hours she 
would have been a total wreck, involv- 
ing the loss of easily half a million 
dollars. As the stations along Belle 
Isle cost approximately S3, 500 a year 
for upkeep, it is a fair statement that 
the saving of one ship pays for the 
entire wireless service of Canada for 
three or four years. 

Lighthouses and life-saving corps 
the world over, produce no revenue. 
The vast expense of maintenance is 
cheerfully borne by the world's mari- 
time nations and no tolls asked of 
strange sail or friendly. When the 
wireless became recognized as a per- 
manent auxiliary of the beacon and 
fog-horn in the protection of life and 
property at sea, the same unhesitating 
co-operation brought into existence a 
new map of the world, the wireless 
map. To-day, the Marconi Company, 
and it is only the largest of several, 
has more than fifty land stations, 
eleven towering along the shores of the 
Mediterranean through Cape Speronc 
and Venice, round the Peninsula to the 
British Isles, thence sweeping across 
the Atlantic to Cape Cod and Siascon- 
set and Panama. Every ship in the 
British navy, super-dreadnought or 
destroyer, carries wireless sets and 
operators, and all important naval 
powers regard it as one of the first 
essentials in manoeuvering. Wireless 
accompanies every British regiment 
on the march; an entire outfit, masts, 
dynamo, etc., can now be condensctl 
into the back seat of an automobile, 
or upon the back of the patient donkey. 
The French army recently practisc-d 
with a motor car th^t shoots a folding 
mast sixty feet high, with copper wires 
ready attached for despatching mes- 
sages two hundred miles away. Quite 
a common device for generating power 
on military marches is a bicycle frame 
with the sf)rocket geared to a dynamo. 
The Canadian Minister of Militia is a 
zealous student of wireless as it pertains 
to military eflfectiveness and practically 

all the annual military camps utilize 
it to a modest degree. On the Atlantic 
and Pacific oceans and the many other 
seas of the universe, the radio-telegraph 
has fixed itself to passenger and freight 
steamers by compulsion of statute and 
consent until few ships would hazard 
hull or cargo or human life to the old- 
fashioned isolation of the deep. Even 
the tramp steamers are equipping 
themselves with wireless, for com- 
manders have been made aware that 
the modern unionized crew signs the 
papers of a wireless steamer where the 
non-wireless may have to bribe with 
higher wages. 

By the unpitying necessities of his 
position the wireless operator on land 
is plagued with monotony. When a 
young man signs the articles of ap- 
prenticeship in a wireless company he 
is reasonably certain that the first five 
or ten years of his appointment will 
be restricted to bleak stretches of sea 
coast where storms and desolation 
demand from men a bona fide sense of 
duty and a golden stock of patience. 
He will come to know that while human 
affections sometimes get strained by 
distance, the heart of the wireless 

Cape Race on the southern tooth- 
edged perimeter of Newfoundland con- 
demns him to a hamlet of less than fifty 
people, to be drenched in fog most 
hours of the day, blown off his feet by 
vicious gales, and deafened by the 
roar of hungry seas. He will taste 
none of the sweets of social life, see no 
surprises from Christmas to Christmas , 
meet few new faces. And all for a 
salary that would drive a good plumber 
to sell his other motor car. 

If Fate harbors against him some 
quite abnormal disrespect, it may 
station the recruit in the Magdalen 
Islands, that quaint contented, stolid 
community where the land tillers still- 
pay twenty-five cents an acre to an- 
absentee landlord whose progenitor 
received the group as a king's trifle. 
Or he and his suit-case may be tumbled' 
on to the pier at Point Rich or Point 
Amour, stuck on the crags of Soutb 
Labrador where Grenfell wrote the 
testimonial of "the worst coast in the 
world." And he is bound to remain 
there, willy-nilly, looking out over the 
straits of Belle Isle, knowing that until 
a steamer drops into harbor in a month 
or two absolutely no physical con- 


recognizes no mileage and comprehends nection with the inhabited world 

the pond from Panama to I)ui)lin with exists. Or his luck may bring him 

a splendid condescension. He will to one of the stations well up the Gulf, 
know, some day, that to be assigned to Continued on page 281. 


AUTUMN was in his heart, and 
an ochre at the window ; and the 
only incongruous thing was the 
jaunty iron beat of the rail- 
joints Ijeneath his car, as the train, 
with a whistling and a croaking that 
the echoes answered sleepily, descended 
into the valley. But the whistling 
ceased, the wheels slowed to a graver 
turning, the old station moved until it 
was opposite his window; then (as it 
seemed) slopped and eyed him. 
He took his grip from the 
seat, reached for his cane, drew 
himself stifidy to his feet, and 
edged into the line in the aisle 
of the car. J ; He was crowded 
before and crowded behind; 
jostled and pushed just as he 
had been all his life, in the cold 
wide world from which he had 
now at last come home. 

He reached the door, de- 
scended the car steps nervous- 
ly, hustled by a burly fellow at 
his back; received a few casual 
glances from strange faces; 
passed into the waiting-room 
and checked his valise; then 
sat down to collect himself. 
The train, which only paused 
five minutes, withdrew pres- 
ently its strange and alien 
presence; the idlers on the 
platform dispersed; the room 
in which he sat emptied. 
There came silence, and the 
distant ticking of a clock. 

The room had two doors, 
both open, and a large win- 
dow. The window, which 
looked westward, let down to 
the floor a ladder of light and 
dust-motes. At the end of it, 
brightening part of a homely, 
rusty stove, was a pattern, 
with a head and shoulders 
in the centre. The doors added their 
glow obliquely; and the man, the old 
man, sat in an estuary of light. 

Old scents, by and by, came float- 
ing into this room— this room in 
which he, now unknown, had played 
forty years ago, known to every- 
body. There was the smell of kero- 
sene and new boxes from the freight- 
shed, the odor of chafT from the 
elevator, the fragrance of sweet-grass 
from the dooryard. All these helped 


One Face 

By Will E. IngersoU 

Illustrated by Frederic M. Grant 

him to remember, to remember what 
the obtuse and new folk about him 
seemed never to have known. Their 
loitering, as through the panes he saw 
them pass and repass, seemed to him 
like the careless wandering of children 
over old graves. 

The assistant in the telegraph office 
— a young man, a stranger — -looked 
through the wicket at him. 

"Was you waitin' to see anybody ?" 
"I'm waiting to see Henry Oake," 


said the old man, quietly. He did not 
know why he had said it. That was his 
father's name. 

"Never heerd tell of 'm," said the 
young man, turning unconcernedly to 
his work, "don't think he lives 'round