The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on November 1, 1899 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, November 1, 1899
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THE tIPPBB DBS MOINES: ALGONA, IOWA, WEDNESDAY NOVEMBEB 1. 1809, CttAPTER XII.—(Continued.) "Nona, my dear child, ate you there? L« lamp is very dim, is it not? I .'t see you," called the sleepy voice Mrs. Heathcote, waking me from a 'turous dream of wonderment and And at the same moment the Bctor entered, full of apologies for hia g absence. couldn't get away," he explained, ith quite unnecessary elaboration. .ese poor things like to talk out all troubles, and they are very long- ihded. You can't cut them short— do that would be to ruin your repu- ,tiOn for sympathy. Nona, my dear, us have some tea, if you please. I afraid it is the Dean's tea—full of 'niclous tannin by this time. It Is a arter to ten o'clock"—taking out his tch. "Why"—staring round him in Iderment—"what has become of ie child? I could declare I saw her ,tting there in her black gown when ,me in. What queer trick have my a played me now?" : 'Mlss Branscombe has just left the im," I said, coming to the front; ,nd, Mrs. Heathcote—Mr. Heathcote— 11 you both give me your good ;hes. I—we—I—that is—Miss Brana- jmbe—Nona " iThe Rector was staring at me open- '>uthed as I floundered awkwardly •ough my speech. Mrs. Heathcote's >manly instincts were quicker, I it in her face, and, crossing over her side, took her hand in mine. ''She has made me the happiest fel- in the world," I said. "Won't you [ngratulate me?" ;'You—you!" exclaimed the Rector, in the face with astonishment, as truth flashed upon him. "The ikens; I thought it was that scamp arlie!" did I," I could not help saying; ft then we all laughed heartily to' ler. iss Elmslle came in in the midst of mirth. Mr. Heathcote hastened to lain. |'My dear Miss Elmslle, have you m as blind as the rest of us? Here _ Fort been making his running dlst we have been watching the .er horse!" *What do you mean?" asked she. IJThat I am going to ask you to re- me into the family, Miss Blms- I put in. "Nona is willing to be of-llvery hal round and round in his hands. "I thought it might be of conae* queuce, sir," he commenced respectfully. Then, as 1 closed the door on the girl, he came close to me and whispered—"It's all right. I've been over to Colonel Egerton's, and- shall have the warrant the first thing in the morning." "The warrant?" I echoed, aghast. "Yes; prompt action Is the only thing," responded the brisk detective. "The arrest will be made before ten o'clock." "Arrest!" 'Fortunately my back was turned to the light, and Widdrington could not see my scared face. "Surely this is an extreme measure!" "Extreme!" answered the detective, "It's the only course, if we are to lay hands on the will at all. Afterwards It can be hushed up by the family- refusal to prosecute and so on. But intimidation is the only line at present, and in the circumstances the will we must have. She doesn't know where it is—of that I am sure. It has not been made way with—criminals seldom do that sort of thing; it shuts the door behind them, you see. We'll put on the thumbscrew, and it will come out, never fear"—with an odious chuckle. CHAPTER XIII. I sat down, faint and dizzy. There stood the detective, eager, triumphant, and no doubt utterly astonished and disappointed at my want o£ appreciation of his success. "The charge is for concealing," he went on. "I thought It better to take that line." "I suppose BO," I assented dully. I was ransacking my brains for a way of escape. My darling In the clutches of this harpy of the law! It was intolerable—impossible! A wild Idea of bribing him—of throwing myself upon his mercy, crossed my half-distracted mind. Something must be done. "I have telegraphed for more men," said Widdrington—"half a dozen of them in case of resistance, you know. They can come down by the night mail." An army of constables against one poor little trembling woman!. What on earth was the man thinking of? "He'll probably show fight," went on §HE HAS MADE ME THE HAPPIEST FELLOW IN THE WORLD," I SAID. what we've got to do Is to fflftt* him hand it over. But"—breaking oft Ih hii rapid explanation—"! told yofo all this in the letter I gfiVe yon this efefaing. Didn't you read it? Bless iay toul! Yort haven't dropped It?"—as I rum* maged fruitlessly in one pocket alter another. "You haven't lost It?" "It's not here! No, I did not tt&d It Stay-*-! may have left It In th« dr&w- ing-room; wait here whilst 1 See, t will be back directly." Mrs. Heathcote and Miss Elmslia toad not yet retired. Lights were full on in the drawing-room, contrary to the virtuous early habits.of the household, and the two ladies were seated side by side on a couch by the fire, discussing over and over again the wonderful svir- prise of the evening. "What is it?" asked Mrs. Heathcote, rising to assist my search. "A letter? No, there is no letter here. Eliza must have seen it if it had beeh left on the tea-table, and she never takes letters or papers away—the Rector has trained her too well for that. No, it is certainly not here. I hope it was not important. But you will be sure to find it upstairs or in the study. Have you looked there?" Widdrington was awaiting me impatiently when I returned. "It Is gone," I admitted ruefully. "I came straight from the garden to the drawing-room, and from there here. I must have dropped it." "Then the whole thing's . blown- ruined," cried the man, clapping on hts lat, and making for the door. "There's not a minute to bo lost." My letter was gone—there was no doubt about it. A second and calmer search through my pockets confirmed the fact. I had entirely forgotten the paper, attaching no importance to it at the moment, regarding it as simply a ruse on the detective's part to attract my attention; and subsequent events had entirely driven the whole circumstance out of my mind. I had doubtless dropped the missive—with all its important revelation—in the garden or hall. I opened the window of my bedroom, which looked over the lawn and garden path by which I had returned to the house. A man's figure—Widdrington's—was just vanishing through the gate. He had evidently been searching over the ground, so that no efforts of mine were needed. I .wondered what success he had had. Probably he found the misBing letter, and all fear of miscarriage to his plans waa over. I sat up late into the night, writing and reading. Sleep, in the tumult of my mind, was out of the question, had to think over and realize the wonderful and blissful change which had come into my life. Nona, my peerless treasure, was mine—my own. And the cloud which had overshadowed her—even in my most loyal thought—had dimmed the rapturous joy of my .betrothal. I had almost forgotten Widdrington in the floodtide of my happiness, but, when I descended to the breakfast- room the next morning, I was abruptly recalled to the subject of last night's interview. On my plate lay a note marked—"Delivered by hand." It contained only these words— "Gone. Disappeared last night. Letter not found." Later in the day the detective's intelligence waa confirmed by the Rector. Mr. Charles Branscombo had gone from Forest Lea, leaving no address behind him. The two or three female servants remaining in charge either knew or would tell nothing, Charlie had always a fascinating influence on their class and set; as Widdringtou had said, there waa something of a feudal devotion in their loyalty to him. They no doubt thought his case a hard one, and they would not betray him. Mr. Heathcote's new groom had also disappeared—summoned to London by the dangerous illness of his father, the household believed. To be continued, SIMON, tHB STKONO SWlMMEft SUNDAY'S SUBJECf, from Ida., 28lit, *ft Follow*! "tt« Shall Sprond frorth Hl» Hand* in the Mld«t of Them, a« lit, That 8«Imtn«th Spreadeth forth Hi* Hand*." wife—will you let me be your isin?" this true?" she exclaimed in _thless wonder. "Oh, I was never glad of anything in my life"—clasp- her hands. "Receive you? Of irse I will. I must go to the dear ild at once." Ill's 'the most satisfactory way out Call our dlflieulties," Mr. Heathcote jlared, when I had laid my position ly before him. 'It has relieved my s pd of a great load of anxiety. I •Uld not have borne to see the dear |l married to that other fellow. And [ suppose we must give up Forest I am sorry about the old place, If the will-—" I'Let it go," I said, hastily, recalled remembrance of all the trouble tVolvpd In that unhappy subject j; . • |'Mr. Tillott would like to speak to |u, sir," announced a maid, as I ssed the hall, bed-room candlestick fhand. . I Who on earth is Mr. Tillott?" I in<- pit's the groom, sir. He wants to you about a letter he found in the rt, he says." yes—all right! Where is he?" pemombereil then that I had never the letter; it had passed com* jitely out of my mind since thrusting " ito my pocket before my explaaa- wlth Nona. $9 is waiting in the study, sir. H9 fte was sorry to disturb "so— whicfc Is th? s flip 'open, a#d "jsr. TUW just vymas, t«rni»s WB the detective. "He? Who?" I stammered. "Why, the criminal!" answered Widdrington. "The—the criminal!" I repeated after him blankly. The man give me a quick critical look. That I had been dining, and dining not wisely, but too well, was evidently the conclusion he arrived at. Nothing else could account for my intense stupidity. "The criminal—Mr. Charles Branscombe," he emphasized, "It's a clear case, and an uncommon clever game, too. Personation of. his cousin, Miss Branscombe—wonderful likeness at all times—fair hair, slight figure—like a girl's—no hair on face—no wonder you were taken in"—meaningly. ' "Lady's maid in the plot, supplied all the rig- out, etc., and gave the tip into the bargain. Uncommonly well managed. Astonishing how the young fellow gets over the women—they're all ready to go'down on their knees and to sell their souls for him—every one of them. AS for this one " "Woodward?" I ejaculated, beginning to recoyer from my stupefaction, and to see daylight through the - whole thing. "Yes," returned the ex-groom, with a wink. "Young woman soft on the sex generally, you, see—didn't want much courting to Jet the whole cut out of the bag—as much as she knew, Knows nothing about the will; she believed Alfr, Br&jJseQBjbe only wanted, io look at |t, ifce Bajs. jie told he? BO, and she thought Jt bard Vpw th»t J»« wag not aHoweJ $9 go to the ?M»UW ap' to be at his uncle's funeral. never 8W90£e4 *W &9 wasted t? Qf tha will »lto£9tlM>r. Aad WOMEN'S CLUB And the Reason for Their Kapld Growth of Late Years. It was at a woman's club, after the meeting, and when the hum and buzz of feminine voices were intermingled with the clatter of spoons and temporarily hushed by the mouthfuls of ice cream, that the following conversation took place between two women, one o: whom was an ardent club woman, as could easily be seen by the string of medals and insignia which ornamented the front of her bodice, while the other was just the ordinary everyday woman. "My dear," said the club woman, grabbing her companion's hand, I must be going. I am due at a meeting of the daughters of Lafayette Post, and then I must drop in for a moment and see Mrs, Blank abou our next meeting and the topic for dls cussion." "How do you find time for all these clubs and what does your bus band say to all this running about?' "Ten years ago it was I who sat a' home and waited till, between 5 and < for him to come home, 'Mais nous avons change tout sela,' he sits hom< and waits for me now. I have been on since 9 this morning and I am jus looking lige a tramp now. Well, be does not seem to mind it; he is just as gpod and dear as he can be. We boarc you know, and I never had any chil drep, But good bye; I shall see you again at the 'JuBticia,' shsll I not?" Is this the solution of the abnomia growth of woman's clubs, "We bo^rd you know, an$ I never had a,ny cUU dren." Is, It the Jae,H o has driven her intp the years; supplied W "(Copyright 1899 by Louis . In the summer season, multitudes Of eople wade into ponds and lakes and ivers and seas, to dive or float or wim. In a world the most o! whtch s water, all men and women should earn to swim. Some of you have earned the side stroke, introduced by George Pewters in i860, each stroke of kind carrying the swimmer a dis- ance of six feet, and some of you may use the overhand stroke, invented by Gardener, the expert, who by It won he 600-yard championship in Manches- er in 1862, the swimmer by that stroke arrying his arm in the air for a more engthened stroke, and some of you nay tread the water as though you had been born to walk the sea; but most usually take what is called the breast stroke, placing the hands with he backs upward, about five inches apart under the water, the insldes of he wrists touching the breast, then pushing the arms forward coincident with the stroke of the feef struck out ,o the greatest width possible, and you hus unconsciously illustrate the mean- ng of my text: "He shall spread forth his hands In the midst of them, as he hat swlmmeth < spreadeth forth his hands to swim." The fisherman seeks out unfrequented nooks. You stand all day on the bank of the river in the broiling sun, and fling out your lines, and catch lothing, while nn expert angler breaks through the jungle and goes by the shadow of the solitary rock, and, -in a place where no fisherman has been for ten years, throws out his line and comes home at night, his face shin- Ing and his basket full. I do not know why we ministers of the gospel need always be fishing in the eamo stream, and preaching from the same texts that other people preach from. I cannot understand the policy of the minister Who, In Blackfriars, London, England, every week for thirty years preached from the epistle to the Hebrews. It is an exhilaration to me when I come across a theme which I feel no one else has treated; and my text is one of that kind. There are paths in God's word that are well beaten by Christian feet. When men want to quote scripture, they quote the old passages that every one has heard. When they want a chapter read, they read a chapter that all the other people have been reading, so that the church today is Ignorant of three-fourths of the Bible. You go into the Louvre at Paris. You confine yourself to one corridor of that opulent gallery of paintings. As you come out, your friend says to you: "Did you see that Rembrandt?" "No." 'Did you see that Rubens?" "No." "Did you see that Titian?" "No." "Did you see that Raphael?" "No." "Well," says your friend, "then you did not see the Louvre." Now, my friends, I think we are too much apt to conllno ourselves to one of the great corridors of scripture truth, and so much so that there is not one person out of a million who has ever noticed the all-suggestive and powerful picture in the words of my text. This text represents God as a strong swimmer, striking out to push down iniquity s^nd save the souls of men. "He shall spread forth his hands in the midst of them, as he that swimmeth speradeth forth his hands to swim." The figure is bold and many-sided. Most of you know, how to swim. Some of you learned it in the city school, where this art is taught; some of you in boyhood, in the river near your father's house; some of you since you came to manhood or womanhood while summering on the beach of the sea. It is' a good thing to know how to swim, not only for yourself; but. because you will, after a while, perhaps, have to help others. I do not knovy anything more stirring or sublime than to see some man like Norman McKenzie leaping from the ship Madras into the sea to save Charles Turner, who had dropped from the royal yard while trying to loosen the sail, bringing him back to the deck ftmid the huzzas of the passengers and crew. If a man has not enthusiasm enough to cheer in such circumstances, he deserves himself to drop into the. sea and have no one to help him. The Royal Humane society of England was established in 1774, its object to applaud and reward those who should pluck up life from the deep. Any one who has performed such a deed of daring has all the particulars of that bravery recorded in a public record and on his breast a medal done in. blue and gohl and bronze, anchor and monogram and inscription, telling to future generations the bravery of the man or woman who saved some one from drowning. But if it is such a worthy thing to save a body from the deep, I ask you if it is not a, worthier thing to save an immortal soul? And you shall see, this hour, the Son of God step forth for this achievement. "He •hall spread iorth bis hands in the midst of them, as he that swimraeUi spreadeth forth his hands to swim,' In order to understand the full force of this figure, you need to realize that our race is in a sinking condition. You sometimes hear people talking ol what they consider the most beautiful words in our language, Qne man sftys It "home"; another says ft is, the ( ,WQi'fl "mother"; another says It to tfefc "Jesus"; put I tell yoju the word in all our language, |hj &ugry and baleful, the, fov all the* " and pierce the diaA&tef of «*ertthing bad in the universe. Sin is ft sibilant Yoq 6a.nnol pronounce R without giving the sis! of the flame or the hiss of th« serpent. Sin* and toed if you add three letter! to that word, it describes every one of Us b^ nature^sinner. We have'outraged the law bf God, not occasionally, or now and then, but perpetually, the Bibles declares it. Hark! It thunders two claps: ."The heart Is deceitful above all things, atid desperately wicked." "The soul that slnneth, it shall die." What the Bible says, our own conscience affirms. Attet Judge Morgan had sentenced Lady Jah6 Grey to death, his conscience troubled him so much for the deed that he became Insane, and all through his Insanity he kept saying: "Take her away from me! Lady Jane Grey! Take her away! Lady Jane Grey!" it was the voice of conscience. And no man ever does anything wrong, however great or small, but his conscience brings that matter before him, and at every step of his misbehavior it says, "Wrong, wrong!" Sin is a leprosy; sin is a paralysis; sin'la a consumption; sin is pollution; sin is death. Give it a fair chance, and it will swamp you and me, body, mind and soul, forever. In this world it only gives a faint intimation of its virulence. You SPO a patient in the first stages of typhoid fever. The cheek is somewhat flushed, the hands somewhat hot, preceded by a slight chill. "Why," yon say, "typhoid fever does not seem to bo much of a disease." But wait until the patient has been six weeks under it, and all his energies have been wrung out, and he is too weak to lift his little finger, and his Intellect gone, then you see the full havoc of the disease. Now, sin in this world Is an ailment which is only in its first stages; but let it get under full sway and it is an all-consuming typhoid. Oh, if we could see our unparrloned sins as God sees them, our teeth would chatter and our knees would . knock together, and our respiration would be. choked, and our heart would break. If your sins are unforglven, they are bearing you down, and you are sinking- dlnk.ng away from happiness, sinking .irray from God, sinking away from everything that is good and blessed. Then what do we want? A swimmer! A strong swimmer! A swift swimmer! And, blessed bo God! in my text wo have him announced. "He shall spread forth his hands in the midst of them, as he that swimmeth stretcheth forth his hands to swim." You have noticed that when a swimmer goes to rescue any one ho puts off his heavy apparel. Ho must not have any such impediment about him if he is going to do this great deed. And when Christ stepped forth to save us he shook off the sandals of heaven, and his feet wore free, and then he stepped down into the wave of our transgressions, and it came up over his wounded feet, and it came above the spear stab in his side—aye, it dashed to the lacerated temple, the high-water mark of his anguish. Then, rising above the flood, "Ho stretched forth his hands in the midst of them, as he .that swim- meth spreadeth forth his- hands to swim." * * * I have sometimes thought what a spectacle .the ocean bed will present when in the last day the water Is all drawn off. It will be a line of wrecks from beach to beach There Is where tiie harpooners went down. There is where the line of .battleships went down. There is where the merchantmen went down. There is where the steamers went down—a long line of wrecks from beach to beach. What a spectacle in the last day, when the water is drawn off! But oh, how much more solemn If we had an eye to see the spiritual wrecks and the places where they foundered! You would find thousands along our roads and streets. Christ came down in their awful catastrophe, putting out for . their souls, "spreading forth his hands as a swimmer spreadeth forth his hands to swim"; but they thrust him in the sore heart, and they smote his fair cheek and the storm and darkness swallowed them up. I ask you to lay hold of this Christ and lay hold of him now. You will sink without him. From horizon to horizon not one sail In sight. Only one strong swimmer, with head flung back and arms outspread. I hear many saying, "Well, I would like to be a Christian. I am going to work to become a Christian," My brother, you begin wrong. When a man is drowning, and a strong swimmer comes out to help him, he says to him: "Now be quiet. Put your arm on my arm or on my shoulder, but don't struggle, don't try to help yourself, and I'll take you to the shore. The more you struggle, and the more you try to help yourself, the more you Impede me. Now, be quiet, and I'll take you ashore." When Christ, the strong swimmer, comes out to save a soul, the sinner says: "That's right. I am glad to see Christ, and I am going to help him in the work of my redemption. I am going to pray more, and that will help him; and I am going to weep extravagantly over my sins, and that will help him." No; it will not. Stop your doing. Christ will do all or none. You cannot lift an ounce; you cannot move an Inch, in this matter of your redemption. This is the difficulty which keeps thousands of souls out of the kingdom of heaven, it is because they cannot th« arm of yotir tfiist fifid the aritt at yout lave—around this omnipotent swimmar of the Croas. Hav* frofl ever stood by and eem gome ene ffftdef prdefess of resuseltfttlo* after long submergence? The strong swimmer has put him 6fi the be86fc. after a struggle In the waterj*. fd &*•" cite breathing in the almost lifeless body, what manipulation, what frictiott of the cold lirtibs, what artificial ihovS* ment of the lungs, what breath of res* cUer blown into the inouth of the rescued! And when breathing begins, afid after a while the slight respiration becomes the deep sigh; and the eyes opeft and the blue lips take on a smile, what rejoicing, what clapping of hands all up and down the beach! What eon-> gratUlation for the strong ^Wimmer and for all who helped in the restoration! What shouting Of "He lives! He lives!" Like this is the gladness when a soul that has been submerged In sin and sorrow is "coming to," What desire on the part of all to help, and, when under the breath of God, and under the manipulation by the wounded hands of Christ, the life-eternal of the soul begins to show itself, ail through the ranks of spectators, terrestrial and celestial, goes the cry, "He lives! Rejoice, for the dead Is alive again!" May the living Christ this moment put out for your rescue, "spreading bin hands in the midst of you, as a swimmer spreadeth forth his hands to swim!" Fink Satin. A pretty anecdote of a revolutionary bride Is related by Ellen D. Lamed in a recent little volume upon the local deeds and traditions of a Connecticut county. The Incident occurred soon after the first successes of the rebel privateers. A beautiful young girl, betrothed and shortly to be married, admitted one day to the house a wandering peddler, who undid Ills pack and displayed his wares. She expected, doubtless, to purchase some pretty trifle to add to her wedding outfit; but times were hard, there was little money to spare, and; moreover, it was many months since all Imported finery, had been so frowned upon that no patriotic young woman could venture to buy it, nor any dealer to sell it. What, then was the young woman's amazement and delight when the peddler unrolled a voluminous piece of the most beautiful pink satin—satin, too, quite innocent and inoffensive to the most ardently patriotic eye, since he explained that it was a trophy of war, the booty of one of our own privateers! She gazed upon it In fascination. What a'wed- ding dre'ss it would make! But 1 the cost—she could not, she dared not, ask so much money of her father. Nor did she. But, unrolling the exquisite fabric yet further, she draped the rosy folds flowingly about her supple young figure, and, crossing the room to where all the time her father, a stern and silent man, had sat writing at his accounts, observing nothing, she sank .upon her knees at ~his feet. A hand was laid on his knee; he looked down, wondering, and she looked up, pleading —and then he understood. Not a word was spoken on either side, but the old man's hand went quietly into his desk, drew out a purse, opened it, and laid in his daughter's hand forty sliver dollars. At the wedding that soon ensued the bride's gown and the bridegroom's waistcoat were both of pink satin, and there was one more pretty story to hand down of a real Daughter of the Revolution. consent to let Jesus Christ begin and. Improvement in Luncheon' Dishes. From the Boston Transcript: O£ course, it is being trite to say it,, but we do eat altogether too much meat. A good many are coming to this conclusion and trying to -reform, so an observing person remarks, by eating no meat at luncheon. They aren't thinking of becoming out-and-out vegetarians, but they are thinking that a luncheon menu made up of two or three kind of vegetables, wound up with a fruit salad or with* a peach or pear eaten from the hand, is conducive to a physical sense of well-being that makes life seem worth the living. And have you noticed that the leading restaurateurs are doing themselves proud in catering to this sensible demand of their customers? Ten years ago, if your memory can take you back BQ far, you will recall the fact that the most comprehensive menu at your favorlto lunching place offered you tomatoes in nothing but just the most straightforward and unadorned guise, but today it's very different. They are fried and broiled and roasted, with or without stuffing, and as a general thing served with a sauce that you are accustomed to having with steaks and chops, which, of course, makes them seem so much more a "dish." What you have noticed In regard to tomatoes is as true of other vegetables, though very few lend themselves to the elaborating process as they do. And to think that now and then you run across a bar^ barian who declares he "bad to learn to like tomatoes!" Neivspupor Wood In the manufacture of newspaper wood pulp, according to present methods, a cord of spruce wood; is estimated to equal 516 feet of board measure, and this quantity of raw material will make half a ton of sulphite pulp or one ton of ground wood pulp. Newspaper stock is made up with 30 per cent of the sulphite pulp and 80 percent of the ground wood pulp. Now, as figured by experts, toe best Qj spyu_ee land, virgin growth, possesses $ .9! ftbout 7,060 feet to. the acrej i-_i_ ._.. ^^ therefore, of'" i . ,) i - tn< i * ' ' r\t vtfit'i ^ I.'}** , N 'fi- ' ' •*/, ' V > 'j| U| 'i W -^ .V'Kf ft ' ' t > -t 1 -\/?'< li? 5 '*-,, *• !*' *,* *^V~'*, bi mt ssfnJ^tjjJi^ >£. '^ A'4"-j'V' A ; £ . .

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