The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa on November 28, 1894 · Page 7
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The Algona Republican from Algona, Iowa · Page 7

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Algona, Iowa
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Wednesday, November 28, 1894
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;'•?/*.?-• " *fJ- f t s-*-.4T f " 1 :* -&'<*"?*?•$ '.„!'-' '"*•' "-:' "', '", ,.j,'"?*'f'**:fy py^Tf»,-{r \**wr!p maim. fftff WHimftA*, tot. ft/ tMi _, o eT Jitt TBe SMifc and /stut&v ft, very And slid took the -TO (Soffffit the ejfgS oof rcotly and to add a Httle Ofoakift? peftder, Miteh, you know, beginners _^ 6ft oinit. ^ t6fi « 1 ltA tt t! S l dltftUo ' ct! ' or ftnd *&e baked ft rftu &fi nour— < 8ti* SftJL*S?*'i u t te forgave herself for leaving fffit the flour! —SpHngMfl fteptiDitcan. t ,A Passive Crimfc, «'*itte <= * : '-i i > t" t CHAP'rfiRVm-^,,^^ "What is it, my lambP" she says, bending dtiWH to her With deep concern. "What distresses you!' All day loiif you have beett fretting, and now, eveh as evenihg falls upon us, I find you weeping again! Why IB this, toy precious? What has happened?" "It is nothing," says Maud.evasive* i», "A foolish fancy; and, besides,' . head aches." "Or your heart, perchance. Yet ^iiyP He has come back to you, that young Pentuddock, safe and sound. Your conscience, therefore, must be free of offense. Saumarez • has been true to his word, and has spared him; yet, in spite of all this, you are openly unhappy. The boy is alive. Jt is I should weep for that, not you." "Esther," says the girl, suddenly, Sitting up, and confronting her with flushed cheeks and angry eyes, "you must not speak thus—you shall not; L ,, you P ersl st in hating him, 1 shall learn to bate you!" ' "Ay, that will be my reward, no doubt!" mutters Esther, bitterly. Her tone smites her listener to the heart. "I was wrong," she says, with contrition. "How could I speak to you like that?" She slips a warm, soft arm round the woman's neck as she speaks, and Esther, turning, kisses her little hand with passionate love. "How could I hate one who has taken care of me all my • life, and oven saved me from death , once, as you have ,told meP But of what kind you have not said. Death from starvation, was it?" • "No; from sudden death." "Why have you never told me about that?" "W.hati"' "You know what I mean—that rescue?" "I shall some day." '"Why not now?" "I shall wait till you are more sensible." . "I do not understand you." "I mean till you have learned to Corget Penruddock, and to love another." • "Then I think I shall'never hear that story," says the . girl, very simply. "Tut! Does love, think you, last forever? ..Time will teach you more than that." y "It would take a very long time .indeed to^teach mo toiorget Dick." <• "So you think now; but when a year has gone by, and he has forgotten you, and found a fresh idol, Mien you will come to believe,in my •words,! and then .you shall hear the story of your deliverance from death.'" "I don't want to bear it," says Naud, wilfully, drawing back from Esther. ' , 3he was silent for a few moments, 'and then asked, in an anxious tone, "Are men really so fickle as you say, nurse?'' •'Fickle, and worse. Cold and cruel." "But not Dick, I am very sure," says Maud, with tears in her eyes and voice, "He is his father's son, and will no doubt follow in his lather's footsteps, notwithstanding that his mother was, really and truly, a saint upon earth,*' .v<""W.as* she?" eagerly. "Then J, think he must be like his mother." After which she falls to weeping a#?Un bitterly, with the little orum- ple'd note,, so precious to her, hidden in her small,- feverish hand. Her tears seem to drop like molten lead *ipon the woman's heart, She gets up impatiently, and paces the room in a restless fashion, stopping at last - -?e to the chair where her darling i\ lamenting, . attd how Shalt t Mat it? t)h, how beap it, and iH-e?" "Then marry him, if your heart is so set upon it,"says Esther, sullenly. "Do you think I would do him such an injustice? And besides, I would not marry him against his father's will. I have still"—scornfully—"some pride left." How can you possibly know that Pehruddo6k would Seriously Object?" "By this letter, though the thought is well-disguised,-and .by many other things." "So, still proud!" says the woman, scornfully. "Yet the day is fast approaching When he wih be compelled to lower his tone!" "What do you say. EstherP" hastily cried Maud, Wondering at those words. "Nothing. Never mind me. Yet it kills mo to seeyott unhappy, when 1 could help you." "Help rae! Oh, nurse, if you only could!" says the girl in deep agitation, kneeling down before Esther, and leabing her arms on her knees While gazing with intense earnestness into the dark \ isago above her. ."Sometimes your manner is so strange it makes me belie'vo you are suppressing something. Dear nurse —dearest Esther, help me in this matter if you can! M~r. Penruddock is coming here to-morrow with Dick, Help me to meet them. Oh, do, pray do. You could not endure to see me miserable. 1 know; help me, then, dear Esther, if only for the sake of your own peace, help mo!" There is a whole world of entreaty in the large blue eyes, that gaze up- 1 ward through a veil of tears. Esther, after a moment's hesitation and fearful struggle with herself, makes a gesture us though resigning something that for years had been sweet to her, and, stooping, presses her lips fondly to Maud's white brow, la she not as her own child'-^dearer to her than any thing, the world can offer? Shall she not, for her darling, relinquish her pet scheme? "Perhaps the time is come, she says, slowly. "Tell me, child, is Gilbert Saumarez in. town?" "I don't know; but you could find out. Why do v 0 u want that dreadful man, nurso?"—with a bliish and a shudder, as she remembers that last meeting with him, in which Esther had borne- a part "Now lie down again, and try to sleep, or you.will be in a high state of fever to-morrow, and unfit to encounter any one," says Esther, with authority, not answering her question. "And"—meaningly—"there is much before you—more than you form any idea of." CHAPTER IX. All Known. Next morning, sitting in her own room, discussing the post and her chocolate, Mrs. Neville grows suddenly serious over a letter just opened, and which not only disturbs, but very greatly -oorplexes her. It is from Mr. : Penruddock, demanding an interview, and .begging her to name an hour in which he may speak to her upon a subject of much importance, both to him. and her. There is no mention of Maud in the letter; yet it so unmistakably means business in every line, that Mimi feels uneasy, and, riugins the bell, summons Esther to her aid—the woman having proved herself of sound judgment upon several occasions, when Mrs. Neville found herself in want of good advice, and knew not where else to look for it. For two long hours she and Esther remain closeted together, at the end of which time Mrs. Neville, opening the door, comes out into the corridor with an air of open triumph and gladness in her whole demeanor, that contrasts rather oddly with the pink lids and heavy eyes that betray ihe fact of her having been crying bitterly. In'her hand she bears a etler, which is addressed, to George I'enruddoek. '' Esther, .going, to V|aud!s,room, after,some persuasion, ..nduc.es her to send a note to Dick, lesiring him to come to South Aud» ey street at a- particular hour—that s to say, at nine o'clock that even- ng. - ' though ,she. •fto'tild demafret at hands the little one left to hift trust? Recovering himself by „ great effort, he goes up to Mrs. Neville, ftnd Says Something formal to her about his gratitude for the interview thus granted. He is perhaps going to explain why the meeting was solicited, when the abrupt entrance of his son checks him for the time being. A quick shade of anger crosses the voung man's brow as he sees his father. Instinctively his glance turns to where Maud is sitiin<r, so far apart from the rest: but she is so enveloped by the Shadows falling from the lowered lamps, that he cannot distinguish her features with any clearness. He would have gone over to her at once, but Mrs. Neville,- by a sharp gesture of command, stays him and brings him to her own side. "Stay, Dick." she says, quietly. "Your place is here—as yet!" So ho stays by her, as in duty bound, though sorely troubled at heart "After all that I have urg-ed, you have come*' 1 he sttys, coldly turning to his father. "Yes; to say that vyhieh I told you yesterday I intended to say!".retorts Penrttddoek, stubbornly. Then, addressing Mrs. Neville, he adds, in a labored tone, "It Would make matters much easier if I might speak to you alone, without the presence of —Miss Neville! 4 ' There is a covert insolence in the hesitation that he shows before pronouncing Maud's name that makes Mrs. Neville angry and indignant. "If what you -have t!oino'*horo to say refers to Miss is'ovilk-. it, is both her wish and mine tint. • !K> «hould be a listener to it.'' sin- -,u-., slowlv. "Therefore, do not IK-H!: n- u.u commence at once, arid I i ,, i,i:iir. it you pleafio, that wbii:,j yun huvo come hither lo.spouk. "That is as you deaii'o. of-course,'* Penruddock returns, '(.-uliuly: -and, indeed, it is but little of your time I shall require. J would 'rnerelv remark that I shall -never,-under' any circumstances, give .my consent to an alliance between my- son and your adopted.daughter." ' At this. Muud, who until .now has sat silent and. almost motionless,, starts -into life. ' She rises to her, feet, and, though still keeping- well in the shadow, turns to confront 'Penruddock. "Reserve ' your disapprobation, sir," she says, in a voice low but dis- Go, man. to thy brother, noble and Notv jn sin's dark potation and <*Do'riot*-cry," she says, tapping back of the chair with nervous "Why will you spoil your and wear away your heart' What is it that alls'you . , Esther," , a- •,..-,T«-,"-^."-J 1 <,hopeless w}3b," says the 5' «M'W9»yj$Mjr; "but I want 50 be K,,»l pihep gir-jif^r^j want to have a 1 : ?4tbejP W&AljJti|Ji$»s9f whom I peed i be. born The lamps are carefully lowered, the curtains' drawn-. There is sufficient light to discern objects, but hardly enough to read the features of Maud Neville, who, reclining i a a low; chair at the upper f end of the room* sitsidjy gaaing into vacancy, whilst 'swinging slowly to and fro a huge black fan, Upon a table underneath' M.re.'Penru.dclc^k'B picture two lamps are burning dUnly. M.I-S, Neville, is lounging on a solemn arm' chair and is to all appoapanpe enjoying 1 Jife^JiQ, its greatest intensity, which, to speak mq^e plainly, means that |3h,9i§ Slowly bijt' Burejy *-"'into the avjns gf JMor-phgua^, The 8Qun<j of a 15e,U nogs the house,, fcfcejie, is a. payee, door opens, dowly, - 1 -- 1 - comes in --" tinct; "there is- no occasion for it, still less for your consent to my marriage with your son. As he will himself inform you, I have already told him, and very distinctly, that such a union is utterly impossible." Dick makes a movement as though he would go to her, but Pen.ruddo'ck detains him. "You bear what she says?" he exclaims, eagerly. "Shc^has refused you. Let it rest there^It is all at an end. Surely you would not press the matter? Have, you no self- esteem? Have you no pride?" "In this case, none," says the young- man, sadly. "It is my'happi- ness, my life, for which I plead." "But she tells me plainly that with her own lips she has rejected you." "If," says Dick, earnestly, going up to Maud, and taking both her hands in his, "if she will also tell you, not only with her own lips, bat honestly and from her heart, that she does not love me, I shall then resign all hope of ever gaining her. I shall cease, to w-eary her with my presence and iny sincere protestations of affection, and leave her free to wed a happier raan; a but never until she has told me that*. Yon may therefore spare yourself all further trouble on my account." He pauses, as if overcome by emotion, and then goes on again in a voice that tVembles slightly, "I await my sentence. Maud, speak!" TO BE .'.CONTINUED. CALLED POWN. The Woman TrJeil to Have Her tQr'f* Engagement King Appraised. .A salesman in' a Philadelphia jewelry store was approached by a woman of the fashionable world and her'daughter, a few days ago. The latter,looked somewhat embarrassed, ••I desire to get a ring formy daughter," gaid the woman. The salesman looked at the young lady,, "Not vhis . one—another daughter, It is to bo a surprise," She was shown oase after case of diamond rings, but none seemed to suit her. Finally she said to her daughter: "Show Wro, yours, dear." Blushlngly the girl took off her sieve and >Uppe.d a sparking vjng ^h-pm her engagement linger, < «<J want to ,pne .exactly'life that,, Hw ft ,t.e. j-ng, g, R a ,tJ»9 , him' ag brayeiy as she :k^¥s^tel:|Wt' |*|n^s *jh,euii£ ?4lft¥fl gflriS-M^ftblW ' mutterTad .testh«^ kJjy^^hJ^fa'ff'aln^jandirelt! W ^ "^Sy t f CTT^r ** ** r* tf *M fi&fi'*^ * r^tPW''f* T$t (f VWfj V fcMfe»PlW j&jw .vtyg vfflu.ia'' mil Jw -.y»l8$'*i',»fc.'tBtiMifij' wilv f $9w •fiVfip..lf v.ou'<wiah to'know k l ifcs -vAlim' hat are von tbinldng of. pretty Florine, As you go tripping > through parlor 5 and boll, Trailing your autumn leaves over the sheen Of the long mirrof across the gray wall? JTotes like a bird's from your tosy lips fall; Is it a song of thanksgiving and prftise From your young heart to the "ancient days?" tike a good fairy's your d»ft fingers fly; Pictures look out from their frames with new grace: But the, glad glance tlifct 3s lighting yottr . eye Is not because of the time, but your ploce Fronting the mirror; you see yout*fair face, Fairer than ever before in the frame Of maple leaves, russet and britnsoti and flame. - ' And you still -warble your gay_ litttle sonjd Frivilous words to rollicking tune— Ah, you are young, the days are all long, November, to you, is as pleasant as June; You heed not the years tliat will wither you soon. And if a thought of thanksgiving and prayer Btirs in your heart, 'tis be.cause you are fair listen I 'Not one single instant is stilled The song or the singer—her fingers and tongue Keep time with each other; the whole house is filled With "Ave Maria," and bright wreaths are flung. In lavish profusion, and ripe fruits are, hung • Where'warmest the rays of the morning sun fall, And Mary, the mother, smiles down from the wall. Your parddn, Florine, that I thought to upbraid; I itnow that.your heart is-as pure as the 'dew; All beauty and grace by the Father are made, And who but the Father /bestowed them on you? / ff. see in your eyes the sweet soul looking through,) •I'll thank Him with song, and I'll thank Him with prayer, That He gave me Florine- and made her so fair. —MinoiiET HOMIES BATES. FRANCE'S THANKSGIVING. (t Is Made the Occasion for Exchange of Presents, The French day of thanksgiving is anade the occasion of the exchange of j-ifts between members of the family. Parents bestow portions on their children, brothers on their sisters and husbands settle sums of money on their wives. During- the day the streets are crowded- with carriages filled with souvenirs, bo.n.bons and toys to delight the little ones. Sweetmeats ««'e made in the most singular forms -.one can imagine;•• bunches of carrots, green peas, boots\ and shoes, hats, bpoks and musical instruments, all made of sugar and colored to imitate reality, imd hollow to hold bonbons. In the morning social visits are exchang-ed, and no one able to give is exempt from leaving- a present at every house he visits. This favor is not expected from ladies.—Ex. THANKSGIVtNG DAY, i Xbo Football Game Has Become a Feature of the Day. The tendency of late years toward making of Thanksgiving- day a date for sporting events has not met with the approval of church people. The football players, are pointed out as the particular offendera''" 'A year ago the practice was vigorously denounced from many pulpits, but more particularly on account of the large number of fatiHties which resulted. Six persons lost their lives during- the football games of last Thanksgiving day. So vigorous was the denunciation of the press and pulpit that the rules of the, game have since, undergone a shavp revision, It is hoped that the new rules will accomplish the desired end. We Have ftjany Holidays, JJesideg the regular holidays, Thanksgiving, Qlmstnias, jf^w, ( yit., r ,, and Independence day, -there are ;! -' legal holidays in, many states Go speak to him kindly, though he gfotrt ia dust Trie angels will smile o'er an Action so jnst. Thy hand may unloosentthe letters that hind: Thy words m»y bring light fohis side- clotided mind: There's much to toe done in this vast world of ours, Then remember, oh. man, thon has God- given powers. Go, sister, afcd speak to that sad erring one, If repentant, forget all the wrong she has done; Regard not her presence with silent disdain, When a kind word may save her from slotting again. 'Tis but little to give, it is easily spoken, And may soothe a heart by grief almost broken, Remember that charity sufferetb long; Then judge Hot, condemn not, lest ye b« •wrofig. Tlwiik.qglvlng Vay la Barkvlllo. t» A fetfal of fieile Mosfft, Hie tTnton Hot-ge—Ha* ft tfthbee JBalWt ttt Hit Srtdk nhd 1* stnl oood lot treat* store of Life. Parson Darkley is going to make, a Thanksgiving Eve call on his neighbor, Brother Simkins. & <"0 <^-:%z He was dun called. But on his way home sees a wicked sight ,, "Well, fo' de Lavvd'e saket If da* ain't Brother Brownly lifting Brother White's fowls. " V' ' : R • ••, '• G- mayor of Aiken, S. C., writes the Nfetf York World thatthS horse Belle Moshy, •whose picture &p» peared in the World of Sunday, July 15, is not only not the only equine vetefaa of the war but fcot the oldest, Many of the annual visitors to Aiken have seen or heard of old Jim, an old gray horse, better known to some as Wheeler. This old horse is owned by Mr. W. T.Williams of Aiken. Old Jim is 14 % hands high and weighs 900 pounds when in good health* For thirty years he has dotte service on the plantation of Mr. Williams, his work being gradually lightened as infirmities have crept upon him. At the present time he has the run of the •pasture and enjoys a well earned rest. (For ten years after the war he followed the fox hounds each winter, Old Jim came from the mountains of East Tennessee, and took part in the battle of Atlanta. Falling back before Sherman's advance, or hanging on the flank of his army, old Jim's coat was daily stained by the red mud from the hills of Georgia. Crossing into South Carolina, he bagged through the swamps of the low country and bore his rider gallantly in the fight at Great Saltcatcher in Barn well county in South Carolina. From that point, ac- coinpanj'irig Pique's command, un-*er Gen. Wheeler, he brought his .master, Lieut. McMahon of East Tennessee, on the left flank of the invading army to Ailcen. When Sherman's army, passing- through Barn well county, reached the line of the South Carolina railway Gen. Kilpatrick, with his cavalry, made a'bold dash westward for the purpose of destroying the cotton mills at Gran-, iteville, five miles west of Aiken, and , of fch'e Union^ swell, for pararnpje day, Avbar 4»y, and Qth'evs of 1iU9BJ are Jft jn kpuiswa, SSardiQraa in a. and kou.jsla.niv, , kinc^a's, IB Illinois, I^'s birthday Jn - Yir» ' ' ' l P}da't I often tele you. 'bowi keeping dp fifth coramandipent? TO\J muj|1t dun go »»' put dew d^r fowlg where you got 'etn, or J'U 'pose you, 4er Ala* Florida, Friday jn flye ' AN NOVEMBER. Ninth the Rowan *PP Cnpjvem) It b&s . long- «n<l BQta,b} e rnqntfe fop g jgn9 and p,mg f* WBUM'nHglQlM dates, though < V 'Vr f-i'''*Pw iT'.v**'VT? 'T^TMTf « V. ?VT T^'i. 3 ^* 5 ^ 1 v"™'.-W^^^^^ ^g^f^^^-.- jV¥t JtJ lv%Hi*£ ^^T^W^^^^M v^js$? *' m£ &y£Sfl>Vlll w l*er»1ttl*tM"^1aWv4c,V. MMn J 44 «11 UJ\)C. „ u ¥ 'THE OLDEST "WAR HOUSE FEDEBAOY. possibly the Confederate powder mills in Augusta, Ga., thirteen miles further west of Graniteville. At Aiken they, met with tlie forces of Gen. Wheeler, and were repulsed after a sharp'skir- mish and retired to the main- body of the army. This fight determined the future fate of old Jim. ,, ' His rider, Lieut, McMahon, charged '' With him down a road, mow Soutk Boundary avenue, right in front of the house of Mr. Williams. They had ., hardly passed the front dloor whem '• both horse and rider fell, the rider, " 'with a mortal wound in the breast and^.; i< old Jim with a ball in his neck. . •' /;';$£ Lieut. MeMahon was taken into r __ house of Mr. Williams, where he ,died"Cs^ in the dining room a few hours- later," 1 ^ The stain of his life blood is still/on% the pine floor. Jim'was condemned as \ worthless and 1 ordered to be shot^but'^ Mr. Williams begged fop !w» life' «*£,;«?: nursed him back again to, health ; ' usefulness. From that day to this old horse has never knowa a sick'dft;/^' »nd the indications are that he '",'_"*'" yet be abje to show for several y|sai$ the scars of battle and the bva»4' >#£& S," upon his shpulders. Judges of horseflesh 7 'years old whet hands pf, his present waster." him now §Q years,pl'd, - n, J g7,p09,QOq 835,000,000, ' , ~ -rn--;, ."-."-r-sv" mrv/fFtfit yaw? • jBefeqpU* 4muitf3v .01 n nnnfnnn*?-i&i»^ ( fl*rA*nAnt

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