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The Saguache Crescent
Saguache , Colorado
Lyft
July 25, 1901     The Saguache Crescent
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WU after the lapse Of twenty years. From the window of the chapel softly sounds an organ's note, Through the peaceful Sabbath gloam-ing drifting shreds of musicfloat, And the quiet and the firelight and the sweetly solemn tunes. Bear me dreaming back to boyhood and its Sunday afternoons; When we gathered in the parlor, in the parlor stiff and grand, Where the haircloth chairs and sofas stood arrayed, a gloomy band, Where each queer oil portrait watched us with a countenance of wood, ~,nd the shells upon the whatnot in a dustless splendor stood. , i Then the quaint old parlor organ, with the quaver in its tongue, Seemed to tremble in its fervor as the sacred songs were sung, As we-sang the homely anthem, sang the ~lad revival hymns Of the glory of the story and the light no sorrow dims. While the dusk grew even de~per and the evening settled down, And the lamp-lit windows twinkled in the drowsy little town, Old and young we sang the chorus and the echoes told it o'er In the dear, familiar voices, hushed or scattered evermore. From the windows of the chapel faint and low the music dies, And the picture in the firelight fades before my tear-dimmed eyes, But my wistful fancy, listening, hears the night wind hum the tunes That we sang there in the parlor on those Sunday afternoons. A Jest of Fate, BY MAUDE E. LEONARD. (Copyright, 1901, by Daily Story Pub. Co.) The man was in a brown study. Ap- parently he was engaged in a diffi- cult experiment in his laboratory for his hands moved automatically among the chemicals. Liquids met, min- gled and were separated deftly, but in reality he was entirely ignorant of what his sensitive fingers were~ doing, for his mind' was busily engaged oth- erwise. He was a well-built man. and his Profile spoke of strength, with its slightly aquiline nose, deepset eye, and closely trimmed beard. That the mouth hidden by this same beard ~leld doubtful curves and a curious droop was a fact naturally unknown to most persons. When Dr. Packard chose to address a meeting of scien- tists his auditors always were aroused and listened. For he had a brain. Whether he was troubled by a heart was something women liked to spec- ulat~ about. Tllose who had solved the question discreetly hid their dearly brought knowledge, for women do not I~rade their hurts. In the face of this! it is somewhat remarkable to understand that at the moment when he was so aimlessly puttering about in his mechanical work with lackluster, Introspective eyes, Dr. Packard's brain was in re- ality entirely occupied with a woman. She had come out of the past so far back that the halo of mystery was beginning to adorn her memory, and because he was a son of Adam Dr. Packm'd found this uniquely attrac- ~ve. She needed some such softening LI The other held poison. nimbus, he reflected, with a touch of sardonic humor, for she must be forty years old--it was over twenty years since he had left that miserable small town in the west when opportunity had ai~retched out a finger to his rest- |ess grasp. ~he tumultuous and fast following years had cluttered his mind, and it came.to him that thts was the first time he had e~er so seriously and leisurely contemplated his act. He set down a siphon smartly and ~ashed it as he reflected what a fool he had been. At nineteen he had married Bessie Crowell. She was a waitress in the railroad restaurant and alone in the world. She had been pretty, of court, and she was good. As to her spelling he was ne so sure. CarefaIly he pieced out his boyish recollection of her. He knew precise- ly what h~ type would have degen- erated IntO~ln the time which had pas~d. With the uncompromisingly accurate knowledge of the mature man could mm her ~ ~e undOU~teINY She was fat and wore broad, fiat sltues with the buttons Off. Her gowns were of the dreary, nondescript wools stu- pid women affect, and her waist went by courtesy. Her hair--it had been brown and roughly curly~was thin- sing and s~illy and d~re~ed into a tight knot. Her complexion was coarse and oily, and she was gross, stolid.and entirely repellant to a man of fastidious tastes. Her mind had never risen above the gossip of the store and corners. As this picture grew, so correspondingly faded the idea which as a Just man ~had attacked him, that he had done wrong in run- ning away from her. It was with a sort of pride he recollected in all these years he had never failed to send reg- ular remittances back to her and the child For there had been one, but it had not appealed to his restless youth and still slumbering emotions of fatherhood. His lawyer relieved him of the delicate task of forwarding Sh~ had never heard such a laugh. the allowance to Bessie, Mrs. Abbott. When he ran away he had changed his name to Packard and she had nev- er traced him. though his invaluable leg&al man bad once carelessly con- vexed to him the impression that a vindictive ~nd spasmodic search for Iher strangely missing husband was now and then made by his client's ben- eficiary, Mrs. Abbott. Packard had thank~d~ his legal man gravely with- out vouchsafing any information con- ~rning the recalcitrant htmband to s expectant legal man. and had gone to his club to offer up thanks that his trail was covered. Dr. Packard, the scientist, the fa- vored, the admired by the lovely and gracious women of society and by men of affalrs~what had this roan'in common with the hot-~neaded boy of a quarter of a:e~ntury before, whose name was Abbott and who had been a fool? She could never find him. With a short sigh Dr, Packard set down the retort he held and reached for the glass of water he had drawn some moments before. The day was warm and he was thirsty. He drank every drop before he emerged from his mental wanderings and stood blinking as one whose sloping eyes have opened suddenly on a glare of light. Then he stumbled, sat down, and stared stupidly at the empty glass. Two feet away from where it had stood was another glass similar In shape, filled wtth~a ~ol~rleu, liquid. One of those glasses had held water, the other had been filled with a solu- tion he had made of a peculiar, color- less. tasteless poison. And, he had drunk one of them. There was a dampness on his fore- head. If it was the poison he had swallowed he was a dead man inside an hour. Then of a sudden he squared his shoulders and laughed harshly with relief. Hastily he reached for the other glass--he could test its contents and the suspense world be over. As he grasped it his trembling hand shifted, the glass slipped into the sink and the contents disappeared down the dram. The man groaned. It had come on him so sudden] y, he had awakened to the everyday world so abruptly he had not had time to get his balance. He was not lu a normal condition to face such a catastrophe and he sat clutch- ing the table edge with starting eyes and a ghastly face. He did not want to. die--he would not! A blind panic had him fast as he realized there was no use calling fbr help. No one could save him. With nerves tingling he sat waiting for the first twinge of pain, hie imagination lending hideous aid to reality. In a few minutes everything would be ended for him if it was the poison he had swallowed and some- thing of his old, dominating will came back as he rapidly adjusted his point of plow. Stubbornly his thoughts re- turned to Bessie Abbott but not with contemplative |lesure this time. She loomed a solemn fact in the life he had suddenly become separated from and the idea of a full expiation seized him and was insistent: With the odd notion growing he rose and wavered toward his desk in the next room and wrote hurriedly. There was really no one else with' so good a claim on his wealth and the child, young man by this time---he still thought of him as an alien, distnterestedly~might pos- sibly make some use of prosperity even as he had done. With livid face he glanced over the unblotted letter. "You could never have found me living,"'lt ran, "but it is my: whim you should profit by my death. It will give New York something to talk about and wonder over~ I do not ob- ject adding to the gayety of n~tiona for I k~ow the devil of ennui. Come to the address at the top of this sheet and tak~ possession. Everything is yours. I must confess I rarely remem- bered you till today when strangely ev~0ugh you have been much in my thoughts. They ~say the mind of the aged reverts to scenes of youth--poe- ~dbl~ in my ease forty is old. It is evidently sufficient in fate's Judgment for in half an hour I gkall be de~A Ths brutality of the few words seemed ~o revive him and stop the dull pricking that was stealing over his body. Methodically he sealed, ad- dressed and stamped the envelope= walked out and handed it to the post- man who at that moment was unlock- ing the mailbox. Then he came back to the laboratory and shut the door behind him. There was no longer in his mind any doubt as to which of the glasses be had emptied for his hands were cold, he trembled as with an ague and numbness stole over his brain. He could not think. He wan- dered around the room with protest- ing despairing tread and when his knees gave way beneath him he fell gasping to the floor and the waves swept over him. $ * $ $ Hours later those working over Dr. Packard who had been found on the floor of l~is laboratory were rewarded by the flicker of his eyelids and pres- ently he spoke. It was the usual inane question of those coming out of the depths. "You are in your own room," brisk- ly answered the physlcian at his right, a personal friend. Dr. Packard was trying to think as the waves which had submerged him receded, "I was poisoned," he breathed in a frazzled way. His friend's face broke into the humoring smile given remarks made by the feeble and incompetent. ""Non- sense," he said soothingly, "you've been in the most ~xtensive and all- pervading faint I ever saw but you weren't poisoned, man--what put that idea into your head? You're dream- ingl And what do yo'a mean by keeL- ing over in such reprehensible way ? You were working too long without food and rest, that's what ailed you!" It was some minutes later that Dr. Packard remembered the letter. He laughed once, shortly, abruptly, before he turned his face toward the wall. But the trained nurse at his side Jumped. She had never heard quite such a laugh in all her experience. Anel she never wanted to hear it again. Davies Too Mueh for the Bo~ A gray-halred alumnus of Colu~blk, on from a western state for the ~'adu- ating exercises, chatted of the days when he was at Columbia. "There was Prof. Davies," said tbe old evl- legian. "We fellows used to llke him as well as it was possible for a col- lege boy to like a professor of mathe- matics. One winter. ~ recollect, the members of my class, myself among the rest, had fpunzl consideraMe amusement and relieved ourselves ~f class work by burning asafetida, pe~- per and other unpleasant things in the various class rooms. We tried "the trick with Professor Anthon. who taught Greek. and with Prof. Nairne, who oceupled the chair of moral phil- osophy. At last some of the bolder spirits suggested that we transfer our attentions to Prof. Davies. Well, I remember that morning. It was blt- ter cold, and all of the ouzlets of the room were closed to keep the warmth within. We were on hand early, and hod several fat lumps of asafetida smoking away when the professor came. He walked to the desk ann lald hls hat and coat on it. Then odor struck him. He hesitated a mo~ most, and then walked slowly to the d~, locked it. and put the key in his pocket. 'Now. gentlemen, we will en- ~oy this together,' said he. as he re, turned to his s.~at. Then he got back at us. The mathematlcs he threw at us would have filled a set of mathe- matical books from the primary arith- metic to the calculus. And all the time the asafetida, was smoking, for he would not let us remove it. When we got out of that room after ~wo hours we were wl.ser and more discreet boys, and you can bet we played no more tricks on the author of Davies' Legendre."~New York Times. Clubs Have Their ,lvautages. I think it must be owned that the de- partures from the old order of home life have greatly ameliorated the con- dition of the weak, the timid, the less self-assertive writes Bishop Potter in the Woman's Companion. In any given home circle it is not always the clever- est or the strongest who claims and exercises the mastery. A shrinkiug and sensitive nature will not fight for its precedence in the home ~ny more than out of it. A gentle, modest woman Will often be overborne by her loud, push- ing and vulgarly modern children. A mau of refinement and real force will often let himself be bullied by a brawl- ing woman because his very nature makes him "no brawler." Now, in the old days, so far as social intercourse was concerned, it was largely a ques- tion of the home or--nothing. If there was no bright talk. no diverting ree- reatlon, no songs and laughter there, there was none anywhere. Reforms Thst Woro Exp~slv~ About three-quarters of a railroad's receipts come from the freight depart- ment. The passenger department su~- plies nearly all the rest. the incom,# from mail, express and other privilege.~ being comparatively small. Carryin.~ passengers is a simple matter, or would be, if state legislatures did not now 'and then 'take a hand in prescribing added specifications for railroad paS- senger service. In Ohio a law was passed decreeing that the height be- tween the platform and the lowest steps of passenger coaches should not exceed 12 inches. This co~t the rail- road~ nearly $100,000t and the reform ted to the abolition of a number of flag stops where the passengers had beeu quite willing to scramble up off the baliast.--Ainslee's Magazine. Women buy things they do not wa~t at bargain eru&h~s to prevent wom~tt who mm~ m~ad t~ ~ from lug the .m~__ .... l Hdred BY THE DUCHESS. CHAPTER XVI. In but few minutes' time after the accident Mildred was beside Denzil, and down upon her knees, her horse idly wandering away. She stooped and placed her hand upon his heart. but failed to detect the faintest beat. She clrew her fingers across his fore- head---cold and damp with thc chilling wintry wind--but to her it seemed iouched by the cold hand of Death. A terrible feeling took possession of her. Was he dead? Was he speech- qess, deaf, blind, beyoud love, life, trope, for evermore? Lifting his head onto her lap an~l pushing back the hair from his beau- tiful forehead, sh~ murmured to him tenderly, almost reproachfully, half believing the cruel voice he had loved so well on earth would recall him even from the grave. But there was no an- swer. She looked up wildly. Would nobody ever come? How long they were~ how lq~ag! And, when they did come, would it, perchance, be only to tell her that help was needless~that he was indeed dead, as he appeared~ lifeless within her very arms. Oh, to speak with him once more. if,only for a moment--just for so long as it would take to let him know how well she loved him. and to beg on her knees for his forgiveness! Why did he lie so silent at her feet? Surely that calm, half smile had no sympathy with death. Was she never to hear his voice again~never to see the loving tenderness that grew in his eyes for her alone? Was all the world dead or insensi- ble that none would come to her call. while perhaps each precious moment was stealing another chance from his life? This thought was maddening; she glanced all round her, but as ye~ no one was in sight. And then she began to cry and wring her hands. "Denzil, speak to me!" she sobbed. "Denzll--darling--darlin g !" $ $ $ $ Lord Lyndon, shortly after the acci- dent had occurred, turning round in his saddle to discover whether Miss Tre- -vanion was coming up with them. and not seeing her, ,raised himself in his stirrups to survey the ground behind. and beheld two horses riderless, and something he could not discern clearly upon the grass. "Sir George, look!" he called to his companion. "What is it--what ha~ happened? Can you see Mildred? He waited for nothing more, but putting spurs to the astonished animal nnder him, rode furiously back, leav- ing Sir George to follow him almost as swiftly. And this was what they saw. Lying apparently lifeless, with oue arm twisted under him, in that horri- ble, formless way a broken limb will sometimes take, lay Denzll Younge, with Miss Trevanion holding his head upon her lap and smoothing back his hair, while she moaned over him words and entreaties that made Lyndon's heart grow cold. "Mildred!" he cried sharply, putting his hand on her arm with the inten- tion of raising her from the grouud, but she shook him off roughly. "Let me alone," she Said; "what have you to do with us? I loved him. Oh, Denzil. my darling speak to me--speak to me." "What is the meaning of this?" Lyndon asked hoarsely. "Trevanlon, you should know." Sir George, who was 'bending over the prostrate man, raised his eyes for a moment. "I suppose, as she says it, it is true." he answered simply. "But I give you my word of honor as a gentleman, I was unaware of it. All I know'is that she refused him long before you pro- posed for her--for what reason I am as ignorant as yourself. It has been her own secret from first to last." As Sir George spoke, Mildred looked up for the first time. "Is he dead?" she asked with terri- ble calmness. "No, no--~I hope not; a broken arm seldom kills," answered her father, hurriedly, drawing the broken limb from beneath the wounded man with gre~t gentleness. "Lyndon, the bran- dy," Lyndon, who was almost as white as Denzil at the moment, resolutely put- ting his owu grievances behind him for the time being, knelt down beside Sir George, "and, giving him his flask. began to help in the task of resusci- tation. "How will it be?' he asked in a whisper.- "I cannot tell," answered Sir George; "we can only hope for thb best. But I don't like the look on the poor lad's face. I have seen such a look before. Do you remember little Polly Stuart of the Guards? I was ~n the ground when he was killed very much in the same manner and saw him lying there with Just that sort of strange, calm. half smile upon his face as though defying death. But he was stone dead at the time, poor boy." "How shall we get him l~ome?" asked Lyndo~. "I wish some doctor could be found to see him. Was not ~tubber on the field this morning?" "Yes, but was called off early in the day, I think." "His heart!" cried Miss Trevanion, suddenly. "His heart! It's beating!" She raised her eyes to her father's as she gave utterance to the sweet words, and Lyndon saw all the glorious light of the hope that had kindled in them. Her white fingers were pressed closely against Denzil's chest; her breath was coming and going raptur- ously at quick, short intervals; her whole face was full of passionate, glad expectation. - "So it is," said Sir George, excitedly. "Lyndon, more bran,dy." So life, struggling slowly back into Denzil's frame, began its swift course once more for him; while for Lyndon, turning away'sick at heart and misera- ble. its:joys and promises were but as rotten fruit, ending in bitterness and mockery. CHAPTER XVII. It was late the.same evening, and Mildred sitting in her mother's room, with one hand clasped in Lady Caro- line's, was gazing idly into the fire. seeming pale and dejected in the reu light of the flame, that ever and anon blazed up and sunk, and almost died, and brightened up again. Yet in her heart there was a great well of thank- fulness, of joy unutterable--for had not the doctor, fully an hour before, declared DenziL out of any immediate danger? Up to that moment Miss Trevanion had remetned in her own apartment. not caring to encounter the gaze of curious observers--now walking fever- ishly backward and forward with un- spoken prayers within her breast, now sitting stunned and wretched, waiting for the tidings she yet dreaded to hear. But. when Lady Caroline came to tell her all was well for the present, she could say not!-ing;~she only fol- lowed her mother back to her own room where she fell upon her knees and cried as if her heart would break. Suddenly the door opened and a ser- vant stood revealed. "Lord Lyndon's compli~cnts to Miss Trevanion, and he would be glad to see her for a few minutes in the north drawing room," he said, and !in- gered for a reply. "I will be down direstly," Mildr, ed answered tremulously, and when he had withdrawn turned nervously to- ward Lady Caroline. "Ob, mother," she said, "what can I say to him? What must he think of me?" "Have courage, my darling," whis- pered Lady Caroline, "and own the truth plain speaking Is ever the be~t and wisest. Afterward he will forgive you. Remember how impatiently I shall be waiting here for your return." "Of course he will understand that it is now all over between us?" Mil- dred asked, half anxiously, as she reached the door. "Of eourse he will," said' Lady Care- ,line, wlth a suppressed sigh. How Could she help regretting this good thing that was passing away from her daughter. "Now go, and do not keep. him in suspense any longer." So Mildred went; but, as she passed the threshold of the room that con- tained Lord Lyndon, a sudden rush of memory almost overpowered her, car- rying her back, as it did, w that other night, .a few short weeks ago. when she had similarly stood, but in how different a position in the sight of the man now standing opposite to her. Then she had come to offer him all that was dearest to him on'earth, now she was come to deprive him of that boon--was standing before him, Judg- ed and condemned as having given away that which in nowise belonged to her. She scarcely dared to raise her head, but waited, shame-stricken, for him to accuse her, with eyes bent sorrow- fully downward. "I have very little to say to you," said Lyndon, hoarsely, in a voice that was strange and cold, all the youth being gone out of it, "but I thought it better to get it over at once--to end this farce that has been playing so long." No answer from Miss Trevanion-- no movement--no sound even. beyond a slight catching of the breath. "Why you "should have treated me as you have is altogether beyond my fathoming," he went on. "Surely I could never have deserved it at your hands. When I gave you that paltry money a fe~f weeks ago, I little thought it was accepted as the price of your affection. Affection! Nay, rather toleration. Had I known it I would have flung it into the sea before it should have so degraded both yourself and me. Had you no compassion-- no thought of the dreary future you were so coldly planning out for us both--I ever striving to gain a love that was not to. be gained--you per- petually remembering past days that cdntained all the sweetness of your life? There---it is of small use my re- proaching you now; the thing is done, and cannot be undone. You have only acted as hundreds of women have act- ed before you--ruined one man's hap- piness completely, and very nearly wrecked another's, all for-the want of a little honesty." He made a few steps forward, as though to pass her, but she arrested him by laying both her hands on his arm. "Oh, Henry, forgive me!" she ~- claimed, with deep emotion. "You can not leave me like this. I know I have been bad, wicked, .deceitful, in ewry way, but, oh, forgive me! No--do not~ mistake me. I know well you would never marry me now; and" lowerin[ her voice--"neither could I ever marry you, having once shown you my heart; so there can .be' 'rio misconception about that, But if you knew every-. thing--how wretched I was, h~w hope-! less, how essential it was that the~ money should be procured, how ter- rible it was to me to have to borrow it, and how just and right a thing it seemed to give you myself in ex- change, having no other means of re- : payment--you might perhaps pity me. Could you only have seen into heart, you would have read there how real was my determination to be true to you, to make you a good wife, and love you eventually as well as I loved --that other." She broke down here and covered her face with her hands. And Lyndon who had never learned the art of be- ing consistently unkind to anything, felt his wrath and wrongs melt,awaY altogether, while a choking sensation arose in his throat. He forgot all his own deep injuries, and, taking the pretty golden head, between bis hands, he drew it down : upon his breast, where she began to cry right heartily. "Mildred, how could you do it?" he whispered, presently, in a broken voice. "Had you hated me you could have done nothing more cruel. Child, did you never think .of the conse- quences?" "I know I have behaved basely to you," sobbed Mildred. "But I never thought that this would be the end. All might have turned out so different- ly, had--had this day never been." "I shall never cease to be thankful that this day did come," he answered, earnestly. "Better to wake from a happy dream in time than rest uncon- scious until the waking is too late. Bitter as it is to lose you now, and no-one but myself can guess how bit- ter that is, would it not be far worse to discover that my wife had no sym- pathy with me, no thought akin to mine?" He paused for a moment and then he said, sadly, "It seems a hard thing for me to say, but yet--oh, Mil- dred. I wish we had never met!" ~'Is there nothing I can do to make it up to you?" she asked, despairing- ly. "No, there is nothing," he answered, regretfully; "all that could be said or done would not obliterate the past. You are crying still, Mildred." raising her face, and regarding it mournfully; "are you so very sorry then, for your work? And yet a few plain words would have prevented all this. Tell me--when returning the money, which you Insisted on doing after your :~ grand-aunt's death, why did you not then honestly speak the truth? Was not that a good opportunity?" "Oh, how could I do it tben?" she asked, turning away her head, with a little shiver of distaste; "that would have appeared so detestable in your eyes. What!"she exclaimed, "accept your kindness gratefully when I was in sore need of it, and then whefl I had no further want of it, throw yon of[ without the slightest compunction? Surely you would have thought that a very unworthy action?" "Still it would have been better than this," he answered, gloomily, begin- ning to walk slowly up and down the room. while she stood weaving her fingers restlessly in and out, watching him. Poor Mildred. the bitterness of her remorse Just then made half atone- ment for her sin. With a heart at once affectionate and deeply feeling, it was to her the lntensest agony to see ,Lyndon so crushed and heart- broken, and know it was her own handiwork. For a few minutes there was silence except for the faint sound of Lyndon2s footsteps as he paced heavily to and fro on the. thick carpet At length she could bear it no longer. (To be continued.) . Preaches for Her Husband. Wearied and almost ready to col- lapse from overwork, Rev. Mr. Clegg of Tannersville, Pa,. on a recent Sun- day evening permitted his wife to oc- cupy his pulpit, and the congrega- tion that listened to the discourse was greatly pleased. "Sin came into the world by my sex, and it is my duty to get all the sin out of the world I can," said Mrs. Clegg in her sermon. She conducted her entire service for her husband and her sermon was in- teresting from beginning to end. The announcement that the minister's wife was to preach brought out a very large congregation and late comers stood two deep in the corridor. Rev. D. W. Lecrone, the Lutheran pastor of t,he village, dismissed his evening service in order to hear Mrs. Clegg. He was invited to a seat on the plat- form and accepted. Pastor Clegg, who is an ~ngllshman, introduced his,wife to the congregation. Limits of the Audibility of Sound, An interesting matter, from a scien- tific point of view, in connection with the death of Queen Victoria, ~s the dis- tance at which the sound of firing was heard when the fleet saluted ,as the belly was conveyed from Cowes to Portsmouth. Letters in the English Journals of science show that the sounds of the guns were heard i~ sev- eral places at a distance of eighty-tour miles, and that at a distance of sixty miles the concussions were sufficiently intense to shake windows and to set cock pheasants to crowing as they do during a thunderstorm. There ap- pears to have been but little wind to interfere with the propagation of the sound.~New York Post. Of |55 Japanese university students who were questioned as to their roll- gious beliefs no fewer than 472 called themselves atheists.