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WEEKLYY “NOB/W ALK - Gr,AZETTE.
THE SONG OF HURRY.
Oh! it’s hurry, hurry, hurry! and it’s hurry all
you can! - . . ,
You’ve got to keep a hurrying, and hustle like
a man.
The easy way of going is a relic of the past,
And now it's hurryJ hurry upl—Now hurryl
hurry fast! _ .
It’s very sure if you don't run the other fellow
will, '
And so you want to hurry, and then hurry
harder still.-
lf some one’s bound to beat you, you can pass
him in a wink
If you but keep a hurry on, and never stop to
. think.
There may be time to catch your breath when
you have caught your car;
But sixty seconds to the minute's all of them
there are;
There are but sixty minutes out of every hour
of those, ,
And when you figure very fast, it’s awful how
it goes!
And don't forget you’veggot to get there mighty
quick, because
You've got to get away again; and snatch ft
from the jaws.
Whose jaws they are don’t out
what you're going to snatch;
You can’t be too particular in such a shooting
match.
You needn’t stop to fix your :feet and try to
, walk a crack,
For though it's tough a-getting there, it’s
tougher getting back.
There’s little time to linger on the greeny,
grassy lawn.
When. long before you’ve gotten
ought to then be gone.
the foe, nor
there. you
So keep a-humping, humping, now, and jolly
right along,
With here a hurryl there a hurry! then a hurry
strong.
on but keep your hurry on. and hurry,
hurry fast,
It’s ten to one you’re on the run and may get
back at last.
—-W. D. Ellwanger, in N. Y. Sun.
____._.a.._—
A HEROIN E UN AWARES.
The Story of a Western Emi-
_ grant's Plucky Daughter. e,
If
The red sun hung above the dim,
hazy earth like a glowing ball of fire
one smoky morning. Not a breath of ‘
air stirred the rustling prairie grass,
not a breeze stirred the wilting leaves
upon the solitary tree by the spring.
The soldiers guarding stage station 0
wwe chattering together seated upon
the shady sides of their tents. tee-«m
“There’s three emigrant wagons——
blamed if there ain’t!” exclaimed Pri-
vate Knowles, incredulously.
“That’s a fact,” declared Lieut. Som-
mers, l'oweringhis field glass. “There
they are, three wagons loaded with
men, women and children and the
whole [country alive with Indians!
Crazy people are not all in insane asy-
lums.” ,.. we - -'"""”’-“Vm:—.va--. .
The men wondered and commented
as the three wagons slowly drew near
and halted near the spring. Perched
upon the back of the huge gray leader,
in the fdremost team, was a girl with a
thin, white face, careworn and emotion-
less. The figure was ,that of' a child of
perhaps fourteen years; the face was
that of a woman who had met with
more diSappointment than pleasure in
this world. A man sat just within the
white canvas cover of the wagon, while
four or five children peered from the
depths behind him.
“How’d ye do?” was the man’s cordial
greeting, as they all descended.
“Seems good ter stretch yer legs when
you’ve been drivin’ ’most the night.”
“How are you. stranger?” returned
Private Knowles. “Where do you think
you’re traveling to, anyway?”
“Wal, we heard as how there wus
good settlin’ land ’bout fifty miles fur-
der on, an’ I ’low there’s .where we’re
aimin’ fur,” answered the man confi-
dently.
“Are you idiots?” shoutedLieut. Som-
mers. “This .country is full of red-
skins. They’ve wiped out nearly every
stage station for seventy miles or more.
They gave us a call yesterday, as four
poor fellows in the tent yonder testify.
They’re on the warpath on account of
the little unpleasantness at Deer Lick,
last week. Better stay here until they
get quieted down.”
"No-up! Some one’ll take the land
afore us if we don’t push on,” was the
sullen, determined answer.
L “That’s so. Smutty J oe’writ a letter
ter Inderanny fer money ter scoot, an’
he won’t stop fer no Injuns,” said
another of the men. “We’ve got seven
good sixteen-shooters, besides revolvers
plenty, an’ I reckin’ we kin use ’em.
Our wimmen folks ain’t slow when it
—.
“Well, fsis, where are they?” asked
the commander. ' -
“Less’n ten mile. Broke a wagon
wheel an’ went inter camp middlin’
airly,” was the brief reply. '
“Have the Indians made an attack?”
“Ye-up, or I wouldn’t be here, would
I, mister?” '
“Many redskins?”
“More’n a hundred.”
“How did you get here?”
"Jumped onto ole Gray’s back an’
cum—rode through ’em.”
“There’s blood on your sleeve—you
are wounded?” .... . -
“Scratched a leetle with one of them
arrers—nary a bullet hit me, I reckin.
But you’ll hev to hurry, mister.
There’s heaps of ’em agin’ six, an’ pOp
'was hit 'tfore I left.” ' .,
The girl slipped from old Gray’s back
and ran to the commander’s side. ;.¢
“What now?” he questioned. .-.. '
“P’raps you’ll let me take a. fresh
hoss, mister, an’ a shooter. I had ter
leave mine,” she said earnestly.
"You mustn’t go with us.”
“You bet yer boots I do.”
“Give her a horse; she won’t be in
more danger than to stay here alone.”
When the troopers were mounted
Nance spurred her new steed alongside
of the colonel’s horse, riding there in
silence for some time. -
' Then she spoke abruptly: ” ’Taint
very bad fer six of ’em ter hold back
more’n a hundred,” she said, as they
heard thb sound of distant firing.
a “I hope we’re not too late!” muttered
the colonel, anxiously.
“Oh, no, yer ain’t,” she answered,
cheerfully, with the same shrill laugh.
“Ye hear them gunSwan’ as long as
pop’s alive them Injuns’ll stay out er
that camp. Hear ’em now! I kin tell
pop’s gun ’mongst a million; it sounds
like a cannon ’most, don’t it? Goin’ ter
charge, mister?”
“Yes, and you must fall back to the
rear.” _ -
“No-up. Not much, I don’t, mister.
I’ll keep right side of You.”
“No, fall back!” '
“You bet I’ll be right alongside of
you, mister, when ye git there. Jest
look! Runnin’ a’ready, ain’t they,
l mister?”
It was true; the Indians suddenly re-
membered that 4 h.
“ He who fights and runs away '
Will live to fight another day,"
but seven of them were captured, with
but two soldiers wounded. Two men,
two women and three children among
the emigrants were wounded and every
horse lay dead. ‘W‘ira’mcmea‘ ”it“
“Fifteen minutes more would have
wiped them all out,” said Private
Knowles, grimly, as they encircled the
wagons under which the defenders lay.
Nance slid from her horse and crawled
under the nearest one.
“Are ye hurt, pop?” she asked, anx-
iously.
“N othin’ more’n a scratch, I reckin.
Be ye hurt, sis?”
“Jest a~ mnsketter bite. Did ye see
me go, p0p?” ' ,
“Ye-up. I reckin I did”, ' *
“Wal, I fetched ’em.”
“I knowed ye would.” Just then the
curtains of the wagon parted.
“Nance!” called the woman.
“I’m here, marm.” .. wag
“Whare ye bin?” .
“I took ole Gray an’ fetched the sol-
jers.”
“Oh, ye did. That’s lucky ye thought
ter do it, I guess. Come in here now.
Jim an’ Fanny are both bin bulleted.”
“Bad, marm?”
“Oh, I reckin they’ll pull tl‘ rough,
but they’re fussin’.” ..
The soldiers hitched horses to the
wagons and slowly the cavalcade moved
back to the stage station.
Not a word of praise was given to
brave Nance, who had saved them all
from a terrible death. ,
“They all take it as amatter of fact,”
muttered Lieut. Sommers, when the
station was reached at last. “And she
don’t seem to understand that she is as
brave as any soldier that wears the
blue. God bless her homely face!”
“Give her three cheers!” shouted
Private Knowles. “Now, boys—three
cheers for N ancel” ‘
The cheers were given with a will.
The echo had hardly died away when
a voice came from the pile of blankets
where the father lay.
“What you fellers makin’ sich a fuss
over Nance fer?” he growled. ‘
“Why, she is a heroine; didn’t you'
cums ter shootin’ irons, I tell ye, an’
Jake’s Nance is a whole team with a
rifle, you bet! We’ll go ahead.” =
“That’s the talk,” asserted the third
man, while the women nodded approv-
ingly, and the elf upon the gray lead-
er‘s back laughed shrilly. “If you
fellers will jest let us bile the teakittle
an’ water the bosses arter fodderin’ ’em,
we’ll push right on.”
“It’s no use to say any more to them.
They’re bound for the kingdom come,”
said Lieut. Sommers, walking away in
disgust. “The commander better give
orders to make ’em stay here, anyway.”
But before the order was given the
wagons were on their way across the
prairie. The men watched the cloud
of alkali dust which overhung the
white-topped wagons until it disap-
peared from sight.
“See to your arms and have your
cartridge belts full. Theyare sure to
call upon us before long, if they'can
reach us,” was the order.
The sun rose higher in the murky .
sky, hung like a ball of fire overhead,
and slowly sank toward the dim west-
ern horizon. .
Still no news from the emigrants. '
“They’re dead — sure’s thunderl”
ejaculated Ben Long. “They never’d'
gone this time. A-h-h!” Each man
followed Ben’s eager gaze. Through
the gathering twilight they saw the
Outline of a horse and rider dash over
a ridge 3. mile away. An instant and
it was gone, but the sound of horse’s
hoofs came nearer and nearer until
out of the gloom dashedthe great gray
leader. . ..
His rider was elfin Nance. Her face
was a trifle pale perhaps, but an emo-
tionless as when she left the camp in
the morning. The. call ’to boots and
saddles j sounded, before the panting
h‘orse stopped, and the troopers ran'
hither and thither ‘in confusion and ‘
haste . ‘ ' '
.-v,_.iu. l.
(I 5
know it? She saved you all,” was the
astonished reply.
“S'posin’ she did! You’d better quit
that noise. Nance is hushin’ them
young uns as was bulleted, an’ she
won’t thank ye ter skeer ’em an’ make
’emfnervouser’n they air by howlin’ so.”
The wagon curtain parted again, and
Nance’s white face peered out.
“That’s so. I ain’t done nothin’ but
what I’d oughter do for pop an’ marm
an’ the younguns, anyhow. But the
younguns is asleep now, an’ I guess I’ll
git my arm seen to if the doctor is
handy. Is he?”
The station agent stepped forward
and cut the sleeve from the trembling
arm. The barbed head of an arrow he
passed entirely through the arm. The
broken shaft told of Nance’s effort-3 to
pull it out.—Ella H. Stratton, in Farm
and Home.
l Site of Belshnzzar’s Palace.
On the site of the great palace of the
kings of Babylon, where Belshazzar
held his feasts, a black basalt statue,
covered with fine inscriptions, has been
found by Arab diggers and sent to Con-
stantinople. The finds of the French
and American explorers, in southern
Babylonia, says the Collector, all be-
long to the Turkish government, and
are taken to the Imperial Ottoman
museum at Constantinople, where there
are now no less than fifty thousand
newly discovered inscribed objects from
Sippara, where the Turks themselves
are excavating from Tel-10h, where the
French are, and from Niflir, the Ameri-
can field. At Tel-loh, lately, after M.
Sarnac, the French agent, left, the
Arabs employed by him came upon a
large chamber filled with inscribed
clay tablets, most of which they sold to
Armenian, Syrian and Jewish brokers,
who succeeded in getting a part of the
collection to London and Paris.
remainder was seized by the authorities
at, Bagdad. » , ' '. ‘ ' '
The ‘
A man who registered as ‘Fred Bulk-
ley'of Danbury fell from a third story
window at the Tremont Hotel, Bridge-
port,,last night, and escaped death only
by having his fall broken by the roof of
a storm door, 20 feet below the window
from which he fell. Below the door
was a sheet of solid concrete, onto
which he rolled after striking the door.
He was picked up unconscious and
carried to the Emergency Hospital. His
injuries were examined by Dr. Hair,
who found a contusion on the forehead
and a bad abrasion on the left side of
the face. Bulkley’s tongue was squeezed
between his teeth, and he bled
slightly from his mouth. He com-
plained of pains all over his body after
being restored to partial consciousness
and Dr. Hair fears that the man was in-
j med internally.
Bulkley, with eight companion s, went
to Bridgeport to appear as witnesses in
a case being tried in the Common Pleas
Court. Last night Bulkley drank free-
ly, and while under the influence of li-
quor sat on the sill of a third story win-
dow overlooking the alley north of the
hotel. One of his companions sat near
him, and was horrified to see Bulkley
lurch over and drop from the window.
He ran out of the hotel, expecting to
find Bulkley with a broken skull.
After Bulkley was treated for his in-
juries he was taken back to his room
and put to bed. He was in a semi-con-
scious condition at midnight.
This morning Bulkley’s condition
had become much worse, and Landlord
Downing called Dr. Day to attend him.
The hemorrhage from his mouth had
increased. Dr. Day ordered Bulkley
removed to the General Hospital.
William Lyman of Grassy Plains,
near Danbury, was one of the party of
which Bulkley was one, and he, too,
got into trouble while drunk. Lyman
was walking along Middle street when
he met May Ives, better known as “Big
Casino,” whom he attempted to bug,
The woman is of powerful physique,
and not being in a mood to be hugged
by a drunken man, struck Lyman a
blow which sent him reeling into the
gutter; In falling, .Lyman’s head
struck the edge of the curbstone and
he sustained a scalp wound an inch and a
half in length. He was taken to the
Emergency Hospital, where the Wound
was closed. Lyman was drunk and
abusive, and was turned over to the po-
lice. At Police Headquarters he [gave
the name of Charles Murphy of Brook-
lyn, and denied that he knew where
Grassy Plains is.
The other members of the party re-
mained sober, and seem to have a fair
LUCKY STORM 000R]
A PRETTY WEDDING.
The Marriage of Seymour Taft and Miss
Gussie Grsowski Celebrated.
The residence of Mr. Elias Gusowski
on Main street was the scene ofa pretty
wedding Tuesday afternoon.
The contracting parties were Mr.
Seymour Taft, formerly of this city,
but now located in Brooklyn, and Miss
Gussie Gnsowski, the pretty daughter
of Mr. and Mrs. Elias Gusowski.
The ceremony took place at 5:30 p. m.
and was performed by Rev. Lneke of
New York. The couple stood under a
bell of choice cut flowers in the draw-
ing room which was redolent with the
perfume of flowers and tastefully
trimmed with palms, ferns, etc.
The bride looked beautiful in a gown
of white chiffon with bridal veil and
carried in her hand a bouquet of choice
roses. The groom looked every inch 9.
man in the regulation wedding suit.
Florence Gusowski, a sister, and Miss
Frances Levi,a cousin of the bride,botb
pretty and becomingly attired acted as
bridesmaids. A brother of the groom,
Daniel Taft of Bridgeport,acted as best
man.
The ceremonies were witnessed by
about fifty guests a number of whom
were from New York.
A reception {allowed and the wedding
feast served under the charge of a
French lady cuisine artist from New
York was greatly enjoyed.
Messages of congratulations were re-
ceived among the same being a cable-
gram from an uncle of the bride at
present a resident of Berlin.
There was an elegant display of rich
and valuable presents. It was a happy
occasion and one which will not soon be
forgotten by all present.
Mr. Taft and his bride left in the eve-
ning for their new and splendidly fur-
nished home in Brooklyn followed by
the well wishes of scores of friends.
. «.>——’—.
The water tank on Main street is be-
ine: placed in thorough repair.
hit.
56 YEARS ESTABLISHED
GRAND AND UPRIGHT.’
\ Nearly 100,000 Manufactured. 4
EASY Teams. -‘: EXCHANGED.‘
REASONABLE PRICES. o. ,
? FISCHER PIANO WAREROOMsv‘
IIO Fifth [Ave-e 00?. '6‘“! 31-, “a YI
chance of getting back to Danbury
Write for Catalogue. _......- M.
In... . .__‘._
,.
E?!“
alive.
The
“at
OOTHE I.
will, as_always.
ness principles.
The New York eekly
Its campaign news and discussmns wil
Reports, Short .
elaborate descriptions, an
Family Paper.
(both papers),
6!. A. FRANKE.
THE HAIR. CUTTER"
No. 1 Gazette Building, Norwalk
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THE. .
PRESIDENT unififi) STATES
Is to be Elected, and the
Weekly 1l’riloune.
he nation. . .
is not only 1he leading Republican
e, Agricultural Department, Market
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We furnish The Gazette and New York Weekly Tribune
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send it to Geo. W. Best. Room 2
sample copy of THE NEW YORK
g..—
.n‘
The Nuualk Fire Insurance Cu
Has now Completed ts
32d SUCCESSFUL BUSINESS YEAR,«
And has not outstanding, a dollar of unpai‘
losses‘orclainris. fl'orslosses. .No sound com.
. e or as , . . .
K?"o’fni‘§ii’§v§me. Pres..(}. B. St. John.Vice~Pres
,. F, E.Shaw, Sec. Geo. B, Cowles,Resident Sec,
A Mosmn MISSIONARY?
’What He Did for an American.
Boy in Egypt.
The old Egyptian cemetery at As-
siout is a desolate, sandy tract 'of land,
with a desert stretching away on either
hand. Each grave is furnished with
double gravestones, placed as seats for
the two recording angels, Munkar and
Nekir. After death, say the Moham-
medans, the soul stays with the body
for four-and-twenty hours. During
this time it is questioned by the spirits
who descend, one bearing the book for
the good, the other that for the evil
deeds of the departed. When the an-
swers are noted they rise, with the vol-
umes, to the throne of Allah and, ac-
cording to their contents, the souluis
rewarded or punished. '75
The tombstones at first stand side by
side, but in the loose sandy soil they
soon sink and lean apart at various an-
gles. N 0 flowers grow there; no wom-
an would even dream of coming to
plant any there. Such as it was, how-
ever, it had a visitor in the person of
an old, blind beggar. Ibrahim had
not always been poor and forlorn. He
had once been a. prosperous dragoman
wearing gorgeous apparel and earning
much backsheesh by guiding English
and American tourists through his na-
tive land. eN ow he was dependent
upon the charity of those pious believ-
ers who daily distributed bread to the
needy from the doors of the mosque.
Ibrahim loved the graveyard. He
felt more at home there than in the
town of the living outside its walls. So
many of his old friends were here.
They were all gone into the other world,
some in battle with the Berbers or the
Sudanee, some from old age, some bv
pestilence, some by famine, which ever
waits to devour the fellah when, by
chance, the Nile fails to give susten-
ance to his poor little strip of arable
land. Only he was left of all his gen-
eration.
...v\...;:‘z- ‘.~'4"',§-',,-L : w
another.
one st-‘ne to Occasionally
he st'-_:-ped to recall the past,
to holl an imaginary conversation
with some shade, to give. some
piece of news and fancy '_‘.'. --_".-:t
upon the visionary‘audic: ‘. i'f- "-"Ztiql
often no home quite c3: ire-
freshed by the companio'... uilli feel-
ing‘less lonely. One only, ..;;;l he the
dearest, was absent. Whether he lay
beneath ocean waves, or under- urifting
Libyan sands, or in a f:u--- sit" country.
Ibrahim never knew; but it was his
only son, his firstborn child, he whose
birth had been hailed with much re-
joicing. The ceremonies had been ob-
served in due form—the household fes-
tival on the seventh day, when the
sweetened water was dropped in the
baby’s mouth to give it a pleasant fore-
taste of life’s gifts; the forty bowls of
water poured upon its head upon the
forticih day. The had had been put
under the care of a wise fakir and
carefully instructed in the faith of El-
Islam; but, in spite of everything, he
had proved a renegade, idle and worth-
less; even, it was whispered so vile as
tolearn from Christians to drink the
forbidden fiery waters which destroy
not only the body but the soul as well.
Yes, there was no doubt that he was a
bad son, and, when he finally ran away
with a caravan of wandering Bedawin,
the bazar felt that fate had dealt
kindly with Ibrahim. But he himself
thought otherwise, for his soul yearned
after his troublesome child; and even
now, after so many long years, his‘
works of supererogation, his observance
of extra hours of prayer besides the
ordained five, his visit to the Weli, or
tombs of saints, his offerings of ostrich
eggs in the mausoleums and scraps
of cloth fastened to the surrounding
trees, were always performed with the
hope that they might somehow benefit
that son, for whose sake, when the
trump of Israfil should sound, he him-
self would be content to fall from the
razor bridge of El-Sirat into the abyss
below, provided only the soul of his
boy might be borne across to rest be-
neath the shade of trees with the
houris of Paradise. To his deceased
wives, nine in all, he seldom gave a
thought, but, for Ali’s sake, scourged
his poor worn back and stood for hours
in the broiling sun; for Ali he roused
hiniself to pray at midnight. He al-
ways made one of theblind. men who
walked behind a bier to chant the
creed while the boys followed to sing
the “Hashm'yeh,” the poem of last
judgment, and the mourning women
wailed behind. And he loved to listen
to the burial prayer: “0, Allah! for-
give our living and forgive our dead.
Pardon those 'who are present . and
those who are absent.”
On the afternoon in question the old
man felt more weary than usual. In
his wanderings through the bazar he
had, by chance, heard of a. certain
stranger who lay ill at a miserable
hostlery on the outskirts of the town.
He had staggered in, no one knew
from what place, late one night in a
dazed and sunstruck condition and had
speedily grown too ill to make himself
intelligible. He was young, and evi-
dently a Frank of some sort; but there
were none but natives in Assiout dur-
ing the hot season of September, and
no one ,to look after a sick stranger,
especially as there seemed a probability
that he might be suffering from chol-
era. So old Ibrahim felt his way into
the mud hut one baking afternoon to
and keep away« the' torturing flies.
From that hour he tended him continu-
ally. In his long interCourse with
Anglo-Saxons he had grown wise in
their speech, and he knew that the
wandering accents were American.
He sat patiently, through long, broil-
ing days, ‘ not so much from compas-
sion as from the hope that always
shone before him that his good deeds
might be set down to the account of
his lost 5011. But no Christian mother
could have been more faithful and
tender than the ignorant, superstitious,
fanatical old follower of the prophet.
Love works to the same end through
devious channels. *
Whether from the care of Ibrahim or
from his ov'm strong constitution, the
young American struggled back to life,
He loved to wander from ,
sit by the sufierer,-to give him water _
andto a long, fretful, restless convales-.
cence. He brought forth a small stock
of money, enough to pay the tavern-
keepers; but Ibrahim went unpaid, be-
cause, though he did ~not know it, the
stranger was waiting until he could
communicate with his consul.
It was beginning to grow cooler.
After a long rest in his favorite resort
Ibrahim felt refreshed, and strolled
cheerfully back, receiving greetings
from the neighbors as he went. “To
tend the sick and stranger is to do the
will of Allah,” said they, approvingly;
and their praises were grateful to his
ears. ' ' 31*.
There was little else to reward him.
His patient was not one who had learned
much from life in the lessons of unself-
ishness and self-control. But even on
him it began gradually to dawn that
something surprising andrbeyond any-
thing that he had a right to expect.
"Ibrahim,” he asked a few days
n-4 A“ “on
later, “when you‘vpray,-.‘,’Y..
8&3?” , .. , V II .3.»
The old man flushed’i‘l speak with
Allah, howadji,” he answered with
simple dignity. «fihtf-v 4
“Oh, see here! I know you den’t
like to talk about your faith to un-
believers; but I’m not meaning to be'
impertinent. I really would likefg’)
“0 “we
’ “it?!
know very much.” ’“°"’<.{C:5‘L’g
The old man bowed his head. . .
“I say many-things, howadji, and 'dife
ferent things at diflerent’ hours. I is”-
cite the names of Allah, and I always
repeat El Fatwa: And in a low voice
he recited: smfs‘vis&W‘“‘"m
“ ‘In the name of Allah. the Merciful and
Gracrous. Praise to Allah, the Lord of all
creatures, the Merciful and Gracious, the
Prince of the Day of Judgment! We serve
thee and we pray to thee for help. Lead us in
the right way of those to whom thou hast
shown mercy, .upon whom no wrath resteth,
and who go not as‘tray. Amen.’
“H’m!” said his hearer, as the sonor-
ous Arabic fell Upon his ears. “Now if
it was in New England, we would'call ,
that a pretty good sort of prayer.”
'And he became thoughtful. 4M
December came in. cool and refresh-
ing. The sick man began to get about
. again. He was much gentler in‘man-
ner,and showed symptoms of gratitude.
He had not been able to convince him-
- self of the soundness of his own‘ views
of Ibrahim's mercenary motives. They
talked much together.
“To-morrow is a great feast in my
country,” he remarked, as they sat and
sunned themselves in front of the do
palms. .
Ibrahim nodded. “Yes, I remember.
It is the birth of Issa. lVe also honor
him as a prophet, but not as you do.
But often I have heard of him, and
sometimes the traveling people have
told me stories from your book. There
was one tale,” he added, wistfully,
“that I would like to hear again. .A We
have none like it. It was of a. son who
went away from his father, far of! into
a strange country, but he came back.”
The other did not speak for a mo-
ment. -
“The prodigal son,” he said, at last.
“Yes, I know it. I have a. Bible in my
bag; I’ll read it to you, if you like.”
“Thanks, howadji,” answered Ibra-
him, gratefully. “Yes, gladly would I
hear the tale again.” ,
The young man fetched a volume out
of the hut, and sat down under the
shade of the palm tree. “A certain
man had two sons," he began, and he
read it through to the end. He looked
rather strange when he finished.
“What on earth made you ask for that
just now?” he said.
“Howadji,” answered the old man,
simply, “I had a. son. It was long ago.
He left me one day, and I heard of him
no more. The will of Allah be done.”
“And you mean to say that you re-
member him still—t-hat you miss him
after all these years?” ‘
“Yes, truly, howadji,” said the other,
in surprise. “A father does not forget
his son.”
“But suppose he was no credit to his
father; suppose he had been wild and
troublesome. Wouldn’t he have worn
out your patience after awhile? You
might have been glad to lose track of
him, and it would have been an un-
pleasant surprise to get him back.”
“N o,” answered the other, patiently;
“he would still be my son. Always my
heart would roam the earth seeking
him; but the dead come not back.”
“They do sometimes,” muttered the
young man. -
He rose and walked up and down.
“See here, Ibrahim, I’ve been pretty
near death lately. I could easily pre-
tend that I’d passed over the line. I
feel rather like a ghost as it is. Now
what’s the use of a ghost coming back ,
to vex the people who thought him
safely dead? He’d much better- go
back and keep himself out of sight
somewhere in the African forest.
There’s plenty of room for ghosts in
there; and it isn’t such a. bad place.”
“My son, my son,” and Ibrahim rose
and leaned upon his staff. His long,
white beard swept his browubreast,
his white hair waved beneath his green
turban. He was a venerable and im-,
posing figure. “My son, life lies be-
fore‘ you. You have gone but a little
way, and, if it was not well, yet
there is time to make it right. Hear
the words of an old man: Go back to
your home, and to thpse who wait and
look for you. Do good, not evil. And
may Allah grant you find the way of
peace.” '
The boy was silent a minute, and the
sightless eyes ,could not see a. certain
mistiness in the other pair. , “I’ll do
it, old man,” he said, rather chokily.
.
' "IF-3
l
at it.” . .
Ibrahim was an old man then, he
.is a very old one now. He is regarded
with a certain reverence by the native
population. He still wanders to the
old graveyard, with feeble steps, and
holds converse with the quiet inmates.
The houris have 'rather faded from his
mind, and he takes but little interest.
in the gardens and musk-scented soil
of paradise. Only he hopes that some-
how, somewhere, some day, he W111
find his son again, and then all will be
pendent. .
__.__——v-————-. 3 '
the Papnans was named; ' in honor f
their much decorate hegd
this oriental patience and courtesy was “
“I’ll go back and have another try
well.—-Margaret S. Hall, in NY Inde- .
~ -.-—The word Papua is Portuguese for ’-
“fr’izzled,” andthe district inabited by» . :
Q . "
Norwalk Chronicler