awn.-
: ._‘~:
SONG.
'A robin sang;
The dull world aWakened from its sleep, '_
Cast off its robe of winter sadness;
.The leaves from bondage ’gan to. peep,
The brooks o’erflowed in jolly madness;
'All nature listened to the Warning,
'All laughed with glee in'springtime’s mom-
... in
‘ g" 5‘ .When robin sang.
5 f. - \
'A poet sang;
It was a song that reached the heart
Of many a man, of every woman,
It was the fruit of perfect art,
It showed a power divinely human. ~35
His name was known to all; and then ‘
Fame on her tablets wrote it, when
The poet sang.
A
‘1
A mother sang; -
.Two little eyelids blinked and drooped, w
And bright curls nestled on her breast,
Contentment's bounty richly trooped;
Sweet innocence found loving rest.
The slumber fairies tiptoed near, p ; ‘
And all the angels stopped to hear ‘ .
When mother sang.
; —-Charle's E. Cook, in Troy Press.
HIS REFORMATION.
‘2 BY HAROLD P. NICKERSON.
Henry Dyson was alone in his little
office at the back end of his place of
business. The hour was late, and .all
his employes had gone. Mr. Dyson was
a pleasant-looking man of about 35 :or
40, and his fellow townsmein frequently
pointed to him with pride asa‘self-made
man.
But, while everybody hadmgood‘word
for Henry Dyson, very few people spoke
well of his brother, Tom.
0n the night our story opens the mer-
chant was waiting for his :gnace'less
brother, and as the hours molledcn :flue
frown on his face grewdeeper.
“I can do nothing with'Tom,’”he=suid,
as he paced the floor impatiently. “I
have given him every possible chance,
but he grows more idle and dissipated
every day. Perhaps I ought not to wait
for him, but he was so urgent in his re-
quest for an interview te—night‘th'at I
could not refuse. Poor fellow! fWhat
new trouble can he be mixed up in ‘2”
The front door opened and ayoung
man entered quietly, andmfter a’furtive
glance around the store, proceededto the
office.
“Well, Tom?” said Henry Dyson.
“I am here, you see,” replied Tom.
“I suppose,” said Henry, “it is useless
to ask why you are so late or where you
have been during the last two days ?”
Tom looked nervous and his eyes fell.
“That is neither here nor there,” he
answered, in a. swaggering way. “I
have had some business. of my ‘own to
look after, and I knew that you were
not short of help in thestore."
“Well, what is it ?” asked Hem-y, ab-
ruptly. -
“Brother,” Tom brokeout, hurriedly
and Ema faltering voice, “I must have
some unoney—at least $200.”
“I wonder where you will get it?”
Henry rejoined. “You will notgget an-
other «dollar from me—‘that iscertain.
Why. should I toil here and economize
in order to furnish you with funds to be
lost at the gaming table?”
“If I do not get this money,” said
Tom, turning very pale, “I shall have
leave the country." _ ~
“A good thing for the country, then,”
snapped Henry. “Don’t let me interfere
with your traveling plans.”
Tom seemed to fall all to pieces at
this reply. He made one moreeifort.
“I hope you are not hard up your-
self ?” he said.
“I was never getting along better,”
responded the merchant, “but tibat'has
nothing to do with the case.”
He pulled open the door of the iron
safe and pointed to a little tin box.
“Do you see that?” he asked. “Well,
"that box contains 20 criSp $500 bank
notes. I drew the money from the bank
to-day for an investment. No, Tom', I
am prosper'mg, but I am tired of your
endless drain upon my purse. It must
stop, and now is the time.”
Henry rose from his chair and went ,
into a little closet for his overcoat.
In an instant, before a man could;
count three seconds, Tom had drawni
the flat tin box from the safe and
slipped it into the breast of his heavy
overcoat. .
His brother slowly emerged from the l
closet and put on his overcoat. Then he
closed the door of the safe with a. click. !
“I am ready to go,” he said. “You'
have no further business with me, I
presume ?”
“No, sir,” Tom responded, with apale,
determined face. “Neither now nor
later; good-by.” ’ '
“Good-by, old fellow," said Henry,
with a yawn. 1
Tom walked out of the store without
another word, banging the door after *
him.
“I know him,” soliloquized the mer-
chant. “He will not leave here. He will
be here to-morrow with a new proposi-
tion. Perhaps, after all, I had better
look into his affairs and give him an-
other chance.”
He walked slowly out ofthc store and
locked the door. A glance up and down
the street showed him that Tom was
not in sight, and he then quietly made
his Way to his home and straightway
went to bed.
After leaving the store Tom'hugged
the tin box to his breast and walked at
a rapid pace. ,
“It was an awful thing to do,” he
muttered, “but I had to have money,
and I helped to make some of it for my
lucky brother.” - ‘
The young man sped onward through
the deserted streets of Paineville until
he reached the river. He crossed the
bridge and started up the hill on the
other side.
His plan was plain enough. He was
going to the railroad station to take the
train for New York. .
Suddenly he pulled up with a jerk.
He took the box from under his coat.
“Hang it!” he exclaimed. “I must
have been mad. I am no thief, and I
will cut my throatbefore I will become
one. There is but one thing to do. I
will return the box back to my brother,
confess my folly and then leave him
forever.:_’ ' . -' '
He turned. and retraced his-steps.
L
When he reached the bridge he paused ‘-
1:.
W E EKL Y N o RWAL E "- 4GA 2 ET T E.
a moment and looked into the dark
waters below.
“I may. find peace there,” he said,
gloomily.
He leaned over the railing and listened
to the swift-rolling current.
“My God!” he cried. “The box—the
box!”
It had slipped through his fingers,
and already the rushing waters were
"carrying it far from him.
. Forafew moments Tom ran inthedi-
rection of his brother’s house and then
wheeled about and ran back to the
bridge. His first impulse was to throw
himself into the river. .
“I am a fool!” he cried. “Suicide will
not restore the money. I must be a
man now if there is any manhood in
me!”
Across the river and over the hill
into the thick darkness of the night
the guilty fugitive fled. Mile after
Imile he walked like a madman. The
lights ofthe city disappeared from view,
and Tom found himself wandering in:
an unfamiliar locality.
Again the river came insight, and the .
wretched man decided to follow its
course. He would go anywhere, to get
beyond his brother’s reach, and the
eyes of those who knew him.
Thus the light of day found him,
but it was not liker that anyone-along
the river side would recognize him.
There were few dwellings, and the peo-
ple he met were farmers, who were not"
disposed to be nnpleasa‘ntly inquisitive.
So the half-cmzed unan. rushed on
through the day, till, at nightfall, he
limped wearily into a small seaport
Henry Dysonunade‘every effort to find
his missing brother. When he thought
of the pained look in Tom’s eyes the
night the poor fellow left, he re-
preached himself for allowing him to
go away .without .a kind word of 'en-
couragement.
Henry Dysontengaged detectives, and
the newspapers published an account of
Tom’s mysterious disappearance. 'But
it was of no avail. There was no trace,
no clew, and, :after a year or two, the
merchant came to the conclusion that
his brother wasa dead man.
Hen-17y Dyson continued to prosper.
He married happily, and, in the-course
of time, little children came to makehis
home still brighter.
Twenty years had rolledraway, when,
one night, the merchant found himself
alone in his office, writing a letter.
As he leaned back in his chair, tic-take
a moment’s rest, he thought .of the
night, ;a score of years before, nyvhen
Tom visited him there, to makea last
appeal. Tears came into the richman’s
eyes.
“He was myown brother,” he sobbed,
“and I acted like a brute. How easy it
would have been for me to pay his lit-
tle debts. Then I could have watched
over him, and, in time, my love would
have touched his heart, and he would
have turned out all right. But it istoo
late now to think of those days.”
The door opened with hardly a creak,
and the merchant would not have
known it but for the rush of cool air.
He rose from his chair just in time to
greet a visitor, who walked into the
office without even a. knock on the-door
to herald his approach.
Henry Dyson looked upon him in,
speechless astonishment. If he could
trust his eyes, this was Tom Dyson, but
not the Tom of .20 years ago. He was
an old man, with a wrinkled face and
white hair.
“Brother,” said the visitor, holding
out his hand, “are you glad to see me ?”
With a joyous exclamation the other
caught him in his embrace, and then
seated him in a chair.
“This is a glad hour for me, Tom,”-
he said. “I had given you up for dead,
and I have, all these years, been re-
proaching myself for my harshness
to you that night, you know.”
"Hold on!” cried the other, excited-
: ly, “you must not overwhelm me with
kindness until I have made restitution. ,
Here, in this package, you will find the
sum I took from the safe in the little
tin box. It has taken me these 20 years
to make it, but here it is at last.”
“But I do not understand,” interrupt—
cd Henry.
‘ “Oh, but you must,” replied his
brother. “When you turned away to
get your coat that night, I slipped the
. box out of the safe and concealed it.
Then you closed the safe, unconscious
of your loss, and I left you.”
“But the box was empty!” shouted
Henry.
“Impossible!” answered Tom, “for
you told me that it contained $10,000.
Well, I rushed off with the box, but
repented, and was on my way to return
it when I carelessly let it slip into the
water when I crossed the river. Now
you know why I ran away and con-
cealed myself. I had but one object—
to make enough money to pay you
back, and then I would ask your for-
giveness.”
“Oh, how foolish! ” said Henry. “Why,
man, I found in the morning that my
book keeper had taken. the money from
the box and carried it back to the bank
that afternoon, when he found that I
was not going to use it until the next
day. I missed the empty box, but I
never connected that with your disap-
pearance.” . ’
“Then this money—"
“Is yours,” said Henry. “But, even
if you had lost my money, as you sup-
posed, you should have come back to
me. I sometimes talked roughly to
you, but you ought to have known how
I loved you, Tom.”
The two white-haired men sat there
till midnight, talking about old times ‘
and making their plans for the future.
“You must live with me, Tom,” said
Henry, as he took him home. “I can’t
trust you out of my sight again.”
And Tom gave his promise, rejoiced
that'his reformation had brought about
a reconciliation with his brother.—N.‘
Y. Weekly.
——All foods should be carefully
chewed, because the gastric juice is
thus enabled the better to do its work.
WAS autumn.- ‘
Timothy Horrigan for but a few years
a resident of this city, was found dead
in his room at a house at the corner of
River and Cross street Monday morn-
ing.
Horrigan had evidently arisen this
morning and after partially dressing
himself fell over ;on his bed and ex-
pired. -
The deceased came here from Brook-
lyn after the death of his son who was
engaged in the liquor business in that
city, and whose wife was a Miss Dorriey
of this city. For a time he lived at the
home of his wife’s mother on Cross
street but for some reason or other
there . was a disagreement, and he,
ter-imlaw was provided with the room
where he breathed his last.
For a. time he was able toprovide for
one of his bands which incapacitated
him for work for a time. He has, how-
ever, at odd times since, secured more
or less work on the city streets, and his
duughter-in-luw, be it said, greatly to
her credit, has seen that lie wan-ted for
nothing. ' '
The deceased was about Saturday in
apparent good health. and was seen
Sunday afternoon, at his home.
Corner Burke was summoned and
gave as his verdict of death, heart
disease.
"v‘Recent Deaths.
The wifcof Charles M. Gilmun and
daughter of the late George «and Eliza-
beth Bullzeley of lSoutbport,‘ died in
that villiage on Thursday.
At Orange, N. J. 311 Saturday, died
Anna, only daughter of Le Roy W.
and the late Sarah A. Eairchild, who
are known in Norwalk as relatives of
the late George R. Cholwell.
Norman Knapp a well known shoe-
maker, and who for some months past
had been§engaged in the cobbling busi-
ness on Water street, died on Saturday
at his home in Silver Mine, aged 61
years, after an illness of but a few days.
Edward Gormley died on Saturday at
his home on the Step Back road, aged
51 years, after an illness of several
months. The deceased leaves a wife
and six children—Mary and Ellen Gorm-
ley of Jersey City, William, Daniel,
Thomas and Joseph Gormley of this
city. Mr. Gormley was an iron
moulder by trade and had been a res-
ident of Norwalk about 14 years. The
funeral willb uttendedlfrom St. Mary’s
church tomorrow morning and the re-
mains taken to Calvary cemetery for in-
ter-men? '
SOLD EVERYWHERE
The
o C THE C C
will as always _ _
ness' principled. which Wlll bring
The New
ela crate descriptions, and a. variety 0
Family Paper.
We furnish The Gazette and
(both papers),
Write your name and address on a Ipostal
Tribune Building, New York City,
G. A. ERANKE.
THE HAIR CUTTER
No. 1 Gazette Building, Norwalk
through the intervention of his daugh- .
his own wants, but last winter while at,
work on the Street Railway line, froze.
OBl'l'UAllY.
HARRY N. BANFORD.
After weary months of patient sufi'er-
ing, with never a murmur of complaint
or repining escaping his lips, young
H. N. HanfordMonday night, “wrapped
the drapery of his couch about him and
laid down to pleasant dreams.” “God’s
finger touched him and he slept.”
There is something unutterably pa.-
thetic and mournful in such a demise,
just as all the afluent hopes and prizes
of a youthful and buoyant life, open up
its alluring possibilities. Bereavement
is doubly sorrowful, when the young
man is possessed of eyery winning
grace, to cheer and delight all who
come within the influence of his pure,
sweet and magnetic personality.
He was modest, quiet and unobtrusive
to adegree. Stricken with that most
delusive and fatal of all human male
' dies, consumption, our young friend
drearily languished in weakness and-
pain, with alternate hope and despond-
ency, but with never a word of repining,
while like the flowers he so loved much,
“day by day he withered on the stalk
away.”
Sincerely was he beloved, erel y
is his death lamented. Yet the memory
of his gentle soul, modest and refined,
will continue to shine out and irradiate
the paths of parents, brothers and
stricken friends.
“Fades his calm face beyond our mortal ken ,
Lost in the light of lovelicr realms above;
He left sweet memories in the hearts of men
And climbed to God.”
Change of Ownership.
On Monday, Charles E. Scheuber
who forfithe past four or five months has
been conducting the market on Wall
street for a long time known as Wad-
hum’s market, sold out his interest in
the same to George S. Gregory, who
has possession. Mr. Scheuber has won
many friends by fair dealing, and it is
believed that Mr. Gregory will keep up
the reputation established by his pred-
ecessor, who it is understood will re-
main in town for a few weeks and then
branch out into the wholesale meat bus-
iness.
Must Issue More Bonds.
Administration officials announce that
the President will issue another call
for a gold bond loan as soon as the gold
reserve is sensibly depleted. He fears
the free silver fight now going on in his
own party, will tend to that result.
Want Two Tickets.
Judge Vincent says that sound money
democrats favor a separate national
ticket in order to show the free silver
men in the party how few their num-
NEW YORK
be found in the thickest of the fight: battling vigorously for sound busi-
rosperity to t
Yorlb< tWeek y_ Tilb‘a‘iiaetion a] family newspaper
u tr u is pre-emmen y . _ .-
paplltsogatiililgafi$$ne¥s and discussions will interest everyAmencan Citizen. ,
All the news of the day,Fore1gn Correspondence, Agricultural Department. Market
' , ‘ h number .
Be orts, Short Stories complete 1n cap items of household interest; make up an 1 deal
ONE YEAR FOR ONLY $|.O_
ADDRESS ALL ORDERS T9 THE GAZETTE.
card, send it to Geo. W. Best, Room 2
and a sample copy of THE NEW YORK
WEEKLY TRIBUNE will be mailed to you.
301: AND com) 1; '
. ‘ $3.6
‘ bets are.
PREPARATIONSFOR
C reat _
Battle
Of November 3 are already well under way. A New
.OFTHE. .
PRESIDENT UNITED STATES
Is to be Elected, and the .
Weekly Tribune.
e na ion. . .
IS not only the leading Republican
Comic Pictures, Fashion rlates with
New York Weekly Tribune
CASH IN
I ADVANCE.
1
nu...-
The Norwalk Fire Insurance. Co
Has’now Completed ts
32d SUCCESSFUL BUSINESS YEAR,
And has not outstanding a. dollar of unpui
lossesior clainfis for losses. No sound com.
n nsures or ess. ,
3‘}sz Mcllwaine . Pres..G. B. St. J ohnNice—Pres
F. E. Shaw, Sec. Geo. B. Cowles. ResxdentSec,
. - , - _ ' 1
IN THE QUICKSANDS.
2;“ A
BY n. 11:va 1.1an. 55'
19 a3:-
We werelall sitting around the cozy
fireplace in my friend’s study, telling
hunting' experiences. The wmd was
blowing outside with just enough force
to give the windows a ghostly rattle,
and make the blaze roar up the chim-
ney in a way that lent an added charm
to stories into which the element of
danger largely entered.
We had all dutifully told some old:
time adventure—with certain additions
that seemed absolutely necessary un-
der the circumstances—all except our
host, who had been given the last place
on the list, so that the series might close
robed in the richest coloring.
He was a hunter of wide and varied
experience and a man who had given
a great deal of intelligent thought to
the. mysteries of woodcraft. Conse-
quently, whatever he said upon the sub-
ject was always listened to With defer-
ence.
We therefore settled down a little
more comfortably in our chairs as he
began: »
“In my younger days I spent more
time in the woods than I do now. Not
that I like hunting less. It has as great
attraction for me as ever, the odor of
the woods is as sweet to me as the scent
of powder is to the old war horse; but
many things claim my time now and
keep me from wandering? ,"ms.
“The. little adventureI am abour t6
tell happened in. Nova Scotia, 20 years
ago, when I was quite a young man. .
“It is not generally known that cer-
tain parts of the province contain some
of the finest hunting grounds imagina-
ble. Miles and miles of virgin forest,
acres of spruce and pine averaging fully
60 feet in height, crowded together on
moss-green groundwork, almost close
enough to shut out daylight. Then
there are parts overrun with high
maples, birch and beech.
“Many a day have I crept through
the deep, shady glades and over the
long, sloping hills. But I am rather
wandering from my story.
“I’ll just show you where my adven-
ture happened.”
Raising, he took down an atlas from
a shelf.
“Just here at the north,” he con-
tinued. “See that headland? That’s
the place. Twice a day all the water
point, and away up into the mainland.
“It is marsh land along there, and the
point is called Minudic marsh. It is a
very large tract of land, said to con-
tain 5,005.: acres, shut in from the sea by
nine miles of dyke., It is perfectly level,
dotted all over with barns and hay-
stacks; and in the autumn also with
men and horses, busily at work cutting
‘broad leaf” or marsh hay.
“One not acquainted with the place
could easily become lost, for the barns
and haystacks, extending in every di-
rection, are all alike in-size, shape and
color. It was near this marsh that I
had located myself for the hunting sea-
son, on account of the excellent sport
which it afforded in the shape of almost
every kind of water fowl, and also be-
cause not many miles away were woods
in which moose and caribou were plen-
tiful.
“The autumn that year had been very
dry, so that there were, comparatively
speaking, no birds on the marsh. With-
out knowing this, however, I one day
set out for a few hou-rs‘ shooting.
“I trumped the best part of the aft
ernoon, without success, and, as I did
not care to go home without bagging
something, I determined to shoot
‘peep’ on the mud flats.
“I rolled up my trousers to the knee
and started. sinking fully six inches in
the soft mud at every stcp. I walked
about for some time, getting a shot now
and then and wandering far out- upon
the flats, until a rushing noise behind
made me turn quickly around.
“The ‘bore’ was coming—a bank of
tumbling, seething water, quite three
feet high, tearing about as fast as a man
could run. ‘Time to be getting back,’
thought I. ‘It will not take long for the
tide to cover the flats.’ I stood and
watched the, tidal wave for a moment,
then started quite leisurely for the
dyke, shaping my course directly for
it.
“After having gone 50 yards or so,
I came to a gully, between eight and
ten feet wide, at the bottom of which
flowed a little stream. It ran nearly
parallel with the dyke, and in order to
reach the marsh I had either to cross
it or go away up and around. Not car-
ing to lengthen my disagreeable tramp.
—for it was no fun dragging one’s feet
out of the mud at every step—I decided
to hold my original course. The sides
of the gully looked soft and treacher-
ous, but by taking a runningjump I
thought I could clear the dangerous
part. . .
“I stepped back a few paces, and,
firmly grasping the gun, started. I had
miscalculated the effect the bad footing
would have, and saw my mistake the
moment I sprang; but too late!
“I landed on the other side of the
stream, in what seemed to me the soft-
est part of the mud. My weight and
the impetus of my jump drove me into
the mud knee-deep.
“At first I was inclined to laugh at
my plight, but that feeling Speedily
gave way to one’of anxiety, when I real-
ized that I was swiftly sinking.
“I endeavored to draw my feet out,
but when I tried to lift one the other
went further down. A cold sweat broke
out on my forehead. I was in a bed of
quicksand!
“I struggled with all my strength,
but it was useless. There seemed tobe
an undercurrent of sand that was con-
tinually slipping away from my feet.
Against that terrible power it was use-
less to fight.
“I had heard .and read of people dy-
ing in this horrible manner, but never
before had the chilling awfulness of
it struck inc with any degree of force.
Now, as I thought of being drawn slow-
ly down, down inch by inch, in imagi-
in the basin seems to rush around that 1
creeping, like some gruesome reptile,
about my neck, higher, higher—over
my chin; over my tightly-closed lips,
until my breath—. I tell you a. man’s
mind rushes when he gets so near the
border! . . ‘ '
“I shouted for help, in the hope of
attracting some one, but it only ex-
hausted me, and my struggles caused
me to sink faster. ,
“In extreme agony of mind, I threw
myself on my face—I had not sunkbe-
low my waist—and clawed the bank in
a frantic endeavor to draw myself out.
My fingers slipped through the soft
mud and touched some hard, smooth
substance, buried about three inches-
below the surface. ‘ .
“I struggled to grasp it, but it was
too large for my fingers to grip. It was
a tree that had probably grounded on
the flat long ago, and the tides had
gradually drifted the sand over it.
“When one is in a position of great
bodily danger, events succeed one an-
other much more rapidly than they
can be afterward told: The telling of
this has taken a. greatdeol longer tune
than its actual occurrence. A few mm-
utes only had passed since I started 11;.
ward the dyke. . .1Wm 9,233pr
“The sound of the tidehov’f rushing
over the lower part of the flats called
me to a sense of. new danger.
“Even if I was able to keep from sink-
ing for a little while, the red water
would soon rise .over the place of my
imprisonment and complete Whutuhe
Zj'filcksands had so surely begun: “my
' “ ‘Drowning is said to be the easiest
of deaths,’ thought I, though any kind
oozy quicksand.
“In the water, too, I could at least
struggle—fight for life. But in that
narrow, clinging grave, every limb
bound as with elastic cords, allowing
freedom only to the extent of simply
- maddening one, caught like amiserable
fly in a spider’s web, I would not even
have the satisfaction of struggling.
“The feeling of fear that first pos-
sessed me gradually left, or maybe
numbed my senses, and in its place
came strange fancies, such as one
dreams when lying half awake.
“The ’sun seemed beating its piercing
rays into my brain. The hoarse cry of a.
raven far up in the sky came faintly to
me. I pictured him and his mate, dark
specks showing against a background
of white clouds, floating—floating and
watching.
I “I wondered if the peck of a raven’s
9 beak on one’s head would hurt much—if
they were up there waiting for me to
die. Then I remembered that before I
was dead I would beburied!
“I smiled grimly at the thought of
cheating them. But if they came be-
fore? Instinctively I felt for my knife.
I could keep them off with it. My knife!
Like a flash came the thought that it
would be a means of rescue. _
“The cloud of fancies seemed to lift
from my brain. With trembling fin-
gers, I hurriedly drew it out and opened
it. It was the kind known amongschool-
boys as ‘toadstabber,’ stout and strong.
“Hopefully, with one hand, I felt for
the tree; but. I had sunk so far in the
mud that it was now beyond my reach.
A groan burst through my cleifched'
teeth, as my last hope fled.
“It seemed as if I must- give up. _But
life is sweet—so sweet to one about to
lose it. One more effort, then—a re-
quiem chanted by the waves and flung
landward by the winds.
“Making u. violent struggle, I thrust
my hand that held the knife as far for-
ward as I could and struck down with
all my strength.
“The tree. must have been lying
obliquely along the sides of the gully,
so that my left hand had not been able
to reach it; but my right, in which was
the knife, had found it. The blade sank
into the soft, half-decayed wood. Slip-
ping my hand down as closely to the
tree as possible, so as not to pull the
knife out, and placing my left hand over
my right, to give myself greater pur-
ceptibly, the dreadful sucking power
was lessened—was stopped! Slowly
my arms bent—I was gaining! Wrench-
ing the knife out, I drove it in farther
up the trunk, repeating this again and
again, for I was able to draw. myself
only a few inches at a time, until I
finally lay. myl length over the tree-
saved!
“I had thrown the gun high up on
the flat when I first found that I was
fast. Recovering it now, I gained .the
dyke, to fall weak and trembling on the
grass. I lay there until the tide had risen
to the dyke. Then washing the mud out
of my clothes I spread them in the sun
to dry. WhenI had finished it was
flood tide, the water was still and
smooth as a mirror, except wherehere
and there mounds of amber-colored
foam or a piece of driftwood broke the
surface. ‘
“I shuddered as my eyes, drawn by a
strange fascination, sought out the
spot, now covered by many feet of
water, where a short time before I had ..
so narrowly escaped a terrible death.
“When I reached my boarding house,
tired and hungry, the harvest moon was
shining brightly. I thought with a.
shudder of the cold white glitter of the
wet. sands, and how nearly that night
her beams had rested on my grave.”—-v
Golden Days. »
Stopping a Small Leak.
A Detroit merchant has been so care-
ful in the conduct of his business as to
be afflicted with very few bad accounts.
But there is one citizen who, despite the
fact that his record elsewhere was had,
managed to get in debt to the firm.
“I suppose,” said the bookkeeper, on
the first of the month, .“that we will
send Skinnim that bill regularly for
several months to come?”
“N o,” replied the merchant: “Times
have been pretty hard and I guess we’d-
bettcr not lose any chance to economize.
Just charge what he owes to profiuand
loss and pay no more attention to him ,
A
Press. '
’_.
nation I could feel the cold, wet“ mud
was preferable to being smothered in‘
chase, I pulled. Slowly, almost imper- .
It’ll save ink and a good deal offwear L {1‘
and tear on the pens.”—Detroit Free :7
Norwalk Chronicler