The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

, “ _ _ fl- . THE VICAR’S' GDVEBN ESS :W I CHAPTER XXXVII. ' as deceived. or (ii a sable cloud Tilnxllmf'gfih her silver Ilni Milton. The two months that Dorian has giv-.pat1.ses, and looks idly down upon fin himself in which to finish the busi- ness that. he said. had brought him home. have almost come to an end. Al- could it be otherwise? I lave for?I gotten that I ever loved any one. 1“ qseems to me now impossible that I could. 118’ on tmilieu felt all that I did two months “180- Yet something lingers with me iâ€"somsthing i cannot explain." She! twmlng and u intertwining nervously. .130 You mean you have ceased to think of Horace in the light of a lov< Nady Winter is passing out of mind; "'7" he asks, with an effort certainly, and “Spring comes up this war" The "checkered daffodil" and the soft Plaintive primrose are bursting into bloom. The gentle rain comes with 3 Wing cloud. and sinks lovingly into the earth's bosom and into the hearts of the opening buds. The grass is springing; all the world is rich with fresh young life. The Very snowdropsâ€"pale blossoms. born of bitter winds and sunless skies â€"have Perished out of sight. Ruth is lying in her grave, cold and forgotten save by two.â€"the man who has most wronged her, and the woman who had moat to forgive her. As yet. Clarissa cannot rise our. of the depresf clan that fell upon her when Horace’s treachery was first made known to her. Her love Ind seemed so good, so tend- er. it had so brightene all her life. and had been so much art of her existence, that it seemed to carry to the grave with it all her youth and gladâ€" neas. However untrue this young love of her life had been. still, while she be- lieved in it. it had been beautiful to her. and it is with bitterest grief she his laid it aside; to her it had been a living thing. and even as it fades from. her, she cries to it aloud to stay, and. feels her arms empty in that it no long- er fills them. “But, oh. not yet, not yet \Vould my lost soul forget . _ How beautiful he was while he did live. Or, when his eyes were dewy and lips wet. What kisses, tenderer than all re- gret, My love would give, "Strew roses on his breast, He loved the roses best; He never cared for lilies or for snow. let be this bitter end of his sweet quest; . _ a Let be the pallid silence, that is rest, And let all go!" ' Mr. Winter's exquisite words come often to her; and yet, when the first pang is over, a sensation that may be almost called. relief raises her soul and restores her somewhat to her old self. She is graverâ€"if pacemle. gentler, more tenderâ€"than in the days before rief had touched her. And. though ‘ r love had really died beyond all rev awakening. still the memory of whatl once had been has left its mark upon! To Sir James she has never since men- tioned the name of the man in whom she had once so firmly believed. though oftentimes it has occurred to her that relief might follow upon the bare ask- ing of a question that might serve to make common the actual remembrance Otihim' s rope th 1 nl ‘c-da . as c comes up 6 aw to mee’i: her, as she bends over the right children 0 [the sun." a sense gladness that he is coming fills‘hcr. e feels no nervousness or wearincss with him, only rest and peace, and something that is deeper still. though of vague and aieolutely unknown to 'r own heart. _ She goes forward to meet him. a smile upon B‘sr lips. treading lightly on the young grass. that is emerald in hue.-â€"as the color of my own dear land, «and through which "The meek fiisies show Their breasts of satin snow, . Bedecked with tiny stars of gold mid perfume sighs." ' "You again?" she says. with a lovely smile. He was here onl yesterday. "What an uncivil spcec l I _ too often?" He has her hand in his, and is holding it inquiriiigly. but it. is such a soft. and kind inquiry. "Not half often enough." she says, and hardly knowa why his face flushes at her words, being still ignorant of the fact that he loves her with a love that passeth the love of most. _ "Well, you sha'n‘t have to complain of that. any longer," he says, guyly. "Shall l take up my residence'here?“ "Do." says Mum Peyton, also in jest. "1 would much rather you look up yours at Scrape." he says. iinthmkmgly. and then he flushes again, and then silence falls‘i‘eiwecu them. Her foot is tapping the sword light-l ly. yet nervously. Her eyes are on the "daisies pied." Presently, as though sonic inner feeling compels her to it, she say â€"- "Why do you never speak to me of ~Hmnref” "You forbade could I disobey you? however. but. I think. not or he py. he sti spoke rcmorscfully ofâ€"her." It is agony to him to say this. yet he does it bniroly. knowing it uillbe the wiset thing for the Woman he himself loves. “\K'S,” she says, quite calmly. At. this instant she knows her love for Horace Branscomhe is quite dead. "Her death was terrible." ‘ "Yet my. I dare say. Disease of the heart. when it carries one off. is sel- dom painful. Clarissa. this is the very fimt time you have spoken of her. ei- that." it!" She turn»; away from him. and. catching a branch. takes from it leaf or two. “You have not spoken me." she says. "Hemline. as I said. you forbade me. n"t you know your word to me is “. M "I don't think I know much." says Bliss Peyton. with a sad smile; but she lets her hand lie in his. and does not turn away from him. "Horace is in Cey- lon." she says. presently. "Yes. and doing very well. Do you often think of him now?" am glad he is get- on successfully." "Very often. 1 " vo you forgozisn nothing. Cloris. me." he says: “how He is well. altogeth- tin All have forgotten a great deal. How Do I come. In his last letter to me P yet with determination. He will hear the truth now or never. "What! wouldst thou have a ser- Dent‘stmg thee twice?" she says. turning to him with some passion; and then her 84181‘” fades. and her eyes fill with tears. ."If $0.11 can apply such a word to him. your love must be indeed dead." [he 535’s. in a. curious tone, and. raismg “one of her hands, he lays it upon his [bit-est. "I wish it had never been born." she Bays. with a sigh. not looking at him. | "But it is dead?" rsists he, eagerly. ' "th6. I burl it that day you ltooknmeâ€"to hisâ€"rooms; you remem- i "How could I forget? Clarissa. if you are unhappy. so am I. Take pity upon me.” . "You unhappy?" She lifts her eyes to I his. " Yes. All In life I have loved you. yond my reach?” ‘ Is your heart She-makes him no answer. . "\Vithout you I live but half alife." he goes on. entreat'mlgly. "Every hour is filled with thoughts of you. I have no interests apart rom you. Clarissa, llf there is any hope for me. speak; say something." "Would not his memory be a. shed- Iow between us always?" whispers she. in. trembling accents. "Forgivenessw Within our power. forgetfulness is be- yond usl ' , is this thing w1 that yttgu are doing? Have you though over i " v . l i "I have thought of it for more than a long year," says Sir James. “I think lall my life, unconsciously. I have lloved you. "For so long?" she says, softly; and then. "How faithful you have been!" "When change itself can give no more. "Its easy to be true," quotes he, tenderly; and then she goes nearer to him.â€"tears in her eyes. “You are too good for me,”.she says. "Darling," says Scrope, and after that, Somehow, it seems but a. little thing that his arms should close round her, land that her head should lie content- ed upon his shoulder. CHAPTER XXXVIII. "There is no life on earth but being in love!" Ben. Johnson. , "Love framed with Mirth a. gay fan- tasti'c round; Loose were her zone unbound; _ And he, amidst his frolic play, . As if he would the charming air tresses seen, her repay. _ Shook thousand odors from his dewy wing." I . Collins. It is the afternoon of the same day. and Dorian. with a keeper behind him, iis trudging - through the woods of 'Hythe, two trusty setters at his heels. He cannot be said to be altogether un- happy. because he has had a. real good 'day with his gun. as his bag can test: .ifj, and. be a . .‘e by conflicting emotions, be he five fathoms deep m a hopeless attach- ment, still he will tramp through his ;heather, or ride to hounds, or smokehis favorite cigars. with the best, and find, gindeed,p leasure therein. For, truly,â€" "Man's love is of man’s lifea thing Apart; . 'Tis woman’s whole existence." 3 The sun is sinking to rest; the chill lof a. spring evening is in the air. Dis- missing the man who holds the bag, he sends him home to the house byaneariâ€" or route, and, lighting a. fresh oigar, .follows the path that leads through the ifragrant wood into the grounds of Sar- toris. The breath of the bluebells is already scouting the air; the ferns are rgrowing thick and strong. He has .come toa. turn, that is all formed of ’rock, and is somewhat abrupt. because ,of the sharp angle that belongs to it, over which hart's tongues and other graceful weeds fall lazily. when, at a little distance from him, he sees Geor- gie sitting on the fallen trunk ofa tree, :her head leaning against an oak, “her whole expression full of deep dejection. ! As he comes nearer to her. he can see that she has been crying, and that even ,now two tears are lymg heavdy up- ' 'on her cheeks. . _ . v A troubled expresSion crosses his face. She looks so childish, so helpless, With lher hat upon the ground beside her, and her hands lying listlessly upon her lap. and no one near to comfort her or to kiss the melancholy from her large mournl‘ul eyes. ' ,_ As she hears him coming. she starts to her feet, and. turning aside, hastily dries the. tears upon her cheeks, lest he shall mark her agitation. , "What is the matter with you?" asks h . with quick but suppressed concern. I "Nothing." mturns she, in alow tone. “You can't be crying for nothing." says Dorian; "and even your VOice is full of tears! Are you unhap- y clout anything?" i “What a question to ask me!" says Allis. Branscombc. rcproachl‘ully. with _a fresh irrepressible sob. that goes to his iheart... He shifts his gun uneaSily from one shoulder to the other. hardly know- ing what to say. is it his fault that she is so miserable! Must he blame himself because she has found it impos- 'siblo to love him? 3 "I beg your pardonfif he says, in a 'low tone. "Of course I have no right ‘to ask you any questions." i , "Yet i would answer you if I knew thew." returns she. in a. voice as sub- iducd as his own. ; The evening is falling silently, yet lswiftly. throwing "her dusky veil o'er inazurc's face." A certain chill comes Ifromtlio hills and dumps the twilight (air. ' ‘ i “It is getting late." says Branscomie. ’genily. "Will vou come home with mm‘" "Yes. I will go home." she says, with a little troubled submissive sigh. and. 5iurning. goes with him down the nar- row pathway thatlcads to the avenue. Above them the branches struggle and wage, a goblin war with each other. helped by the night wind. whizh even nowis raising With sullen.purpose in its moon. Dorian strides on silently, sad at her iWhite hands, the fingqis of which are 11813 man never so disturb- ' \Vhen they ilid he heart. and ver a vigorous of on to crush down all re- gretful memories. and is forcing himself to try and think with ladnem of the time. now fast approach . dvhen he shall be once more parted cm her who walksbesido him with bent head and quivering lips. His presence isa rief to her. .All these ast weeks \‘6 stowed this to him; er lips have been evoid ‘of smiles; her eyes have lost their light. her voice its old guy ring. \\ hen he is gone, she may. perhaps. re' cover some of the gayety that once was And. once gone. why should he ever return? Andâ€"~â€" And thenâ€"then! _ handcreeps into the one of his that is hanging loosely by his side. and. nest- lmg in it. presses it. With ner- vous warmth. Dorian’s heart beats madl . He hard. , . ly ,dares believe it true thatyshe should. 30W the birds to him could chatter of her own accord. have given her hand As he drove the cows to drink. hopelem. He is making ! '30 mm: yet he holds it. so closely in his And the Water made sweet music YOUNG FOLKS. A“x\\~\.\ \«stx xxwwwxxsm “’HEN GRANDPA \VAS A LITTLE BOY. Did_you want to sit. and listen. \\ hen a little girl like me. To a story told by grandpa. As you climbed upon his knee! Dldr you ever play tzilk questions. \\ hen you're tired of every my. Have him tell you all that happened \\ hen grandpa was a. little boyi A hula bare cold "he." vou sayi’ Well. did he tell you _How he lived upon a farm. “ here in joy he used to frolic, hever dreaming ought could harm! own that his clasp almost hurts her. As he paddled along “13 brink, They do non speak; they do not tum“. How “Old Blackey"'d stop in fly time. even to look at each other but go on' s . , . _ . .' _b“‘1t£h her tail and shake her head. their way. silent. uncertain, but no T111 at last shed get so angry igfifirt§§;rfiave fiwtflie‘f‘ne. Lend” He had seen her face turn red? “You are going abroad again?” she 835's. in a tone so low that he can scarcely hear her. _ _ "l was going." he says. and then their fingem meet again and press each other gently. ' _ : Coming to the stile that leads into the next path, he lays down his gun. and mounting the steps, holds out his hand to help her to gain the top. _'lhen. springing down to the other aide. he takes her in his arms to bring her to the ground beside him. But when his arms have closed round her he leaves them there, and draws _her to his heart, and lays his cheek against hers._ ‘With a. little soft happy sob she lifts her arms and. lays them round his neck; and then, he tells How he'd slip around the table, " softly. for there's company near. IVOW. besurehnd save the drumstick." Whispered in his mother's ear? How the old "bob white" would whistle. And the terrible bee would stin . And the sheaves were dreadful hcav , (:uess he'd-have to hunt the spring? Oh! that naught , na‘ ht "bumble." Little barefeetydidn'ligthirnk. And ust‘ see him in the clover Ro L his eye and slyly wink. See} the apple trees are laden. Cider-making time is here; Little folks are always busy him-59”! Certain seasons of the year. there died-nothing more on earth . to be Wis 'or. ' 0ft as came the 118. ‘ ' ,, , . _ . ,, . ' ppy spring-time, Hyde! my darlmgi he Say? Came the tapping of the trees. \Vhen they stood in stately silenceâ€" 111" mmuces 855; me“ 5119 1001“ “P Then the boys must work or freeze. at him with soft speaking eyes. There are no tears upon her cheeks, but her face is pale as moonlight, and on it is a. new deep meaning that Dorian has never seen there in all his life before.» â€"-a. gentle light, as kind as death, and as soft as holy love! As she so stands. gazing solemnly inn to his face, with all her heart in hen eyes. Dorian stoops and lays his lips Oaken troughs and spiles of elder, Placed along as one would tap. Soon were filled to overflowing W 1th the pure old-fashioned sap. Then the hauling and the boiling- hurt for boys through all the day. Tillhth‘at horrid horse, “Old Baldie," W ith my grandpa ran away. on here. _ She colors a. lovely trembâ€" ling crimson. and "e caress. I Hitting all he didn't miss. You do love me at last?‘ he says- But I guess at. last they caught him. And. then she says,â€" “I do, with all my soul."â€"in a. tone not to be mistaken. Afterward, "Are you happy now?” . (To be Continued.) .._... Or lcouldn’t tell. you this. Little boys will have their trials, sometimes little girls do too, But the. pleasures overbalance All that ever. come to you. Ohl the happy days of childhood! But the best; of all should be. Asvwe listen to the stories. hitting on our grandpa's knee. DRAGGED TO DEATH BY A HORSE. Burburous Punishment Accordcd a French Cuv_i_ilryniuii in Africa by Ills Colonel fora Triulug Oll'encc. The murder of a French cavalry-man named Cheymol by his superior officers in Africa brings out a. story that 're- minds one of; the eighteenth century practices in the navy. Official reports sent to France told of Cheymol's death, but gave no par- ticulars. Queer rumors. however, found their way to Paris, and but a short time since the dead man's brother made an interpellation to the Chamber of Deputies and demanded an investiga- tion. The result was that the whole thing leaked out. A dark blot stains the mil- itary repute of France. If it is remov- ed the Foreign Legion will doubtless have a. new colonel before long. This Cheymol, it appears, was found guilty of a minor breach of discipline. 0n the African station commanding of‘ floors are not bound strictly by the regulations of the service. They have introduced punishments according to their own ideas. One of these is the “ Mazeppa ride," and Cheymol was sen- tenced to it. An unshod stallion was brought into a. ring. as was the prisoner. stripped the man and tied his hands. With a. strap they fastened his bound hands to the stallion’s tail. The sentence read “to be dragged three times" round the ring. The col- onel of the Legion, who was present HOW’ MAMle COON SAVED HER BABIES. My hound Carlo loved to hunt, and would track anything, from bears and wolves down to chipmunks. But his greatest delight was in i'acoons. The very largest and fiercest of these |ravagers of our cornfields, if he once got hold of it, he would dispatch single- h‘anded in two minutes. \Ve had a hired boy about my own age called “Billy,” who liked to hunt as well as I did. Beginning in Sep- ltember, he and I, each wilha light ax. ipunk, flint and steel (we had no matches in those times), used to go out every week-day night with Carlo. Whenever we came to a patch of corn or late cats, the dog would jump over the rail fence, and if there was a coon in the field he would either nab it on the ground or drive it up a. tree. Then We would kindle a big fire and chop the tree down. The moment its top touched the ground. Carlo would find the coon. no matter how cunnineg it might hide. But one night, on old mother coon. with two halfâ€"grown l 511611 rem-1‘03 Down the hill and through the bushes, These three "ringiails" were enjoying a supper of green corn in a small field just across the creek from our house. \Ve had entered the field from the fur- ther side and the mummy coon. watch- ‘ ful for her babies. heard Carlo rustling with his staff, gave the word and the on the trail before he had get near her. fierce horse was loosed. He immedi- Instead of foolishly running back to ately began to lash out and plunge. but the woods she led her youngsters up with whips they got him started. a big _ Terrified at being unable to free him- i the brink of a deep pool into self from the thing on his tail, he some of its branches dropped. dashed off frantic. ‘ All right. so far; but in five minutes Before the thirdpircuit Cheymol was Carlo came to the elm. and his peculiar insensible and covered with blood. The bark told us he had ireed game. horse wore neither halter nor bridle But it was a dark night; the tree and it took a. long while to catch him. top was well clothed with leaves and. was dragging a as in that dry weather we dared not Both officers and men took this , kindle a. fire so near our barn, we could not see the coons at all. Neither did we dare cut down the tree. because it weeping-elm tree. standing .on which corpse. as a matter ‘of course. _ French officers are not usually inhu- mane to their men. and the barbarous was a specially beautiful one. pur- gion force the conclusion that the 50, leaving Carlo to keep watch all rough life on the African station has brutalized them. r If the Cheymol episode were not vouched for by the semi-official notice which has already been taken of it‘the story would seem almost incredible. Perhaps the worst part of it is that the execution of the sentence should _be as an entertain- night we went home to bed, intendinfi to come with a gun at daybreak an shoot the rooms. But we didn’t. Right opposite the tree. on the other aid» of the creek, stood our milk-home, built over a live spring. the water from which ran through a rough pipe of hollow lvtgs into the. pool. ' At the earliest glint of day, Billy and I jumped out of bed and went over to the tree, with a. double-b.1rrelled gun loaded with buckshot. Carlo was still on guard. and when he saw us barked joyously. \Ve peered at every part of the tree This inhuman punishment is not the top. but not, the. iirst hair of a coon onlv matter which needs the attention , could we see! What had become of of the French War Minister. Flogging t cm? We knew there. was no hole in of the severest kind is ordered for the t e ‘Iree. and as for their commg down most trifling offenses, ' yon the land Side and passing Citric, The effect. of course, is demoralizing that was out of the QUESW'D- “If?! alike on men and officers. The men it were gone. however, that was certain. cows; the officers it brutalizes. Neither and we felt as foolish as Carlo looked rank nor file of such sort are very efâ€" as, sown as he under-shod the mom- focLiVe, lying fact. All three of us went home. ‘ greatly puzzled. I looked upon rather ment. _ It is said that not only do the offi- cers of the post attend these "Mazep- pa rides." as idle spectators, but that women. too, are often present. The spectacle is treated like a bull-tight. practices disclosed in the Foreign Le-‘posely left for ornament. MATRIMONY. 'l'hcy encourage matrimony in Alban- ia. When a. girl wants to get mar- ried she collects all her-little store of gold. and mounts the coms in. her mg. You can then see what she is wort , and the young fellows don't want big fortunes with their brides in that country. After a while ’he dairy maid went to the milk liuuso: and ilinr». by the Open spring. at the head of the draining logs. croui-hwi tiircv ti‘viiibiii'ig mums! The mommy coon h'id softly lvd her young ones down the drooping branches into the pmd. crowed it. criteretl the hollow log pipe and crawled to that strange plan-2 of refuge. leaving no QCPDC bf'lllll'i. Did she not do some planning! At 1 They i young ones, completely outwiited him.‘ any rate my father was so by her Sagacity in evading _\1 that be we d not allow us to sacrifice her or her babies. He turned then gently out, and they new peer off to the woods. ‘ â€"â€" scour LETTER WRITING. Letter writing is a grateful accom- plishment and one which caniiOt ab ways be acquith The first. essentials am good black ink. and white or cream paper,of asize, which when folded 01106. will exactly fit into a. square envelop of theme shade and quality. Ruled paper is considered iuelegnnt and lines may be kept straight by placing a heav- ily ruled paper under the writing pa- per, or by keeping a straight-edged blotter under the hand when writing. In business the oblong envelop is often pmferred. This requires that the paper be folded twice. In folding a. sheet that way it should be laid first ends up with the heading at the top:‘ the lower third is first folded n th the up 1‘ third turned down.“ This when} 0 letter in unfolded the saluta- tion is the first thinr displayed. Care fhould taken tint? the paper fits _he envelop. as a. crease along one side is not constdcned roper. except in a. gagincgses ghemtét e letters are of a _ as o arac ' * - mommy is used. .r and busmtss sta t Of course, the degree of intimacy be- uten correspondents governs the terms of Salutation. One may say to afriend what would be highly improper to memo 1y an acquaintance. The date and name of place from where the letter is writ- ten always occupy the upper rightâ€"hand corner, usually on the first line. In a. busmess letter it is customary to place at the left-hand side. on the line below the date, the name and address of tho' person to _whom the letter is :uldrcssâ€" ed, occupying two lines. followed on the next line‘ by " Dear Madam." "Dear Sir, or Gentleman," as the case may you Such letters are usually signed etgours truly," Respectfully yours,‘ A. closer_degree of intimacy is denotâ€" ed in placing " my " before the name. as, My Dear Mrs. Blank." In sign- ingusuch notes “ Very sincerely yours," or Affectionatcly yours," is ropcr. Between friends. where no forum ity ex» : ists, the writers must judge what are the program salutations and closings. A et r addressed in the third per- son should always be ansuored in the third person. and one in the first er- son is. of course, answered in the irst" person. ' The kinds of letters to write are, of course, entire1y_governcd b the degree of intimacy. Friends shoult understand each other well enough to know what is and what is not 0 interest to each other Let all letters, so far as possible; be, neat and graceful, for one mav often! be Judged by the manner in which one writes as well as by what is said. -â€"â€"â€"oâ€"â€"*â€" THE HONGKONG PLAGUE. Cliiiuulieii Resist the. Efforts of European! to Save Thom From the liphlcmlc. European physicians who have had ex- perience in China during epidemics, have. been obliged to combat many stubborn prejudice of the natives. In 1894 the plague attacked liongkong about the middle of May. From fifty to a. hundred deaths occurred daily. From the first. the Chinese strongly objected to the removal of their sick to_ European hospitals. They did not understand the necessity of segregation They preferred to die in their unclean surroundings among friends, than to acâ€" icept the chance of a lonely recovery at a. hospital. The (levices to which the Chinese re. sorted to conceal the sick from search- ing parties, were many and ingenious. .. system of house-to-house visitation had to be organized to overcome the dangerous secretivcness of the Chinese. The efforts of the cleansing and disin- fecting stuff wore rendered almost. in. tile by the dislike of the llllliVCS to san- itary precautions. The. epidemic cnus< ed 2,550 deaths before it (‘i‘flsell in early; September. The necessity of burying the dead in common graves was a great shock to the feelings of the natives, and finally led to open rebellion. Concessions had [to be made to the ignoraul and dospern ‘ate Celestials and the presence of Chin- ese medical attendants in the European .Hospital was permitted. Chinese to the lnumber of l00.‘100 loft [long Kong while [the plague was raging. ’l‘lieir demand that their plague-stricken rclzitivns be allowed to accompany them. was. of course. not granted. Of the (‘liincso |patients who were attacked by the opi- l demic, only 18 r cunt. recovered, while 82 per cent. 0 the Europeans afflicted were restored to health. ,‘ ..,. .h AT ANY ('OS’l'. In wrath and tears Edith limvlett had gone to bed. She had been tucked in .once, given a. drink twice, kissed good.- i night three times; but the spark of re- ! bellion still burned in her childish soul. I “Momma,” she cried. I "Go to sleep, Edith," her mother said, sternly; “I shall not come in there again." ’ "I want a drink. momma," Edith pleaded. "You‘ve hrui two drinks already; now go to sleep." - There was a brief silence, and than lEdith cried again: “Momma, cum-3 night." and kiss me good- You’vc been kissed good-night dear.‘ c and [shall not come In agnui: so gof’ to sleep at once like a. good irl.” There was another muse. w iile Lila“ lonely child cuvlgoled her brain {or M new expedient. “Momma.” she cried, at last. “please com:- in; I'm so hungry." "You cannot. have anything to out to« night. and if i come in there again," the. mother said, with rising color. "it will be to give you a good spanking !" Tho-re was a lcmger pause. and just as it began to look as if the evening's battle were over. the child‘s voice we! heard again. "Mammal," she. pleaded, “l'm so lonely in item. Please come in and span me."