A Kindergarten
Hold=U )
By Atabcll Shippia Clarke
(Copyright, by Sliortstory Pub. Co.)
Sam Murphy knew no difference be
tween right and wrong, except that, a
policemen objected to certain things
it was not wise to do these thing;
when an officer was near. He db
not distinguish between truth ana
falsehood. The language which serve,
his purpose lx opinion
to US'
[te sam
ey ha
him out
yif the bab.v
^a stunted, til 1
"mi the baby, Sa
things happened
was sent to jai
fr killing Sandy Mike Sulliva’
it; then his mother died am'
ll was taken away to an in
a heritage of vice and a train
mime as his equipment for this
warfare, Sam entered upon hi;
rndent career.
'was IS years after his mother’*
fli that a morning in late Ma>
(id him on the outskirts of a sub
In town, Norham. near Boston
always tramped for six months in
the year. He had developed a iastt
for the country; lie made a living eas
Uy, and met agreeable companions
Usually he rode 01* freight trains ai
night, and walked the country road;
in the daytime. Ify mistake he had
left the train at a greater distance
from the village than he had realized;
it was already after nine o'clock, anti
he had had no bretikfast.
Fortunately, he spied a cottage is
the distance, and bent his steps to ii
As he came near, the cottage resolved
itself into a plain white building of a
shape common to New England, and
he heard children's laughter and sing
ing. and the tramp of little feet.
"It's a bloomin' school." he mut
tered. “No grub here."
Still, he did not continue his walk,
for now there sounded from the piano
a lively march which he had heard
many a time from the street bands in
New York. Besides, he saw in the
square entry-way of the old-fashioned
schoolhouse, beneath the little coats
and hats, a row' of luncheon baskets.
He eyed UlfiW ,m-ni in me
whole of ’em, but dere better’n noth
Ing;" and he stepped cautiously
in, and devoured the contents ot
the first three receptacles in the row
In an incredibly short time.
He was consuming a bread and but
ter sandwich, when, in the midst oi
the second mouthful, which was a!
most the last, his eye fell on a little
hole in the corner of a pane of the
glazed glass door. The music had
ceased now, and a confused and soft
toned murmur was heard that aroused
Sam's curiosity.
"Wot is them kids doin', I wonder?"
he said to himself, and applied his eye
to the hole with the promptness that
characterized his arrival at a deci
sion.
Once in command of the scene. Sam
remained motionless and lost in amaze
ment. Ten, twelve, seventeen, he
counted, of the prettiest little erea
Five Years
of Heart Trouble Cured by
Dr. Miles’ Heart Remedy
“Before 1 began taking Dr.
Miles' Heart Remedy 1 had been
suffering from heart trouble for
over five years. I had pains in
my left side, and under my
shoulder blade, could not sleep
on the left side, and was so short
of breath the least exertion
would bring on the most distress
ing palpitation. 1 had scarcely
taken a half bottle of the Heart
Remedy before 1 could see a
marked change in my condition.
.When I had taken six bottles I
was cured.”
MRS. C. C. GORKEY,
Northfield, Va.
If there is fluttering or palpi
tation it is an indication of a
weakness of the nerves and mus
cles of the heart. It is not neces
sarily diseased—just weak from
over-work. The heart may be
weak just the same as the eyes,
stomach or other organs. You
can make a weak heart strong
by taking Dr. Miles’ Heart Rem
edy. Get a bottle from your
druggist, take it according to di
rections, and if it does not bene
fit he will return your money.
Our Sympathy
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subscription.
tures, boys and girls, the oldest nol
over five.
It was a kindergarten established bj
the early comers among Xorham’s
summer residents, who had hired this
deserted schoolhouse, had had it fitter
up with long, low tables and little
chairs, and had installed therein at
teacher a ward of Mrs. Humphrey
Brandon.
As Sam watched the little peoph
about the tables began to model clay
while the teacher told a story of i
mother bird and her birdlings; and one
i after another of the pretty childrer
went to her to show the nest and eggs
! which had grown as the tale pro
grossed.
I Looking and listening though hr
tie gfrl "w So *’rail to the door behinc
' which he stood, and pulled It open, re
j vealing to the astonished teacher ant
children a disreputable, unshaver
j tramp, In a stooping position.
The teacher sprang to her feet it
alarm, though In an instant she wai
controlled, that she might not rnakr
the children afraid. She was a gir
of 20, and not comely, though her fact
looked sweet and motherly, as she
clasped one sobbing child to her
breast, and walked a step nearer tc
the door.
irrr
i—nr
n
i I' '
The Teacher Sprang to Her Feet lr
Alarm.
"What can I do for you?" she asked.
Now the unmasking of Sam's am
bush had disconcerted him more than
te would have acknowledged even to
himself, and the effort at recovery of
his self-possession caused him to as
sume the air of audacity. It angered
him, too. to see how the mere sight of
him standing in the doorway had
brown into confusion the pretty scene
on which he had been looking.
Straightening himself with an air of
impudence and command that made
he poor teacher shake with fright, he
replied to her question.
'Wot kin you do for me? A lot,
niss. I come here to see you an' do
little kids. Trot 'em out. Show me
lere paces;" and Sam seated himself
in the magisterial seat, with an as
sumption of being very much at his
ease.
“You mean that you would like to
ee some of their games?”
"Yes. An have ’em sing,” command
ed Sam.
Here was a way to quiet the chil
dren, who, in their accustomed rou
tine, would forget the forbidding
aspect of their visitor. Making them
form a circle, their mistress led their
thin, sweet voices in the song of the
carpenter and farmer, with gestures
illustrative of their occupations.
Sam looked on with an interest
amounting to absorption. Never had
he supposed that childhood contained
such interests, such pleasures, such
stores of information. His mind went
back to his own early days, and he
dimly felt thatv'fll excitements were
not tugW^Monynared to these delights.
Htv<nought of his father and mother.
He had heard that his father had di d
in jail. He had spent two years in
the same jail himself. He never looked
for his mother's grave—never even
asked its whereabouts. He thought of
Sal, and wondered, it was years since j
any of them had come into his mem- j
ory.
The blocks were being put away to
the music of a merry tune, when the
teacher's voice reached him as from a
distance, and her face was seen as
through a mist.
“Would you like to see the children
march?”
She had placed them in line, with the
tallest boy at the head, and was pass
ing by him to go to the piano, when the
tramp suddenly exclaimed:
"Stop!”—in a tone that made her
knees vibrate.
“Where did yous git dat?” he said,
pointing a dirty finger at a silver coin
hanging from her watch chain.
“This? I've had it always,” returned
the girl, holding up the dime with its
engraving on one side. Sam took it
between his thumb and finger, very
much to her discomfiture, and read on
it, in well-cut letters:
SAM.
and underneath, rudely scratched:
SAL.
There came to his remembrance like
a flash the day when he had found
that coin engraved with his name,
and with a hole drilled through it, in
the street, and how he had taken it
home, and had scratched on it with his
knife the baby's name, and had tied
it about her neck with a piece of pink
string.
“Who are you?” he demanded, look
ing at her earnestly, and still holding
tlie coin.
“Sally Brandon.”
“Go on.”
“Mrs. Humphrey Brandon's adopted
daughter.”
“Who's yer father?”
The girl was almost crying.
”1 don't know. I came from a home
me and had me trained to teach.”
“Why'd she call you Sally?”
"They told her at the home that that
was all of my name that the police
man who took me there told them, and
they gave her this to keep for me.
It was round my neck when I was re
ceived.”
Sam now was sure of her identity.
She was Sal, the baby. He looked at
her keenly, then sat down, saying,
briefly:
“Set de kids agoin’.”
While the meyry march sounded
against his deaf ears, Sam revolved
the situation. Under ordinary circum
stances, if he had found anyone whose
"leg" he could “pull,” he would have
pulled it without hesitation. Some
thing of the sort he thought of now,
for he had no doubt but that he could
persuade her of his identity, even
though her baby mind had retained no
memory of the tenement-house days.
At any rate he could frighten her out
of money.
But, strangely enough, he did not
want to, and this for the first time in
his life when there was a chance of
"boodle."
He Jooked at her smooth hair, her
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sweet race, ner neat dress; he watched
her skill as the music ran out from
beneath her swift fingers; he remem
bered her control over the children,
and her evident knowledge of her pro
fession. His thinking resolved itself
into a murmur inaudible to her.
“I guess she ain't got no use fer a
hrudder like me; an'.’’ he added, with
grim humor, "I dunno's I could use a
sister like her.”
So never a word said Sam on the
subject, and when the march was over
he took his leave.
"Much obliged, teacher, fer yer per
liteness. 1 wisht I’d a had a school
like dis when 1 was a brat, an’ I’m
much obliged to de little kids, too. i
Good-by.”
“Good-by!” they shouted In chorus,!
and the little girl whose weaving he
had described as "blooming pretty,”
cried:
"Come again!”
Sam stepped into the open air, and
looked at the blue sky, and up and
down the road, and then walked off
with his hands thrust deep Into hi*
pockets, whistling very loudly the
inarch the teacher had Just played.
Those Revolving Doors.
"This is the time of the year,” said
the nervous man, "when my days are
full of woes over those infernal re
volving doors. Of course, they are all
right. I have no doubt, but, oh, how
much more agreeable it would be to
nervous folk if most persons who went
through them didn't think it neces
sary to go at the rate of 40 miles an
'lour, more or less. It’s hard not only
>n the nervous folk like myself, but
he old as well, and for any one who
s a bit of a cripple the passage of one
if cinse doors Is worse to contemplate
ban that of the Rubicon was to
Caesar, probably."
Railroad Time Card,
WHITE RIVER BRANCH
St. L. I. M. & S. Ry.
Trains pass Newark as follows:
GOING Wl sr,
No. 210 (passenger). 7:43 a. m.
No. 231 (passenger/.5:37 a. m.
No. 240 (mixed).12:52 p. m.
GOING KAST.
No. 209 (passenger). fi:48 p. m.
No. 232 (passenger). ..9:43 p. ni.
No 24f> (mixed).9:03 a. m.
P. C. Hoyt, Acent.
Swept Over Niaga
This terrible calamity oft
because a careless boati
the river’s warnings —gro
and faster currant—natu
are kind. That dull pai
the back warns you the
attention if you would
op:
disease. Tak
once and see backache
your best feelings return,
suffering from weak kidn
back, one $1.00 bottle '
me,” writes J. R.
Belk. Tenn. Only
vant’s.
maladies-dropsy, diabe
Take Electric
SmSmpFnE—i3 a La
Gompound guarantee
Ghills, Bad Golds and
ye
re
e