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J OSfiPH'S COAT So Dinah’s longing heart went on un- satisfied in the old way, and was fed by little food of earthly hope or domfort. She had never resigned herself to forget Joe, but he was dead or beyond all earthly chance of meeting any more. and these were no new sorrows possible on that count. So farJoe was right. Had her son been whac he should have been. Dinah, in spite of the great trnuble of her youth, whould have been a. fairly happy woman. The deepest Wounds hcal last, if they do not. kill before the healing process can begin. [Registered in accordance with the Copyrigh Act of 1875.] Now, I am nm the first historian by many who hem found himself involved m chronolo gicaldifficultles, and like others I can only rely upon my reader’s patience and discern- ment. When 1 had had young Gn orge eight or nine weeks in England, and had at last left; him face to face Wish Elhel. I was compelled to go back to the hour of his ar~ nvalto show what his father had been doing in the meantime. ' AA_ 4...”: wins an .uv ...v......._-. The two, meeting in this Way, stood rooted each before the other. A cur. so caught. would have the manliness to put. his tail between his legs and run, bohthe tramp was incapable of even so much resolution as would cemmand a fight. In the girl's mind, fear and amazement, and hate, and wrath. and pity made a. jumble of all thought, and left her also helpless. She had of course believed him still under lock and key, but though she could scarce believe their evzdence, her eyes told her he was here. ‘1 ‘,,A 1 lllll ALL “ya. quu .v... ..\,_ __ , And being here, What could have brought him out but one thing ?â€"and than one thing. the desire to make an appeal to Dinah. Per- haps he had made an escape from prison. That indeed seemed the only se‘ution of the mystery of his presence there, and. if it were so, be was proacribed and hunted. “Ainnz av, uv n... “0.--. As was naturalitfihvévfibble nature recovered from the shock of this encounter whilst the abjegE one was yet stunned. ,_._ n n _L- Adan] . my vvv _..- ...._ “,7 , .“ How do you come here?”she asked; “ have yvu espapgd ? ". . ‘ ‘ .y ,,J,. His kJnegs 512133;: And he stared at her, untll he hung his head before her glance and began to weep again. _ _. . . 1- u, “ give you escaped? " she repeated breath- Ieasly. “No,” the wretched creature answered. “ I was released. But I can get nothing to do, and I am starving.” .. “0â€"...V “v .. .. ._._ V 7, She sent her hand hastily to the pocket of her dress and found her purse there. Glanc ing into it, she saw two or three pieces of gold and a lime heap of silver. His face seemed to have a dreadful fascination for her and to draw her towards him. She advanced little by little with the purse in her outstretch- ed hand. “ Here," she said, and dropping it into the hand he held out to recelw it she recoiled, looking 9.; him still thh' her hazel eyes widened to a glance of horror. “ Idrbrrl‘t d‘éserve it,” the tramp moaned and snuflfled unmanlike through his tears. " I don’t d“serv0 it.” "Way are you hara?” aha asked. Tue sight. of him was a terror and a horror to her but what could she do? “You would not. show yourself to Dinah Whilst you look like than You would kill her!” Tine-h}; Higvlrikgifi blow, and stopped his tears for nseaond or two. He stole a. glance at, her anfi drppperdjxirf eyes shinin ' LA “Is siierrrh'ei'e?” he" found doumge to ask. “ Go "she answered him, “ and write to me at. the post oifice, so that I can get the letter in the morning. Tell me where you are that I can send an answer. Bus don’t stay in the tewn." .n . an L- .M,:1,. “What is itiuéiiiame oi the town?” he made shin to ask She told him, and repeated 1361:. bidding. w -.,. -... With that she turned from him and fairly run down-hill towards the town; but nearing the houses. she dropped her veil imd com posed her gait, When she reached her room she looked herself in and struggled in silence through an attack of hysteria, and then dea~ cendud, pale, and with a glittering light in her eyes. “Go. E to-nipln.” “Why. out Ethel," cried her mother, ‘whal’s happened to you? You look as if you had seen a ghost‘.” I n. Emu! trerdâ€"iéviaugh at this, with such in success that, in spine of resolution, hyaLeria begagagsju: . . m. .1 . A.A».I.,_ y. can .. y __ ‘- What’s fiappened to you ?” the mother cried anew, when after a minute or so Ethel had recovered herself. Ethel’a conscience could not tolerate a lie, but she could non tell the whole truth. ” I was frightened." she said. “and 1 ram.” " You frightened ?" cried her mother. The good woman had never heard of such a. thing before, for Ethel was not of §he female tribe who squeal an spiders and expeiience in the presence of a mouse such terrors as might once have seized the people of Herculanuum. “What frightened you? ’ “I mel a trump,” said Ethel faintly. “ Why, was he rude to you ?” cried the old woman. "77133;" answered Ethel, unable to tell all. “It was a lonely place, and he beggPdâ€"that was all.” “ You mustn’t take them ramblin’ walks ubroad, my love,” said her mother aolicitoua. 1y. ” It ain’t fit for maids to go about alone. You should ha somebodyrwitrh you? All the evening long she harped upon the theme, and would scarce releaae Ethel from the house in the morning umil she received aslurauce that nothing more was meant than a. walk along the High street. The girl approached the post ofiico with some inward reluctanwn It would not be nice for anybody to think that she received letters there without her mother’s knowledge â€"even that the postmaster should think it, was anything but pleasant to her. And there by illiortune was young lawyer Keen talking with the official when Ethel entered It was more and more awkward to ask for the letter in his presence, but, giving him a cold little how, she passed to the counter. ” Have youa letter for me, addressed here 9" “Yes, Miss.” The post master produced (it. John saw that it was addressed in a. male handwriting, and thought no more about it for the time. Ethel with another cold little bow respond. d to his reneWed salute, and went home with her letter. When she came to read it she discovered that the writer had wept all over it, and it was so splashed and blotched as to be deoipherable only after difficulty In some matters, heart is taste. The hapless young man began his letterâ€"" My lost love, lost for ever! "â€"with a note of admiration scored in after the final letter, as if he had been writing for the printers. A shiver of disgust ran through the girl’s frame as she read this exordium. The writer went on to say (as in the letter addressed to John Ker-n) that he offered no excuses, feeling conscious that he had none to ofler. adding. that he know he was unworthy of herâ€"at which the reader crawled afreshâ€"but that his sins hsd entailed a ter rible punishment. He threw in one or two phrases of scripture, I have sinned before Heaven and against thee, and My punish~ ment is greater than 1 can bear, and he wound up by saying that he liai re attired himself. was staying at Berton at the sign of the Hare and Hounds in Wedge street, and remained forever her miserable and unworthy Gtorl. e. Then came a postseript, in which he stated that he had expended almost all the money she had so generously given him, and expressed in fitting terms that form of gratitude which has been defined as a sense of favors to come. As for love's idol. that was long since brokt an, and the worshiper was still screly wounded by the shards, But in women’rl hearts sometimes, in spite of any and all wrong doing on the part of the idols oripmal. there lingers a tenderness fur when he was or seemed to be in the days thnthe poor image was first modelled, and gilded mm tue gold of the devotee’s own nature. And in spzte BY DAVID CHRISTlE MURRAY. Buy seine clotkies and write to me 011nm a XXVII. of Ethel’s hatred and contempt. there had lingered until now a certain starved and hungry sentiment, which would have been faitlrif it could, in favor. of a lost George whom she had known to be manly and hem eat, and indeed filled with all noble qualities, onlya. little Whlle ago. But whatever ten- drile of the heart sought to reach and touch the past, the brutal egotism and vile uncon- scious insolence of this epistle blighted them for ever. lUI' 6V6... . She folded up the sheet of blotted and tear- soiled paper, put it in its envelope, walkedinto the garden, passed through the wicket gate into Dinah’s small territory, and so into the house. She had not slept all night, but her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy and her cheeks were flushed with clear color, Dinah, who was in the back kitchen superinâ€" tending her little west-country maid, kissed Ethel in a preoccupied way, and noticed nothing unusual in her aspect ior a minute. But by-and~by, attracted by her silence, she turned, and saw at a. glance that the girl’s iwhole nature was in some way strong istirred. “Come into the sittin‘~room. mv dear,” she said gently, and moved away, Ethel fol- lovgingf _ Daniel sat in the front kitchen with his feet on the steel fender, and pasted the girl’s band in answer to the passing kiss she gave him The kiss was warmer and tenderenhan usual, for they were all knit together by the same sorrow, she thaughtf "Dinah," said Ethel, “ I have brought you news which you will be relieved to hear.” Dinah began to tremble. and the girl put. her arms about her. "They are not going to keep you son in prison all the time they said.” fiiauah stood free of her embraces, looking at her. “If it would be of any comfort to you, you can see him.” “Where?” said Dinah. “where? When are j.hey going to let h_im frgg againfij "7“Cranvy3u Hear to be sold. Hear?" asked Ethel. “They have [et him on! akeadyfl _ Dinah clasped her hands and slipped into aeeat, though, but for Ethel‘s arms guiding her, she would have fallen to the floor. She arose with shaking knees and trembling hands. V"Whereis he? Let me go to him. Let me see him. Where is he?” 7“de can see him to-day, dear, if you will, He is al- Berton, at the Hare and Bounds in Wedge Street.” “ finhel. my dear,” said Dinah. “I must go and see him. He is my child. for all he's been 50 Wicked. I must go and gee him." “Yea, darling, yes,"u Ethel answered "Yourmust go. g9. VYQu w_i11 59 to_-duy?’:_' “ Yes, yes, yes,” declared Dinah. with trembling eagerness. She seemed to think that some apology was due to Ethel, for she clung to her and repeated that he was her childâ€"he was her child, titer all. And, to tell the truth. the poor thing’s soul was rent between her horror of her child and the blind yet holy instinct of motherhood which drew her to him in spite of his wickedness. She shared to the full all of Ethel’s loathing of his crimesâ€"they had steeled even her heart against him for an hourâ€"but she remem- beredall her own maternal pangs and fears, and his father’s fen-off kisses and embraces ; sacredâ€"sacred enough to sanctity even him. And so the mother’s instinct drew her to his side, willing to share his shame and share his burthcn. She was so agitatedâ€"as was naturalâ€"that she was compelled to leave to Ethel all an mnqaments for the journey, which though brief enough. could scarcely be performed im- promptu. There was money to he got for the prodigal, and this was only to be obtained from Daniel. Whose natural tight-fiatedness increased with age. Ethel explained that Dinah was going to Borton, and wanted money. “ Hér’s allays agoing’ to Berton,” moaned Daniel, “ an‘ her allays a-wantin’ money." Bu‘ he surrendered his keys to Ethel after his cu ‘tomary grumble, and sent her up stairs for his cash-box, having first removed with infinite fumbling the particular key whicht opened it. ' A“I‘hat’ll be enough for her." and Daniel, profifxcing a hggffsovefgeigll.‘ “Not “at all" said “Ethel disdainfullv. Patience with small vices was, not; her pet virtue. “What’s her want it for?" piped Dmiel in obstinate remnnsuanc. “I baint u goin‘ to ha’rmy money throwed abovt wasteful. No, “Mr. Banks,” said Ethel decisively, "you ought; he be ashamed of yourself. Dinah never asks you for a. penny unless she really wants it.” “We‘d, ‘what’s her want, an’ what's hul want; it for?” he asked. ‘ “She wants five pounds,” said Emel. “Eh?” cried the old fellow in dismay. ~‘Five pound? Her’d like me to die i‘ the workus, I believe!" “Nev'er mind, Mr. Banks," said Ethel; "I can borrow the money from my mother, I darq sayfi " My child, my George, my sonâ€"my own child !" The wretched George, standing there llkv a. lay figure to hugged, be and not having in mm, as yet, the immeasurable ineolencepo pretend any love for Dinah in return, was smitten by these words as by a hammer. And, of course, the one imerpremtion he pun on them was that Dlnah’s mind had somehow become unsettled, and that she was not an» swemblé for what she was saying. The one Then there was a time-table to be consulted. and, since Dinah was going, Daniel’s dinner must be arranged for next door. These and other little duties of a like sort Ethel took upon herself, and although there is nothing per se heroic in getting a five~ponnd note out of the fingers of a mieerly old man. or in making arrangements for the old man’s din~ her, there have been achievements chronicled in very glowing language which have deserved less praise than these simple doings merited under the circumstances. For the girl’s heart was burning all the time, and every wound hot base lover had given her was throbbing with new agony. She gave no sign, and that is woman’s heroism. When Dinah reached the market town she found Wedge street opening off the market- place, wlnch was alive with stalls and rustic dealers â€" a. street very broad at: its upper end and very narrow at its lower, where it closed in Wiih the Hare and Bounds, which seemed to have been drawn up across 1: to block the themnghlare. As fate willeti it, she had no need to make inâ€" quiries after her son, forjusb as she crossed the xhreshold he appeared in the passage, and they saw each other. “Rul§bidge!" said Daniel. “My gell‘s beâ€" holden to nobodyf’ And with long-drawn reluctance he produc ed a five-pound note. and having smoothed it with affectionate fingers, and rustled it near his ear with finger and thumb, and . held it half-a-dozen times against the light to admire the waterumark. be surrendered it. There was nobody in the world but Ethel who would have succeeded on such terms with him, but he was in some dread of her as being “ a. cut over” his own kind of folks. and he was more obedient to her than anybody else. He was growing downwards feet into the second childhood which is robbed of all the graces of the first, and. e um nothing endearing but its helpless~ mess, and the memory of what its manhood was, perhaps. They walked up the street and along one side of the market square. into the lown High street, and on for half a mile until there were fields on either side, and there was no one near. Then they turned mm a narrow little lane. and there the mother threw her arms about the criminal’e neck. and lifted up her voice and wept. I will not say that the tears that filled his eyes were altogether base and unworthy at that mo- ment. Some touch of ruth was on him after all, and he felt ashamed of himself. AB Dinah hugged him close to her breast, and clung to him, the old barriers which had so long held back the words gave way. “wa-yme with me,” she said tremblingly‘ “ We can’t talk here." idea which had been in her minfl from the hour when first she heard of her boy’s arrest was Bppermostppw. " You were wicked, George,” she sobbed as she kissed him, and he braced himself to re; ceive her reproachee with propriety, “but is was all my wicked fauli as you was tempted If I’d ha.’ been brave an’ good. an‘ let you had your rights. you’d ha’ been a good lad. [know you wouldâ€"I know you would, my dear.” It was evident to George’s mind that Dinah was very mad\ indeed. Her words meant no- thing tq h1m.m “And, oh I" cried Dinah in an agony of tears and caresses, “I never told you as I was your mmher. and of coulse you never growed up to love me like a mud would ha’ done.” Really it was getting time for sanity to inu terfere. The shock of theseiexwaordinary notions had for a - minute driven George’s humilities out of him. -He struggled from her embraces. though she clung to him hard, and standing at arm's length he spoke: “ Difiah. what are “you talking about? Are you glad ?‘_’ - - -. _. _ .. . - ‘ ...-n “ No, darlin’, no,” she answeied. “ 011, George. forgive me. I've been 9. wicked wo- mun.” In the pain of her self accusation, she threw herself upon her knees before him. and in that attitude she told her story. It sounded incredible at first. and he held for a minute or two his first opinion, that Dinah had gone mad. But as she went on with the tale, and came to her interview with old George, and his refusal to believe her, and as the listener’s mind grasped the fact that if the tale were true his mother owned a full half of George Bushell’s fortune. such a1 light poured over everything old George had said and done and seemed, that doubt was impossible. Under that sudden beam of light, old George's one intelligible motive stood revealed. and a truth which needed no bolstering was corroborated a half minute later by the few and hurried words in which the agonized mother told of the theft of the certificate. The whole tale was told so swiftly, and was so broken by the narrator’s sobs. and so tangled by the listener's side way guesses here and there. that half the details miscarried on their way to hi instelli. gence ; but the main truth of it stood like a pyramid, dominant and unshakable. He saw it, and his head whirled, and he gasped at it. The felon of little more than half a year ago, the penniless and starving tramp of yes- terday, was the rightful heir to a quarter of a million of money! He had knownâ€"every- body had knownâ€"how much old Joe Bush- ell had been worth when he died. Dinah knelt at his feet; clinging to his knees and pleading with him. but he never heard her. r “ Say you forgive me, dear; say you for give me ! Oh, I have been a wicked, wwked woman ; but only say you forgive me,darlin’ I Say you forgive me." a . w â€"â€".: He did not answer by a word. A quarter of a million of money. and he the rightful heir to it! That amazing vision shut every- thing else from sigm. The pleading mother struggled from her knees and clasped him once more to her bosom. “ Six); you forgive me, darlin’! Say you forgija me!",__ _ “ Yes, yes,” he answered with his old fret- ful impatience. The news had shaken him into himself again. He began t: see that, in place of being a sinner, he had all this time been sinned against most deeply. Swin died! Juggled iuno penitence and tears by the man who strove to rob him of so vast a sum ! His wrath rose above even his amaze- ment. “Ican‘t expect you to love me all at once,” his mother pleaded. “I can’t expect; it, when I've been :50 Wicked; but you W111 ove me a. bit, my darlin’. won’t you. when you’ve had time? Won’t you? Won't you 7" .‘ . . ,. n" I As he stood thus looking downward, a. ‘little sick from late privation. later excess, and the emotion of the last hour. his eye fell upon the written words “Joseph Bushell.” A new sensation sent a tide of crimson to his face, both hands went suddenly up to hide it, and he groaned end actually oowered For like a flash of lightning there crossed him for the first time the memory of the insane and pretentious lies he had told his father in America. And with that curdling remem- brance came the fear that his father would seek out his mother, and would be brought face to face with him. That thought, I am rejoiced to believe, could have been nothing‘ u V‘V'VYes, yes,” he said again, in] patiently, scarcer knoylpg whm he_a.nswered to. -1 “ You shall have your rights, George.” said unhappy Dmah, fawning on him near: brok- enly. Sha had no blame for him that he did not answer her caresses and her wards of endeurmem. In was her fault that he had been robbed, not; of a fortune merely, but a mother. How could she hope that he would love her all at once? " I‘ve got my lines now. darlin‘,” she wept to him. “I’ve brofigm ’em wnth me to show you. so as you shouldn‘t misbeliave me.” She drew the paper from her bosom. and he looked at it mechanically at final, but than with under» standing. Every pulse of his body, and every current of his little soul, turned one way, and for once in his life he threw 05 every utter of pretense and humbug, and spoke the trmh as he saw it. 77 7“ My God, Dinah !“ he cried aloud, “ you have been a fool, to be sure I ‘ It was true enough to Dinah’s ears and heart, and only failed of truth in non being harsh enough. Yes. he had a right to re- proach her. If she had not been wicked he would never have been tempted. and she saddled herself with the weight of his mie~ doings. Au for George. he had been surprised into candor, and he had time to be sorry for it be- fore either of them spoke again. It would be very foolish to kill the [owl of the golden eggs before a. single golden egg" was laid. And apart from that. he was a criminal himself, and knew that it was proper for him to be lowly in demeanor. If you will look at it, the young man’s position was embarrassing. Dinah could scarcely expect to have the trash thrown at her in this rough and ready way, and yet she could scarcely expect that George would throw himself at once into her arms, and accept her proclamation of relationship with filialrapture. I suppose I have told enough of this young man's story to ealabliah pretty clearly the fact thathe wasâ€"4:1 King Solomon’s sense, atlenat -â€"a fool. But he was clear-headed enough to comprehend lhe simation bya single motion of the mind, a. motion swift and complex. Intellect and wisdom are no synonyms, and the lad bad brains enough. He held good cards. How many tricks could he carry? Dinah was crying passionately at his {right- eous rebuke. and was struggling passionntely to repress her tears. Georgo wok time to think. “I didn‘t know, my darlin’," she sobbed at last. “It was my ignorance as did it. I wouldn‘t ha. robbed you of a farthin' 0’ your righss no 1231: to Queen ofEngland, if I’d 113’ only known " She drew out her little purse and emptied it, and the young man accepred the gift with as good grace as he could summon. It would not do to show to much imperienee at first, though the idea of ufiering the rightful heir to a. quarter of a. million an advance so Luis» ereblyfiinadequste was preposterous enough have to made any man angry He said “ Thank you." and stood with the money in one hand and his mother’s certificate of marriage in the other. A little sense of shamefacedness touched him. The action of pocketing the gift bide fsir to interfere with his martyr- dom. ~ ' “I’ve brought a. bin 0’ money with me now clear,” said the tearful motaer; ‘ as much as [could get father to Is: me have. But you’ll be able to do on ifi for a hit, an’ I must get you some more." "I heg your pudon for having spoken 50” said George in answer. 80 keen a young man could not fall to see that as long as Dinah lived, she must hold the purse strings. CHAPTER XXVIII. would long since have exploded the pretense, and Joseph Bushell would probably be look- ing somewhat eagerly for the man who had deceived him. Now George could see why the middle aged stranger in the New York hotel had inquired after Dinah Banks and had played about his memories of « the Saracen. Now he could see why that supreme old villain George Bushell had written to say that Dinah had msrried, and he could see too why his father had re- solved on returning to England after so long an exrle. Everything was clear as noondsy. and nothing wee clearer than thisâ€"that in spite of the wrongs that had been done him‘ by his mother, he was not a. martyr to his father‘s eyes, or likely to look like one. And --terrible fancy 1 only too probable to be realized «would not his father claim his own from George the elder; and would not he, George Bushell the younger, be left scorn- fully and contemptuoust in the cold as pay- ment {or the poor fraud he had practiced ? It was no wonder. when all this rushed upon him in one sickening torrent of dismay and shame, that he blushed and hid his face and guyned. To Dinah the whole thing looked like re- pentance, and more than ever her motherly tender self-accusing heart yearned over the scamp before her, and she threw her arms about and wept above him, with tears of agony and holy joy, and covered with hungry kisses the hands ‘hat hd his face. " Try to be good, my dear. Try to be sor- ry, an’ God‘ll forgive you, my poor aut‘ferin’ child. That's right, my darlin’! Crya'bit. Is'll ease your heart. my poor dear darliu’ George.” And clmging to him still, she began to pray in broken murmurs for forgiveness for herself and him ; and holy heroism and base vice ashamed mingled their tears together. Whatever joy the angels feel over a sinner turned from the evil of his ways was hers in that moment. and it stoned for much. There was no thought in her mind that the world owed her an atonement. and so, the blessing coming as a gift. and not claimed as a desert, was multiplied a thousand times in sweetness. It is more blessing to give than to receive. She gave forgiveness. Dinah was safe anyhow, even if the newly discovered father should appear again and intervene. So ran the rascal’s thoughts. It was his part now took to crook the pregnant hinges of the knee where thrift might follow fawning. It was not easy to be affectionate to Dinah all At once, even though she had proclaimed herself his mother, and not his sister. But it was little trouble to receive her caresses, since the mere endurance of them bade fair to be profitable. What with hope and fear and rage and wonder and the sickness of privatien and ex-‘ cess, he was in a condition pitiable to behold. Dinah, leeding her life long hunger upon her own avowel of motherhood. translated peni- tence into him and affection, and all worthy shame and trembling honest hopes.and loved him for the attributes her own fancy gave him. In his mind the first shock of remem- brance being over, there remained a sensation of singular discomfort. which was yet not Without an element of relief. If he had made an enemy, he had a friend. and it was likely that the forgery alone would disgust his father. Dinah would help him to get abroad again. perhaps, before the much deceived father could get hold of him. Some of the yarns the San Francisco host had told him of his own past life had dealt with the rough and tumble fighting here and there. and Joseph Bushell, though he had made no boast of the part he had taken in such en~ forced frays as he had mentioned, had worn ‘a look while he spoke of them which seemed to betoken a certain joy in battle. He was a big broad shouldered fellow, and could prob- ably have broken young George acress his knee like a dry stick. George confessed Within himself that he had given provocation, and in case of his father’s appearance on the scene he was prepared to run and trust to Dmah’s generosity for supplies. " You'd beet stay in the same place for a hit, my dear," said his mother, wiping her eyes. and speaking still with a. sobbing catch in her voice, “an’ I‘ll get more money an‘ send it to you. I don't. know what father’ll say when he knows, an’ I doubt he’ll be hard at first.” “ I suppose if you saw a: photograph you would know I” said John. . “ Certainly,” Joe returned. ‘ “ I believe, Mr. Keen,” said Joe miserably enough. "that the writer of this letter is the young man I met in America, the man who pretended to be Cheston’e brother. The hand writings are alike. and the young fellow I met was intimately acquainted with the district and kpew all the people.” George answered nothing, but took adven- tege of his search for a pocket handkerchief to slip her gift into his pocket. and, with his eyes hidden, stretched forth the copy of the marriage certificate toward his mother. She took it from him and folded it, and at that moment the noise of a horse’s feet disturbed them both. They turned toward the town. walking slowly, and a horseman passed them without notice. Even so slight an incident helped to restore their self possession. and Dumb a minute later kissed him tenderly and bade him good-by for the time being. He returned her caress for the first time since he had been a. mere led, and the mother’s heart stored up that mercenary kiss and counted it in his favor. She dropped her vi] and walked away without looking back again, and George strolled about the lanes to wear off the traces of his discompoeure before returnmg to the town. Apart. from his father, his troubles at last seemed over, but there was enough of doubt in the case to keep his heart in a. continual flutter. Now. being ignorant of John Keen’s change of residence, our young rascal had addressed his letter to the old home town. and the post master there had forwarded it, so that on the day of Dinah’e encounter with her son the lawyer had received the unexpected and astounding news of the lost prisoner’s pres- ence in England. With the letter in his pocket book, he took the train for the mid- land capital, and there found Joseph Bushell at his hotel in mournful consultation with Cheston. “ You don’t want an army with you.” re- turned Oheston, “or I’d volunteer. I wish you success; and if 1 can do anything for you here or anywhere, command me." IL was pinin that his thoughts were far away from his speech. and Cheatcn, taking Joe’s right: hand in both his own, shook it with great heartinefis, and left his old friend and the young lawyer to themselves. " I'll tell you what I make of it! ” shouted Cheetah, rising and striking the table with a heavy hand. “ That thundering old rascal of an uncle of yours never gave the lad a penny after all, bin got him free and turned him loose. Gave him the slip, the old fox.1'llbet a thousand pounds! " “ Read that, Mr. Bushell,” he said, laying dowqjhe epimepaforg hjm_. “ We shall see,” Joe answered, still staring at the floor. After awhile he lifted his pale face and looked at Keen. “ Will you go to Barton with me to meet Him? " “ Most willingly." said John. “ Will you start; now?-by the next train ?” “ Certainly.” “ I am using you very cavalierly. old friend,” said J 09 with a 'pitiable forced smile at Cheston : "asking you here to dinner; and then running away from you in this fashion‘" " No," Joe ansWered. " I don't think you any do anythingH “ What is it I” asked Joe. taking it up. “ hillo I” he exclaimed. as his eye fell upon the superscription, “this is uncommonly like the fist of that soi disant brother of yours, Cheston." fl “ What do you make of it ? ” he asked, after a. pause. “ Eh I” cried the baronet. “ Nonsense ! You don’t say so. What’s he got to say for himself ‘2” “ The letter is from your son, Mr. Bushell.” said J 01111 Keen gravely. ” I received it to day. To-morrow he will call at the Post office at Burton for an answer. Before an» swering it I consult you. Pray read it." Joe Feud it, and hEs face grer white. With bent head and gaze fixed upon the floor. he pushed‘ it apross to Qbesliop. “ If you will go on to Barton,” John comx tinued, “I will stop at Wrechedale. and join you an hour or two later, bringing a, photo graph with me. You don't know the town. I suppose ?" “No,” said Joe. “I was never there in my life.” V “ You had better put up at the Hare and Bounds in Wedge street," said John. “ A very quiet. quaint old house, not. the best in the town, but; opposite the poetoffice and con- venient for our purpose. I will join you there.” Joe had little heart for converse outside the theme that filled his mind, and but little heart indeed to speak of that more than seemed needful. So the journey was made quietly, and from the little station at Wrethe- dale Joe traveled on alone. He went to the house to which he had been direéted, carryâ€" ing his own portmanteau, and asked for a bedroom. The rosy chambermaid led him up a. flight of old oak steps and along a corridor full of traps in the way of descending and ascending stun-a, and finally landing him in a. queer three cornered room with an outlook on a garden. “ Anything to eat, air? " asked the rosy chamburmnid. “ Not yet,” said the guest ; and being left alone, he opened the window, lit a cigar, and began to smoke sadly. He had kept his son’s letter to John Keen, and he now read it over and over again. It was terrible to think that the crime and tally which had brought his son to the pass therein described were chiefly traceable to him, and yet he could scarce do otherwise than think so. It was natural in him to accuse himself for all. “ I am desti- tute,” so he read: " my feet are bare, my clothes in rage. . . .I am compelled to move about from place te place to get workhouse shelter and a casual tramp’s poor fare.” How was Joe to say that his son had deserved to suffer in this way ? Give everybody his deserts, and would he escape whipping ? He sat thinking thus. and beaffing é. heavy punishment for the misdoing of his youth, unnl John Keen reioined him. “Have you brought the photograph? ” Joe askeq. recggnizing John in‘tlge dgfklgess. “Yea. Wait a hirsute whilst I light. a can dle. Is that the man?" That was the man, sure enough. Not an ill-looking man either, by any means. A young man who held his head aloft rath~ er haughtily, and who imposed upon the be- holder with a certain pretense of being a great deal handsomet than he really was, as is the way with some people. “Yesfi’vsaid Joe. "This is the man who called himself George Cheston when I met him in the States.” “It is my old schoolfellow and companion George Banks.” and John; “your son, George Bushell.” The unhappy father nodded and set down the photograph. “He mustn‘t see me in the morning until you have him safely," he said after a long pause. “He might want to run away from me again. He has been a had 101;, Mr. Kean, hm I must do the bes‘ I can with him. I'll fasten a. weekly allowance on him in such a way that he can’t forestall it, and that will keep him honest-4n money mat~ tars." “You’ll have some dinner, Mt. Bushell?” asked John. The rosy ohambermaid appearing, the young lawyer went away with her to see after his room and order dinner. and Joe smoked on by the light of his solitary candle, staring at the photograph. and failing to read in it any sign of the wickedness its original had shown. After a lapse of half an hour or ao,Johu returned and found him thus em- played. “Yea,” said Joe. “You’d better order it. Have you got a room ? ” ‘ " Not yet.” John answered, pulling at the bell. “ I‘ll see about one now.” “' Dinner is ready," said he. “Shall we go down? ” George, with his fears still furbively peop- ing from his eyes, sat down, and John un~ locked the door. The neat maid. a. trifle scared. looked round, and announced that the claret was in the billiard room. Joe assented, and John led the way. The cofiee room was a good-sized oblong chamber paneled with old oak and dimly illuminated by a dozen candles. Ono guest was there be- fore them, a young man dressed in a cheap- looking tweed suit which fitted none too well. He was standing at the fire regarding a sport ing print above tho mantelpiece, and his back was turned to the new-comers. With-I out moving his head he addressed the wait rese, who in clean white apron and cap was going round the table, touching the knives and forks. “Now,” saizi his father. “if I find you try ing to deceive me again, I'll hand you over to the police for the trick you played me in the States, and thrash you within an inch of your life before I do it. Will you oblige me. Mr Keen, by unlocking the door 2 There is some one knocking at it. Sit down. sir.” “ I say." said the young man in the tweed suit, “ bring me another bottle of that c‘aret, and take the chill of? it this time. will you ? You can take it into the billiard room, and won can let me have one or two of your best cigars at the same time.” “ If I had met this hound in trouble -" he began â€"â€"and there his own accusing conscience staggered him so that he had noth- ing more to say, but he grosned his teeth and clinched his hands in a miserable compound of remorse and anger. George gathered him self into a smaller compass in his corner, and eyed his assailant with wrathfultremor. John put himself between assailant and assailed, but did it in a casual and unostenmtiom way. “ If I had met him in trouble-v” Joe began again ; “ if I had seen him as I had expected to see him~I could have had some kindliness for him, and some forgiveness for him." He made a motion of despair and misery. and John not reading it rightly, gave a brisk step forward. “ I shan't hit him again," cried Joe, observing this sign. “ Stand up, you melancholy dog, stand upl" The melancholy dog. with furtive fast in his eyes. stood up. There was nobhing very amazing in the speech just cited. but at the very first words of it the new comers started and stared wzth wondering eyes upon each o‘her. “ Your dinner, gentlemen,” said the neat waitress. Joe nodded. and she hustled from the room. “ Stand by the door,” Joe whispered, and John with a. backward step felt for the key and turned it in the lock. Joe walked swiftly up the room. and at the very second when the young man in the tweed suit turned round at the noise of the shooting bolt, he laid a, hand like a vise upon each arm. and said : “ So. Mr. Cheaton !" "The mereet shadow of an attempt to free himself showed the young man that 'flight was out of the question. But if force could not svml him, was it not possible that finesse might serve? Perhaps Joseph Bushell might be blufi‘ed into the belief that he had been led away by an astonishing likeness. And having said this, he was moved by an impulse. whioh I will not characterize. He swung the impostor round and kicked him into a corner of the room, where he lay in a heap, guarding his head with his arms, and Joe towered over him with a rage amounting to pure anguish in his heart. Since he; had knovhl of a sén’s existence he had pictured many meetings with him but none like this. “ So. you’re destitute are you ? ” Joe went on ;’.“your feet are bareâ€"your clothes in rags. You move about from place to place to get workhouse shelter and a. casual tramp’s poor fare I Whom have you robbed now? Who is your last quarry? Keen,” he cried with an almost hysteria bitterness, “ look at this fel~ low !â€"this forget and impostor and liar, who knows neither of us! Shouldn’t I be ahappy man to come home after six and twenty year of exile and find a son like this? ” "'Sif," he returned therefore, with an in- dignant drawing up of his figure, “you have the advantage of_n{e"’ " Georgefmylad,” said Joe grimly. “if you lie to me, or attempt to lie to me, again, I'll break every‘boAng in yourAbody." “ The gentleman is engaged for the pres- ent,” said John blandly. “ Will you kindly origg it berg ?” The girl obeyed. and during her brief ab- sence not a. word was spoken. She looked from one to the other when she brought in the wine. and reminded John that the soup wasgoolipg. “ Thank you,” said John. still bland and suave. “ We are engaged just now. We have business with thus gentleman. You can send up the dinner when I ring for it. In the meantime, let us have this room to our- selves.” The girl disappeared, and John looked the door again. but pausing with the key In his hand, he asked, 7 “ Would you-like to be alone. Mr. Bush 611 ?” “No,” Joe answered. “ Come here. Now, sir," turning upon George, “ I am going to have the truth out of you by book or by crook. What brings you here ? What have you been doing since you gave me the slip at Liverpool ?" Geérge showed no disposition to begin. but at a. threatening movement on the question-- er’arpart he opgped his_narra_t:ive. U _ " I went to Newcastle-omTyne,” he said, “ and tried to get employment, But every- body wanted a. certific .te of character, and I couldn’t give one. Then I went to Durham, and there in was the same. So I had to sell my things.” “ Mine 1" thought Joe. remembering the stolen portmanfieau, but he Braid nothing. "And I didn't Know where my people were,” pursued the criminal. “and i had to wander about the 'country. I wrote at last to Mr. Keen when I was nearly dying, but last night 1 got t0_a place called Wrethedale, about five and twenty miles from here, andâ€"” There he began to weep again. “ Well ? ” said Joe eternly. “ I met a lady,” piped the weeping George, “ a lady I used to Know before â€"-â€"” He drew forth a pink-edged cheap hankerchief and sobbed into it. “ Mr. Keen knows her. She gave me nearly four pounds, and I bought some clothes. I was in rage,” he pro- tested, “1 was really. And I was nearly dy- ing. Mr. Keen can ask her if I wasn’t.” You have had a. pretty good dinner,” said Joe glancing at the debris on the table. “and you can afford your two bottles of claret; to it. And 8. chateau wine, as I’m alive ! ” he cried. laying a hand on the mourning George’s second bottle. “ Now you didn’t come here from Wrethedale and buy those clothes, and pay a, day’s hotel bill on this scale, out of nearly four pounds. Where dxd you get the rest of the money from? ” No answer. “ Or are you going to rob the hotel peo- 1316?? “No.” cried George. “I have money to pay them. Dinah has been here toâ€"uay.” This was addressed to John Keen. and left both his hearers under the impression that the scamp was still ignorant of his parentage. But Joe took that bull by the horns, resolved to have no more mysteries or misunder- standings than it seemed unavoidable to leave. “ Do you know you are related to me ? “he asked, sickening at. the question even as he put “Yes,” said the other, still sobbing into the cheap handkerchief. “ Do you know the nature of the relation- ship?” Joe asked again. " Yes, " snuffled George under his breath. “ Who told you ?“ Joe demanded. “ Dinah told me,” said George, nvoidinghis father’s eye and directing the answer to Juhu Kren. “ Did she tell you of her own relationship to you ? " ” Yes. ” “ When did she tell you of these things? " “ This morning.” “ You are my son.” said Joeâ€"“ God help me, and forgive mslâ€"nnd I will deal by you as best I can â€"us well as you will let me. Let me see signs of amendment in you, or it: will not be well for you. I shall not be ready to read the signs too easily, and you shall not look for a life of idleness and good for nothing luxury at my hands. I have lsfl', my duty undone, and I owe many stonements even to you.” It cost him a good deal to confess as much, but he was bent on doing his duty- nuw, and this seemed part of it. " But you are one who will need 9. tight hand, and you shall have it, And now, you can go to your room. I have no fear of your running away, for you are not too proud. a. dog to em diny puddings, and you see your way alreaiy to getting a little money out of me when you can work up a fit of penitence.” Undar these scathing words George did he- gin to feel alittle car like. and he had to ad- mit. that he had done something to deserve them. But even here appearances were wretchedly against him, and he felt it as a misfortune that he should have been re- habiiitmed before his newly discovered father chanced upon him. A Single day of luxury was dearly purchased at the prics he had paid for it. He crept from the room with his head hang- ing and when he reached his own chamber he began to cast about in his mind for the best and wisest course to adopt with this muscular and out spoken father. Would it pay to run away, to begin with, refusing his aid on the ground that he was unworthy to receive it, and so wording a penitent letter that it might indicate a slew to his whereabouts, without seeming to do so ? He even begun to sketch the half projected letter in his mind. He re- called a sentence from the parable of the Prodigal Son which bade fair to come in with good effect. He would be quite heart brokenly penitent, and yet display a lingering touch of magnanimity. It would look alittle worthier in him to admit his unworthiness. And you inu'fit understand that in the nature of this young manâ€"though all this was as clearly outlined in intention as I have made it seem â€"it was not altogether hollow and insincere. While he wept for shame and humiliation, he was thinking that his weeping at all was a manly sign in him, and he knew the While that if he wrote that letter he would let new tears fall on it, and he looked for a certain effect that way. Yet, even for him, penitence meant something more than the misery of being detected. Of course a man who really knew how to relent could never have been guilty of young George’s particular crimes. A man who has the power to relent nobly may sin much, but hardly in that way. No lion, however degenerate, takes to weaving spider’s webs. George‘s penitence was like his offensesâ€"as yours and mine are. " Your father has deputcd me to speak to you about a matter of importance ; ” said JohnI “ He Wishes you distinctly to understand that any hopes of his assistance you may enter‘ tain will depend upon your obedience in this matter. Your mother is not you aware of his presence in England. She does not even know that he is still alive, and until he can see his way more clearly than he can at present he desires that she shall bear nothing of him. I suppose I may tell him that you respect his wish? You Wlll see your mother again in a little time. Will you uudertske~remembering What hangs ume itâ€"to drOp no hint of your father’s presence in Englandâ€"to drop no hint of your having seen him anywhere ‘I ” “ Yes,” said George. and the messenger turned to leave. " Keen.” cried the criminal. “ I know I’ve acted like a blackguard, but I'm not so bad as people think me. I never “ Yes,” mid George; “ I promise faith~ fully, Keen.” he added, rising and breaking into tears aneW,â€"” you won't believe that I wrote you that letter and preten dad to be staying where I wasn't. I will give you my word of honor it was true.” “ I see no reason to doubt you,” said John, somewhat; coldly. He could hardly fail to remember that this good young man had quarrelled with bun on the ground that he was not; moral enough for the good young man to know him any longer. “ I may take your promise? ” As he sat. half resolving in his uncont- ageoue soul to do this thing and seem a little better than he was in his eyes and his father's, a tap came to the door and John Keen entered meant to stick to that money. and I won enough‘ on Erebus to put it back. And I haven’t-I haven’tâ€"I haven’t a friend in the world 1 ” And so once more, the young man mistook selfâ€"pity for ljepentance. [To BE CONTINUEDJ Popular Fallacies Exploded Relative to the Vagrom Meteors. From the Cornhill Magazine. So far as we can judge, there is no danger whatever for the earth from the passage through a comet’s train of meteoric attend- antsI or through the tail. Whether the pas- sage of the earth directly through a comet’s head would cause any mischief is as yet doubtful. From what we know of cometie structure however. it seems unlikely that any serious harm could happen to the earth, even if she came into direct conflict with the nucleusof the largest comet. Assuming that the nucleus of a large comet con- sists partly of vapor, but in the main of meteoric masses such as form the train, only more closely set, there might be a downfall of large aerolites during the encounter: and if tens of thousands fellI as in the November star shower tens of thou- sands of smaller bodies fall, it might well happen that here and there a life would be lost. But the earth has a large surface. She exposes a hundred million square miles to a flight of bodies reaching her in any given din rection; so that even though a hundred million meteoric masses struck her, that would be but one per square mile. The chances against any meteoric mass striking a human being would be enormous. even it a meteoric shower contained many hundreds of millions of masses large enough to pence trate through the atmospheric armor of the earth. Taking next the question whether a comet may in some other way influence the earth, as by its light or heat, or some other emana tion, science simply asks another question in reply, viz. : How can such influence be pro- duced? We can measure the light which comes from a. comet, even the brightest. and we find that it is exceedingly small by com~ parison with the light we get from the full moon. We cannot measure a comet's heat eimplyfibecauseno instrument hitherto devised is delicate enough even to afford any indica- tion of heat from a comet. As for other forms emanation, sience knows of none which can come from a comet more than from the planets or from the moon, which are certain- 1y not regarded as sources of deleterious emunations. In point of fact. science not only has no a priori reasons for supposing that a comet could produce any recognizable effects on the earth by its light, heat, 0 other qualities, but has every reason of that kind for believing that a comet is absolutely powerless to produce any effectâ€"good, bad or indifferent on the earth or other planets. Of course it might well be that a. poster- iori reasons might exist for regarding comets as mischievous or dangerous. If, for instance it had been found that the appearance of a comet was always or generally followed by ccrtein eflects, as the excessive heat, plague or pestilence, or the like. we should hardly be able perhaps to regard the coincidence as accidental. It could be proved to the perfect satisfactiou of all. except those who have studied the subject, that comets produce heat or cold, healh or pes- tilence, were and feminee. or periods of peace and plenty. When we take the entire evidence WV find, as we minht expect. that it is fairly balanced for all these contradictory influences, or, in other words that there is no evidence at all in favor of cometary eflects on weather 01 health, or on the relations of men and nations amongst each other. This is, of course, no new discoverv. Von Littrow, wrning in 1831 about nhe belief that comets make our seasons warmer. said : “ In repiy to this assertion I give the years from 1632 to 1785, which were remarkable for the unusual temperature 8 ther of their winter or their summer. and Were likewise distinguished by the appearance of comets : Comet ’Comet Years. Temperature . lYeurs. Temperature. ., Hot summer 1718. .. Severe Winter Severe winter 1723. Hot summer Severe winter 17:}. Severe winter Warm winter 1737, Hot summer Cold summer 1744. Severe winter Severe winter 1748‘ Hot summer Cold summez 1764. Warm winter .. Warm winte 1766, evere winter Temperature . IYeurs. Temperature. ., Hot summer 1718. .. Severe Winter Sovere winter 172‘ Hot summer Severe winter 17:}. Severe winter Warm winter 1737, Hot summer Cold summer 1744. Severe winter Severe winter 1748‘ Hot summer Cold summez 1764 Warm winter Warm winte 1766, Severe winter Cold summcz 1369. Warm winter Severe winter L‘ Severe winter Hot summer 1774. Hot summer H at summer 781. H at summer 4 Warm wintc 1783. Warm winter 1705‘ Severe win «a 784. Severe Winter 1718‘... .. Hot summer flair Severe winter Here are nutty cums, and It happens that in exactly half (the Italrcisud cases) the efieot which Would be atqibuted to the comet, if the comet had any eflect on temperature at all, would be an increase of heat, while in the other half such efiect would be a. dxmlnution of hens. 1699. 1701 1702‘ 1702‘ 1705 1718. Is Denounced Wholesale. if this be True. The thago Inter-Ocean recently published the following : OTTAWA, 01115., Jan. 22.â€"An expert ship- builder was sent, about a month ago, by the Government to visit all shipyards in Ontario, and examine and inspect vessels there under construction, with a view of introducing an act at the approaching session. He has re- turned, having visited Kingston, Toronto, Owen Sound, Hamilton, l‘orts Robinson and Dalhousie, St. Catharines and Windsor, and reports an alarming state of affairs. He says vessels and steamers, numbering about fifty. of all sizes up to 1 500 tons were built and put together in the poorest manner, and that nearly all of them were “coilins.” Snipwork, he found, was better done and stronger at Windsor, and next Hamilton, than in other Canadian places visited, He examined some 400 Canadian vessels lying at difierent ports in Canada, and found them of the same grade as at the shipyaszâ€"not staunch, unsea- worthy. He also examlned American vessels at Sarnia and Detroit and found them much superior to Canadian vessels in staunch and seaworthy qualities, although they were not up to standard excellence. I‘he majority of Canadian vessels examined were about half up to ;American vessels, a few very nearly, but none entirely up to American vessels examined. It has long been suspected that some such state of affairs ex- isted, but the Government were not prepared for such sweeping reports. Strict measures, no doubt, will be taken to correct this and to prevent the wholesale sacrifices of life that has so long been going on. â€"Carly]e being once asked the difierence between a. natural fool and an educated fool, replied. “Just about the difference between you and me. I suspect.” The quesfioner was never able to determine which kind of a fool he was. â€"Ghildren seem to be very W" wcious in crime in California, or adults verj'o‘hildish in legislation and the administration of the law. The State prison at San Quentin, according to the San Francisco Examiner, contains twelve boys, ranging in age from eleven to fifceen years. Two of them were convicted of burglary, for entering cars standing on a. Side track. The same railroad owners who Drocured these conviciiona persuaded the Supervisors of San Francisco to pass an or- dinance imposing imprisonment; in the county jail upan children under sixteen who jump on or off steam cars while in motion. Of course, boys who are sent to jail or the State prison for such offenses are soon trained into hardened criminals. The St. Catharines Journal has been ask- ing some thoroughly practical men of that neighborhood rancerning the matter, and finds that, while the armament made by the Ottawa airrespondent of the Inter~Oeean is exaggerated, there is considerable truth in it. The Journal says : The Government need to appoint. thoroughly competent inspectors, not ahiphuildere, bun men who by long ex- perience in lake navigation have been enabled to note all the Weak points in the construc- tion of ships and when steps to take in order to secure the utmost safety m life. THE CANADIAN MARIA E. DANGERS FROM COMETS