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At. the foot of the great willow, where the sunshine poured full upon him and clothed the grass about, him with glory. a sturdy boy or nine lay ind bashed, his great darlhgray eyes gazing into the infinite blue Iky-de)‘.ths ubm'e him, holding a ripe crimson apple into which his sharp pearls of teeth bit. lazily. His brown face bore traces of recent lighting, and the brown hand lac LtI'OtCth out to reach another quar- Icnder from the heap on the grass, looked as if it had been used in bat~ tle. In pl pi --.... .u..u.uui\; accounted for its openness and ab- sence of walls, but only in part, for there, was no reason why, though the stream was open for the convenâ€" lence of the town water~carts and all the COWS in the neighborhood. the wide space in front of the mill, where the [owls walked at their ease and the pigeons fluttered down from the doveâ€"cot above to dispute the grain with them, .and the mealy, Wagons stood for loading and un-‘ loading, should have opened unwell- ed upon the highroad as it did. All must yield to the inexorable logic of facts, but Stillbrooke Mill yielded gracefully, and opposed no further barrier between itself and the public road than a large broaddeaved plane-tree, beneath which was a bench, where many weighty subjects! lied been discussed by the present miller, Matthew Meade. and his fore- runners. A carve'd stone let into the Wall above the second story bore In antique figures the date 1650, which made it. nearly two centuries old on this summer afternoon. It was very hot. The sturdy homes at- tached to the wagon which was heâ€"i ing laden with sacks of flour, winked ' their eyes, dropped their heads, and slept peacefully; the men attaching the Sachs to the crane above had, discarded their waistCOats and were? thinking of the amber charms of a? glass of ale; iatthew Meade pushed: his cap for back upon his grizzled‘ head and stood in the most draugh-f, ty Spot he could find, with his, sleeves rolled up and his shirt open;' on his chest, while directing thei work; one of the sleek mill cats slept in a tight coil on tho low stone parapet between the yard and the water; the housedog had left his - . l kennel and stretched him:le withl‘ l y l hanging tongue and exhausted mien on the coolest aSSstihle stone; the mill-wheel seemed half~nsleep as; itil . . l turned to its lulllng music; the sunâ€"r: shine slept on the garden and house, f: it. steeped the flowers and grass in e. l trancelil‘e stillness. and dissolx-mlfl itself in golden lenguors among the‘ broad leaves of the Spreading planeâ€"g tree. the depths of the pale blue sky seemed clouded with eXCQSS of sleepâ€" im; light; the delicate dl‘OOplng‘ boughs of the mighty willow which; grow on the inither bank of the; stream in the meadow, scarcely stirâ€"l red their pale feathery leaves in the‘t charmed stillness. ( r r v i randâ€"u A_. _ U ..,,.‘_....v um yunv uAuu sky, form all most restful contrast to the arid streets whence they can A little way back from the road, on the town side of the bridged exâ€" panse into which the stream widens at the bottom of the hill, there stood, many years ago, a stone-built mill and house; an undershot wheel turned drowsin to a drowsy music in the stillness, the brown roofâ€"tiles were mellowed, the gray walls whit- ened, the trees in the garden and those by the roadside slightly pow- dered by a drifting mist of floating meal. There Was about Stillbrookc Mill :1 genial publicity which opened one’s heart to it. The fact of the high road having been carried straight through its ground and over its broadened stream, in some measure accounted for its openness and ab- sence of walls. but only in part, for there was no reason why, though 41.. ,1, mg of sunâ€"steeped turf thrdfiéhawtfi'e tree-trunks, and the soft massing of bright, foliage against the pure blue n|-.v 1 ~»-r "luv-SCHOOL which rises above the flimsy, fleeting ugliness of the modâ€" em street, a silent and beautiful witness of a past, and prophecy of a future. Thence the road falls steep- Jy to a, piece of emeraldâ€"green still u... 4A.. L » to stillness beneath Ur lindenâ€"girdled garden partially surround a building of gray stout gabled roofs and din easements. This is th mar-school. which rise flimsy, fleeting ugliness Stillbx‘ookc Mill never loclls NOMâ€" amcr than on a hot summer after- nou:a,1vlicn the paved sheets of Cleeve i‘eflel't a blinding snnâ€"glal't‘. and the brick houseâ€"fronts gin: out, I.he heal. they have been slowly ac- cumulating all the long sunny day. Its Position at, the and of the town gives it a singular charm; it is like an unexpected gleam of romance in a. prosaic, tail-worn life. Turning from the principal street, loud with rattling wheels. the cries of street- hawkers and yelling boys, you pass ‘t_o stillness beneath the shade of a Stillbl‘ookc Mill ch'cl‘ 1! antcr than on a hot sun noun, when the paved e Oleeve z‘efiel't a blinding mm‘fimMâ€"WW‘ we“ * ' 7*W_'w'?mw5§mw "M ' 53w CIIAIU‘ER I. [with pretty baby [rt-sturvs and n: in GWGWW€W8993QWQGEW "a 11 1 golden languors among the Eaves of the spreading planeâ€" e depths of the pale blue sky clouded with excess of sleep g‘nt; the delicate drooping of the might}; willow “'hiCh A NEW ‘ hand a little girl of three, frock and sunâ€"bonnet. was U) flmvcrs and cooiug Imp- 'self. her golden curls shinâ€" e suDhght, as she turned. garden wall, surround a finc‘ gray stone, with (S and diamond This is the old the translucent , grove climbing even fresher and‘ the tints of the! .villow wlxiCh bank of the scarcely stirâ€" leaves in the OR, THE MISSING WILL |y stirâ€"l It, was the piteous_ wail of the lit- in the tie girl. accompanied by the splash of her body in the water, that had wjnow, broken his channed dream. Seeing 1 uponil’hilip feed the swan from his hand, ut, him I; a thing forbidden to her, she wished [no my to do likewise, and seeing her broth- .k-g,~ay er’s eye‘s shut, she crept gradually blue’nearer ~tq the edge of the water, a ripeflooking, like a, baby Narcissus, into sharp ' the clear green water, where her His - flower-wreathed gol'd aureoled face recent ' was clearly mirrewed. ml he} "Pity Jessie} pitty dirl 1" cooea - qua,“ l the tiny daughter of Eve, with comâ€" gmss' iplacent smiles at her own reflection. n but. But, the SW81), which in the mean- time had turned back and shot the three, bridge, caught. sight of the little figâ€" ‘t, was ure and steered toward it with a g1mp_)5\\‘ift, even gliding motion. Jessie 5 5m“. looked, up, with a cry of 305'; the turned swan swam back and altered the tiled szned gmm- ! which Tudor passing westward, but how slowly. Some pigeons sailed above him, he followed their flight, with longing eyesz swallows glided by steeped in sunlight, the mill hummcd on, the child prattled to herself, the scent of mignonette came wafted from the garden; the floating swan was a. stately ship, bearing Philip to the world’s end; they seemed to be sailâ€" ing on and on forever, bound to some, far, unknown Happy Islands; crimson fluits sent their spicy (ragâ€" rance over the mystic waves, things melted vaguely one into the other; Sinhakl, the Rec, the Valley of Dioâ€" monds. blended “ith the swan ship and vanished. Philip was fast Ion the sunny grass, lllllll 1101‘ 83:) was caught. by the snowy gleam of a swan sailing majestically toward the grassy bank. The languid grace of the snow- white swan pleased the children. Slowly the beautiful creature glided over the still, jewel-like water, her ‘IDX'OUdIy arching neck and erected (Baillike Wings repeated with such bright accuracy beneath her that, the motion of her black oarâ€"like feet was completer hidden, and she seemed to move like a, thought in obedience solely to her will. The boy beckenâ€" led and she approached him with : wayward dignity, pausing in majestic indecision, and then consenting to he ceaxed onward again until she ‘reached the brink and bowed her head coguettishly to the bread in his extended hand, having taken which, she moved dreamâ€"like away, and brooding pensiver over the water, like some gentle memory on Drown con in L110 plnne~ti‘ee s }when: was also a bay horse led .mounled groom. When the 5 come, he lustin eClmc-(l the c cry, sprang from his horse, run : a wall by the water close to mill-111:0, which he leapt, and h in the meadow just in time to Philip pull the child out of water and to heat off the z .swon. whlth refused to let go o 'slsirts it had clutched, until the comer plied his riding-whip. “Naughty girl I" cried Philip, ting her down at a. safe (lit. from the edge, and wringing water from her clothes. “Str 10 bed you go, miss, and a whipping 5’011‘r105‘e1‘ve,” "Take lzer in, you youvg (l and have her stripped and c‘ What’s the good of jawng n. kir‘ that?” remonstrated the other Taking- one of the little girl's l‘ and bidding the stranger boy ikn 1. n4 ‘onu with pretty on the su a edge of the water’ baby Narcissus, into water, where her gold aureoled face until her 11c , WHAT SHE'D SUGGEST. Mrs. YoungWed~Mariah, the dust on the furniture in this parlor is awful. What shall I do about it? Mariahâ€"Pay no attention to it mum A commission has been formed to investigate the condition of the Swedish sailors and marines who, it, is asserted, aie amicth with “a chronic incapacity to understand and quickly execute orders." Such a young man wanted to know German. He bought an elementary grammar and phrase-book, and when ‘a spare quarter or half hour come he studied them. It was not. diffi- ‘cult, and became interesting. Preâ€" sently his progress was rapid, and the pleasure of the occupation steadâ€" ily increased. In less than a. year 10 had German so well in hand that he began to study Spanish. He he- came engrossed in the study of Ian- guages as an occupation for his leisure 'hours; he found it, very en- joyable. and every language learned was an open door to more employâ€" ment. In a few years he was readâ€" ing German, Spanish. French, and Italian. In ihe meantime his busiâ€" ness advancement 'had been rapid. and he had secured a very important and lucrative position. A young man who ceases to dream abomt the things he would do if he had plenty of time, and plans the things he will do with the time he has, may go slowly, but he will go far. What Can Be Done With Your Spare Tine. Too much cannot, to said of the value of the hours which most men ‘waste. One of the prime qualities of a. man of force and ability is his ‘clear understanding of what can be done with the time and tools at, his command. Such a man wastes no time in idly dreaming of the things he would do if he could go to Colâ€" lege, or travel, or ‘have command of long periods of uninterrupted time. He is not guilty of a feeble evasion of "no possibility” for ‘his career by getting behind adverse conditions. If the conditions are adverse, he gets in front of them, and so gets away from them. Having delivered her into the hands 01' a. maid servant, Philip made off before he had time to re- ceive the scolding he shrewdly susâ€" pected to be due. and having reach- ed the plune‘tree, put his hands in his pockets and whistled with a, fine allectatjon of indin‘erence; he was more slowly followed by the stranâ€" ger, whose services he acknowledged by a brief: "Thank ye." "I say, you fellow," said the latâ€" ter on coming up and observing his blackened eyes, “what have you been up to besides letting the baby {all into the pond ?" the Min! the swan. (Iallying, g beak in 1 where it drawing h: shot. itsul caught her pulled her “Naughty girl I" cried Philip, set- ting her down at a. safe distance from the edge, and wringing the water from her clothes. “Straight to bed you go, miss, and a good whipping 5'011‘IJOS‘01‘V8,” "Take lzer in, you youvg dun'er, and have her stripped and dried. What’s the good of jawng a. kid like that?” mmonstrated the other boy. Taking one of the little girl's hands and bidding the stranger boy take the other, Philip trotted her be- tween t} em over the grass and through a courtâ€"yard to the kitchen door, faster than her little stumblâ€" ing feet could carry her. brown beau t m with 8. showed beneath DULL SWEDT SE S ATLORS PROFITABLE IEIS URE _(To be Continue?) .) l curves of its broadside m the stroke of u to near. 011 the angry ‘h refused to let go of the 1d clutched, until the new- d his ridingâ€"\vl‘ip. le stretcht and exit after a lided up [01‘ (1 lit I up and dimpled d nothingV as \ery pretty to watched from the 1‘ side of the pond *I'm sitting on 8. LC plane~tree shade, bay horse led by a When the splash echoed the child‘s His horse, run along rater close to the e leapt. and landed moti f the majesty. it. the child, Ward ox‘ez one hand; pm ink of the w hi then an stic you?" “No, I didn't." “Are you quite sure?" “Quite.” "What! Will you swear than you did not lose that action?” “I will swear I did not lose it. You lost it for me." Counselâ€"“This is not. the first ac- tion you have had, I think?" Witnessâ€"“No, it's not. I have had one before this.” “I think you lost. that, didn’t The following dialogue recently took Place between a. King's Counsel and a, witness (a former client): When at Balmoral King Edward Worships either in the singularly un- pretentious chapel in the castle, in which a table takes the place 01‘ a. pulpit, or in the Square and rather unattractive church in Crathie vilâ€" lage, which has little of the privacy of the church at Sandringham. When in Scotland tall hat and frock coat are discarded in favor of the nation- :11 costume, but the some simple con- ditions mark the service. In Queen Victoria’s time the Scottish fashion of standing during prayer and sitting for the psalms was always observed, but King ' Edward, preferring the practice south of the Tweed, has re- versed the process. Next to the devoutness and earnest- ness of the King, the thing that most strikes a fellow worshipper is that, although His Majesty always uses the service hpoks, he rarely refers to them, evidently knowing the whole of the service and many of the hymns by heart. i While his Majesty is intolerant of long sermons, he loves the musical part of the service, and the hymns are largely chosen with reference to ,his personal preferences. His favor- ‘its hymn is probably “Onward Chrisâ€" tian Soldiersfl’ and among others of his choice are “Sun of My Soul, ’Thou Saviour Dear,” "Our Blest. Redeemer,” and “0 Day of Rest and ‘Gladness," At the conclusion of the service the King and his party usuâ€" ally retire before the clergymen and choir leave their seats, thus allowing them an interVal to get away before the remaining worshippers, his going, like his coming, being as quiet and free from attention as possible. When at Balmoral King Edward Warships either in the singularly un- and at the same time to make their sermons as simple and as free from politics or doctrinal matter as pos- sible. If they fail in these points they may expect some Sign of the royal displeasure. service once every Sunday, and ex- pects his guests to do the same, whatever their provate inclinations may be; and another point on which he is equally insistent is the wearing of a tall hut (which he notoriously dislikes) and a. frock coat, as the most suitable garb for churchgoing. Simplicity and 8.. devout earnestâ€" ness are the leading features of the King’s church attendance. He claims the privilege of conducting his do- Totions as quietly and unobtrusively as any of his subjects, and {or this reason his chaplains are expected to preach Without the mqst indirect rei- erence winded homilies) have had in keeping some of these spiritual ministers Within time limits. As a. churchgoer, as in so many other characters, King Edward sets an excellent example to his subjects: for wherever he may be, at Bnlmoral, Sandringham, Windsor, on his yacht, or on the Continent, he makes the strongest point of attending divine don some rate, tome sixty Lilies His Sermons Th ways Observes S "I like my dinners short," King Edward is have once said, and this {creme-a is so we“ known the rarest. occurrence for His Majesty to permit, last. more than an hour of his chaplains to cum to the 'sucond quarter, s This CONVERSATION FLAG GED Titâ€"Bits restriction no d wen-denial on the of the preacher to spread his c minutes, and are told of TO HIS PRESENCE are told Edward ‘JJA d and his dist-a s Thort, and A1~ '25 Sunday. nowu Q doubt. involves 9 part. at any er who is accus- cloquence over some amusing the difficulties Queen Victoria LISLC for long- had in keepim: L host. meal or 701 ported oyal xlly mons :1 to 12"“- i‘, is in- m)- \ Quite a, good price is paid by a 1French firm for old parchments 0! ‘all ilescriptions. They have a proâ€" cess for removing the ink, and evenâ€" tually the cleaned stuff comes back to us as finest French kidâ€"gloves. The clippings 'left when the gloves are made are (not wasted either. 11ier with clipping oi vellum and ‘Ieather, U) ' are boiled down for 3118. And are coarse shavings, Witt with odils and ends of seal and ether skins. cane £2 handy for filling cheap Cricketâ€"balls. A member of the N. Division of poliCe is probably the most, unlucky individual in the whole London, (England) police force He has now been in the force for five years, and in every one of those years he has either sustained a serious injury or suffered from a. serious illness. In the first year of his service he had a very bad attack of pneumonia; in the second year he had his arm broken in trying 'to stop a runâ€"away horse; in the third year he had a dangerous attack of rheumatic fever; last year he had his nose broken by a. refractory prisoner; and this year he was accidentally shot. in the neck at the annual police revolver pruo- tice. Boulevards as La Belle Ceriseâ€"is queen of a. certain set. At prcmnt. they are prospcring‘; but in real iife, as in flcuon, the hour of retribu- tion must come. Then will the pre- sent writer give forth their history of the worldâ€"~11 history which he will label "Dnbois Brothers & Campany, Unlimited.” And it is to be regretted that they are facing it succmsfullyâ€"they, and a. band they have gathered round them. Later on it will be the dilty of the present narrator to Chronicle their doings in Paris and its suburbs, they and their assistants. 'At pre- sent, Evelyn \l'eslcarâ€"lmown on the Boulevards as La Belle Cerimâ€"is queen of a. certain. set. At p1'e1cnt. they are px'ospcring; but, in real life, as in fictlon, the hour of retribu- Tlie gipsy girl. Miriam ‘? Is Still on the road. She got over her Das- sion for Dubois; being thrown into the water by the person you love has a. cooling efl‘ect. She is to be seen still at fairs, and is the owner of the prettiest caravan on the road. Miss Westcar and the brothers Duâ€" txois? Ah ! they ought to be pun- ished, of course; that would be 'lit- erary justice. But the aim in this narrative, as has been said, is to traVel on the road of real life, They are together now in 1:1 belle France. where the code of morality is not so strict as with us, and where the difficulty of steering clear of the Code Napoleon is the only one crim- inals have to face. Burton meet, still chat over crime. Ashley Grnyne })ad.(1erent burial 1 Notwithstanding the comer‘s verdict that he died by his own hand (Deana could have told the jury by reason of what was on the finger of one at them), he was spared the ghastliness of burial at the cross roads with a. stake through his body. Englishmen are slow to shake on the traditions of their ignorant past, but We have at least got beyond the stage. of obscene burial of our dead now. Burton and Deane ? Oh, they meet, still in the Euston Road, and chat over old and new problems in and in real life iL is fashi think of heroesâ€"4.0 be c decorate them with medal: like absurdities. From the day he first 1 she tilled his heafi; but in: his JOYC, he never had an ity of doing so. He sew loved Reginald, and he hit Iquietly by and snu‘fercd Um watching hex- lmppincss in love. I And now, six months m‘tcz‘ his re- lease, Reggie was married to Vere. ‘nnd his best man at the wedding had been the man who loved his ‘bride. It. is an easy thing when you are surrounded by an army of your fellows to rush up to a gun and capture it, although death may stare you in the face-because you. can’t. turn back; but. it requires a. truer heroism to hand over the woman you love to another man. and, wish him-themâ€"happiness and joy, whilst your own llvz‘u‘t is breaking. So it was with Dick Caus‘mn. He cycles still, but he is a. safddcr man. To the Hull he never goes; Vere and Reggie he never sees. They are truly happy, as he would heart- ily wish them to be; but to look on that happiness would be exquisite pain to him. He is. busy, he tells them, when they write him to come dowuâ€"too busy to spare time. Dick C: made 11 travels c And so, when Reginald, after the quarrel with his uncle, left the Hull, and rame to Lon-don, burning with a sense of his own shame, Causton advised him. And in doing so. he burnt his own boats; for he advised him to write to Vere and try toxhoal the breach between them. Reggie did so with a. result. that has been told. R egg nthor 'l‘l:en czunc the rlnud of Reggie's infatuation for Miss \thcur, Vore's gu'ef, and his own humble sympathy. At. first, he hoped, but. he soon Saw the hope was in vain. Vere loved Reggie, and would never love an.- PARCHMENT GLOVES UNLUCKY POIJ CEMAN u-ue hero of this 1 Causton. He has much or because ‘. close on the road real life it is 1'2st of heroes-4.0 be CIIA PTER XLVI JO hero of this narrative is mston. He has not been Luck of because the history lose on the road of real life. 931 life M is fashionable to heroesâ€"~to be content to them with medals and other rdiu’es. ( TJ‘ sm‘fercd the agony of appiness in another’s Axe nrst met. \jere. LI'L,’ but. 'he never told er hm] an opportun- Ilc saw that 5113 and he himself stood End.) be first met