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W i ' ' o o e o 9 ’0"'¢“‘0"’0",’9~ N. l: l H E ’ ‘ l 99 0’. s; Q I 0.0 ‘o’.’ p ‘ . .‘c l’:"’:’9"?“‘:W°:W¢:M&ozmozmozwvzwo¢~ The hills Were growing dark, and Ithe forests of the Valley of AllVague mel‘Q'Cd into the greater purple shad- ows behind them, when a man came r running heavily from the pass that leads from Liesse. Searcer looking .to right or left, he kept on till he I reached the fringe of the little WOOd of St. Anne, and passing into the first shade of the larch trees he threw himself face downward panting upon the ground. He was a big-limbed, powerful man of forty, made for feats of strength rather than fleetness of foot. A short, rough beard hid, one felt inâ€" stinctively, a stern, strong chin, but under their roof of bushy brows .the brown eyes wore a puzzled look, as though 'they gazed upon strange ithings that the dense brain behind failed utterly to understand. Presently his breathing grew eas- ier. He rolled over and stared up through the trees. Two hours past sunset! He had come those twelve miles quickly, but five honrs'- ab- sence from Auvagne was too long just now. Some of the Hussars who rode in would have been quar- tered on his farm four hours agoâ€" and the master away! He leapt to his feet, brushed the white dust from his trousers, and wiped his heated face and neck with his blue blouse sleeve. ,‘A few paces deeper into the wood a large hollow, leafâ€"covered, was formed between two great roots, and from this he drew a pair of saâ€" bots and a cap. Into one of the former he thrust for safety a torn, grimy paper, and putting the shoes on made his way through the trees to the village that lay beyond. As he drew near he heard move- ment and voicesâ€"the cries and noises of men feeding and grooming horses, and now and then the clank of arms and the staccato tones of an oiliCer giving an order. One or 'two looked up from their work as he passed and a sergeant eyed hini closely, but he crossed the farmyard unchallenged. He was1 merely a peasantâ€"farmer of Auvagne, and not even the sharpest-eyed I-Iusâ€" sar could see the Prussian passport in the toe of his wooden shoe. By the doorway he stood for a moment and watched. Whoever was quartered on his farm, Pierre Fonâ€" qutior thought sourlly, would get bad fare toâ€"night. The third regiâ€" ment in the village in ten days, the cattle driven, and the fields and or- chards wrecked. War is ruin to a farmer. unless he can turn it to acâ€" count. One must do something to live. He strode into the kitchen, and the white boards of the table were laid with plates and mugs and scanty, coarse food. It gave him a twinge of conscious, for we French peasantbe easy for the Prussians to is hospitable and a guest is sacred. Prise . and but it seems, almost, this place is lbetween the hillsâ€"like a trap.” But he flung his cap. on a chair swore sullenly. “They come like locusts and take the bread and meat from our mouths. They must take what else comes, too.” ' "â€"â€" 'died like brave soldiers. So Marshal Bazaine falls back on Mctz, you see, my mother and cousin, here; and the Prussians areâ€"â€"” A voice from the, inner room rose clearly! .through a .lull in the noises of the! yard. and fell again to an indistinct Mini rmur. Fouquier's heart leapt at the sound and then sank like the ‘Ioice. It. was his brother Eugene, drawn in the conscription of ’63, of whom they had heard nothing since the war began, That he should be here of all places on this night! The voice murmured on, for withâ€" in the room Eugene sat between his mother and cousin, Mariette, explainâ€" ing the course of the war as he knew it. Even his enthusiasm could not claim great deeds for the many Army Corps that France had so 001i- fidently massed upon the Prussian frontier, and though he suppressed the many rumors of disaster to Macâ€" Mahon and Bazaine, yet his cousin saw, beneath his ,optimism, glimpsesl l l of as ominous history when it should come to be told in its en- tirety. But the mother was content in having her sonâ€"one to be proud of; not so tall or siuewy as his brother her elder, yet well set up, trained to a gallant carriage, with a tongue loosened by his intercourse with men. His news was lost in the personality of the teller; great men were mov- ing through the story, but the great-. est was her son, who only told ofl them. This was the group Pierre saw when he at length pushed open thel, door, and as he entered there was a! rush to him. “Pierre, my brother!" “,l‘ierre, my son, Eugene has come. homc.’ But Mariette stood by the and looked troubled. ' The farmer sat dowu heavily on a, chair. “But why are you here, Euâ€"' gene?" he. asked. “We are on the march to join Gen- eral Ladmirault at Diedenhofen,” reâ€" plied his brother. “thy ask, since he is here?” cried the mpther. "All! if he could only! stay for ever!" Eugene threw his arm round and kissed her. “Would you have me desert then, mother?” he langhâ€" ed. “Ah. no, I could not wish that, l’Genc: but oh! what if you never came back to me!” "Nonsense, aunt," Mariette crie;l,| coming to her; “you are giving way, table I v! I because you've seen your boy. Now sit down and talk and laugh while Pierre has his meal. He's hungryâ€" but I'm afraid there isn’t much for you, cousin," she added, turning to him with a. little grimace. Shelbustled everyone into 'place and set Mere Fouquier to cut bread and meat, while the farmer, who said no word, drew a plate to him- self and ate. The soldiers had trooped into the long kitchen, and presently the woâ€" men we‘nt out to see if anything was needed. Then at last. Pierre spoke, slowly and hesitatingly. “This is a dangerous place, Eu- gene," he said. _.The young man looked up and laughed. “I thought you were never going to speak, Pierre. Why, you’ve not said you are glad to see me yet. You always wore silent. but nowâ€"~â€"!"â€" His brother smiled uneasily. “It's this," he said, almost apolo- getically, nodding to the door. “One can welcome one’s own, but the soldiersâ€"they leave little behind them for the mother and cousin. Our own soldiers too; while the Prus- sians pay with gold. One makes thin soup of patriotism." “The Prussiansl They have notâ€"” “But one hears,” rejoined the elder hastilyâ€"“but one hears. They pay for all services, it is said. It is different from our soldiers, and it is hard on us, Eugene. One has to turn to other things than farming to feed those two now.” The I-Iussar looked grave. Secure of rations, however scanty, in camp and barracks, he had not thought of the fight for existence. in his own home. “It is dangerous here,” Pierre re- peated, returning to his first thought. “But they seem well cared for, brother; and as there is something for my comrades, my mother and cousin cannot have starved." “Starved! No. I see to Pierre cried, fiercely. “Yes, you see to it, whilst Iâ€"â€"-â€"â€" You are a good son, and will make a good husband to Mariette.” The young man’s tone grew deeper, and the light carelessness gave. place to a depth of feeling he seldom show- ed. “No wonder they love you, and that our mother speaks of you al- most with reverencc. You have the hardest part, to stay here and bat- tle with pOVerty for their sakes. I once fancied Mariette would love me as Iâ€"â€" But you are stronger and better than your wild brother. Yes, you, will see to them, and Heaven will see they never lose you.” “Umph! one cannot tell what will come down the stream. But one cannot talk about it and smile, ur love France or the army OVer much ' And they were both silent. '1 l elder spoke first, like a child reite-‘ ating a lesson. “It is a dangerous place for icrs, this.” “How do you mean, “The hills and passes. that," sold- Pierre?” It would sur- the village. I do not know “Leave that to our colonel; he knows. ' lile fought in Algiers." “Still, it might be if they came fromâ€"Liesse, sayâ€"from that pass and down by the riVer from the cast â€"it seems you would be caught be tween two fires.” He leaned for- ward, .looking into his brother’s eyes as if eager to impress him with a. sense of danger of which he dared not speak openly. , “153 only needs_a regiment of Uhlans ever that hill and a dark night such as we shall get.“ Eugene laughed iciclulgently. is there a regiment of Uhlans that hill?" he asked, carelessly. I’ierre opened his mouth to speak hastily and then checked himself. His clenched fist ground upon the table and his brows met. And then his mother and cousin returned. ' ’But over “Pierre has been trying toll-1g“- cn me, mother,” laughed Eugene, turning in his chair as they entered, “by showing me how Auvagne is situated if there were a regiment of Prussians at Liesse.” ‘ ‘Prussians? G ood heavens! ” cried Mere Fouquier, with startled “It was nothing," the elder mut‘ tered. “I know the place,” he added lamely, marking long ruts in the table with his thumbnail, “and a word from one who knows it as I do is not amiss. But he isâ€"-â€"” A bugleâ€"call interrupted him and the I-Iussar caught up his sword. “I shall return in a little while, moth- er” he said, kissing her as she ac- companied him to the door. Mariette laid her hand upon Pierre's shoulder. “Are there Prus- sians there?” she whispered. He started. If he said “Yes,” the next question Would be, “How do you know?" and he could give no reason for being in Liesse that day and keeping the news secret. So he made a pretence to laugh. “Not that I know,” he answered; “though there may be, since Eugene; says they’ve entered France. But know nothing. How should 1â€"1, who never go beyond our fields and riv er ‘2 ’ ’ “How should you?” she echoed. “But you made me suspect. Ah! think how terrible if it should hap- pen that in his own home, when duty brings him back for a few hours 0111 I know it is foolish, but you n a 1) made me tlnnk of it, andâ€"â€" safe. Would I not give my life for himâ€"for all of you? quickly and compose yourself, and don’t think such foolish things.”- But with a very clouded brow he passed his mother as she returned, and made his way to the stillness of the little wood. When he returned the soldiers were already stretched in their blankets in the outâ€"houses and sheds, and the place had grown silent. Eugene, alone in the little rose and stretched herself. “We march at daybreak," he re. marked, as his brother entered. f‘If I get no rest I shall fall asleep in the saddle." Pierre looked away and said, stain- merineg, " ‘There is something I must Show you before you go, ‘Gene.’\’- He took down the candle from the high mantelâ€"shelf and, crossing, op- ened a small oakcn door on the op- positc side of the room. _ “Goodness! What is in the cellars, then? It seems there is some mys- tery. But don’t keep me from my sleep long; I’m too tired to be cur- ious.” ' And emitting a huge yawn Eugene followed the farmer down the flight of stone steps. room, The candle was scarcely needed. Both men knew the cellars well. They ran beneath the ‘big kitchen, their arched brick roofs supporting the stone flags above. They were three in number, with the remains 'of doors still hanging on the narrow openings between them. The musti- ness and damp bf disuse pervaded the place, and lumber of all sorts was lying about in disorder. Pierre led the way to the innerâ€" most and smallest cellar, and put- ting the candlestick upon a pile of timber faced his brother awkwardly. Eugene broke the silence. “Well; and now for the great secret." Pierre wetted his dry V lips and tried to speak. It was harder than he had thought. Had his brother worn a peasant. blouse-but the Hus- sar uniform! It was the soldier stood before him; one of the regi- ment he had betrayed. But Eugene divined nothing of his feelings; he only looked in wonder. “Come,” he cried, impatiently, “you said you had something to show me." > Then the farmer stopped and, takâ€" ing elf his sabot, drew from it a torn and grimy paper. He thrust it almost defiantly into the soldier’s hand and turned away. It seemed an hour as he waited for some wordâ€"some sign. For the first time he felt the shame of treachâ€" ery. And the silence was unbroken. Suddenly Eugenc strode forward and laid his hand heavily upon Pierre’s Shoulder, holding out the paper to him. “What is this?" he cried, lioarsely, his face white in the faint glimmer. “What is your name doing on a Prussian passport?” _ ' The plunge had been made. Pierre Fouquier drew a deep breath and looked his brother in the face. “It means,” he said, slowly, “that our mother and Mariette did not want for food." Eugene stood for a moment dazed, and when he spoke it was as one doubting his senses. - Prussian ‘ ‘Youâ€"fcd themâ€"with gold? Youâ€"the son of our honest mother!” “Yes, I! What would you have? You are a soldier and think of li‘rance and duty to the Emperor. I also have a duty. I told you toâ€" night what you could not see. And when the pedlar came through the village and offered me money to carry news to the Prussiansâ€"woll, as I said to you, one had to turn to other things to live." “A traitor! A spy!” “The name matters nothing. I care nothing for French or Prus- sians. I make no wars. I feed my owu, and if France comes in my way France is my enemy. I suppose a soldier and a peasant cannot underâ€" stand each other; it is not right they should. But you are a son, Eu- gene, also.” “With a spy for a brother. For generations our fathers have been true men; there has been no taint in our blood till now.” “Then since you reproach meâ€" what would you harm: done?" “Done? Chokcd the life out of the scoundrel who would tempt me to sell France.” “And our mother What Would you have them?” The rage died from the soldier’s face and he stood dumb. At last he realized it. He stood in his brother’s place. He saw his loved ones growing pale and thinâ€"droop- ing day by day. What could he have done? And he turned away sick at heart. Presently: “’l‘heyâ€"dhey do know?” he asked. “No,” answered Pierre. “and they must never know. It would break our mother’s heart; it would be Worse than all." Eugene’s face was pitifully white and drawn. “Brother, why have Ivou told me this?” he raid, sadly. "Because there is more to come. The pedlar bought me, and so when they called me toâ€"day I went across the hill to Licssc to earn my wages. But I went too soon; before I knew you were among the men I had be- traycd.”~ A cry ,rang through the 'cellars. The and Mariette? done for not her to his mower findâ€"and all Of us .two men turned as throu,gh the arch- way a girl stumbled, with dilated eyes and ghastly face, her arms out- her incoherent speech was broken Stretched in horror before her. by choking sobs. The emotions and fatigue of the day had unnerved her, and she was white and trembling. lTer lover sprang to his feet. “Mariette!” . Both sprang to her, but she struck the elder fiercely. “Cain!” she cried, and staggering to Eugene “('ullll yourself. my d031‘; Eugene i5 burst into sobs. Be brave; go >MM®MN He caught her in his arms, and felt the slender body shake and quiv- er against him and the frightened heart beat wildly. Tighter he held her, as if to compel the‘ throbbing to cease. Pierre was forgotten, and all the dangers that threatened. He clasped in his embrace the woman he loved, and she clung to him as to a lover. *' For a moment onlyâ€"till recollecâ€" tion of the peril came to her, and with a supreme effort she controlled herself. “Is it true? plored. Pierre, with despairing eyes, look- ed at them in each other's arms. “It is true,” he said hoarsely. “Prussians at Liessc; my com- rades in a trap! When is the at- tack?" cried Eugene. “An hour before daybeeak." “Then there is time," and he sprang to the archway. But his brother was before him. “No, not that. Hear me, Eugene. I have thought of it all. That is why I brought you here. You must stay 'lierewâ€"“v “Here!” “Do with me as you like after, but listen. Nothing can stay the Uhlans now. 25 dare not have your blood upon my head. Youflmust reâ€" main here in safety till'all is over.” The soldier gazed at him in beâ€" wilderment, scarce comprehending. “For our mother's sake! Will you tell her her son is a traitor?” “But my comradesâ€"my duty! would make me a traitor, too!” “It is sheâ€"or the soldiers, are'nothing to me." Mariette, against the wall in the shadows, breathed quicker as Euâ€" gene hesitated. His whole attitude reflected the mental struggle he was enduring. The resultâ€"~what would it be? ' The answer came quickly. He leapt forward and grappled with Pierre, straining every nerve to swing him from his path. A fury of despair and rage was upon him. How dare his brother so entrpp him between filial love and soldierly dutyâ€" set him-to find a way out of the dilem- ma in which treachery had placed him? But his course was plain. His comrades must not be massacred if he could save them. But Pierre stan-di " like an oak, scarcely moved hence. I the wild on slaught, and slowly the strong peas- ant arms tightenedâ€"irrcsistible as Fate-and forced the soldier back. Mariette seized him by the wrist, in a vain endeavor to release the hold. , “Pierre! Pierre! he is your broth- er," she cried, bitterly. “Would you kill him. before the Prussians come?" The farmer loosened his grip and Eugene staggered back, - “He is right; you know he is right," she said. ' Before he could answer they heard a clatter of spurs on the stone steps anh saw the gleam of a lantern piercoing the darkness at the entrnce to the cellarsâ€"a gleam that crossed and quivered on a drawn sabre. "Who goes there?" cried the senâ€" try. “Pierre Fouquicr, farmer, of Is it true?” she im- You who A uâ€" vagne. Take me to your colonel. I have news for himâ€"of the Prus- sians." _ * * * * a * The Uhlans rode silently through the pass and down by the river to the east. At each place, when half their force gained open ground, the French Hussars swept upon them and rolled up the squadrons into .y‘.‘ disordered tangle of men and horses. Pierre Fouquier was the first to fall with a bullet in his brain. But the colonel kept terms even with a traitor, for the farmer was buried in a patriot’s grave.- ..._......_+_....__._ PUMPING THE CAPTAIN. The captain was an eccentric of the first water, and numbered among his peculiarities the fact that he never gave the desired answer to a direct question. One morning four of his friends who were aware of this trait in his character observed the captain going to market, and after some bantering entered into a bet as to the practi- cability of learning from him the price he paid for his purchase. They accordingly settled the Preliminaries, and stationing themselves at differâ€" ent points along the street which he had to pass on his way home, await- cd his coming. Very soon the bluff old salt made his appearance with several pigeons dangling from his harad. As be ap- proached, the first gluestioner ac- costed him with:â€" "Good morning, captain. What did you give for your pigeons?”- ~. “Money!” responded the captain, bluntly, as he continued his journey. The second gentleman a little far- ther on addressed him. “How go pigeons this morning, captain?” he asked. “They don’t go at allâ€"I carry ’em!” was the unsatisfactory reply. Shortly after that the captain met- tho third questioner, who, having asked the time of day, casually inâ€" quired, “How much are pigeons a dozen, captain?” “Didn't get a dozenâ€"only bought halfâ€"aâ€"dozen!” said theold gentle- man, still plodding on his way. Finally, the fourth and last of the conspirators attacked the wary old mariner by observing, in the blandâ€" est tones, "A fine lot of pigeons you have there, captain! What did you: get them for?” ! “To cat!" was the pertinent and emphatic rejoinder. ' ' The captain reached home without further molestation. _._____+____ l"lo~-"A!l great men smoke my! dear." Hlil:â€"”lillt you're not great." SOME LITERARY HEROES GREAT gFEATS WHICH THEY HAVE ACCOMPLISHED. _‘ Many Famous Books Were Writ- ten While the Authors Suf- fered Torture. Tliere are few finer examples of the heroism of the study than that we ' sented by the late Professor Finsen. I the discoverer of the lightâ€"cure for. lupus, who died so recently. For the last twenty years of his too short life he suffered from painful diseases to which: of the heart and liver, ‘ dropsy was superadded, and it was only by daily self-denial and the strictest of dieting that he was able to live at all. Yet for all these years, lived in the very shadow of death and in constant Suffering, he stuckbruvely to his great life-Work, even studying his own dis- eases witli the keenest attention and writing articles on them for medical. journals. The last two or three years of his life were spent lying on his back, unable even to be carried: to his beloved Institute a few yards away; and yet the lion-hearted scien- tist never relaxed for a single day his gallant fight for his fellowâ€"mew against disease. The heroism of the Danish professor. reminds one of a similar brave bat:â€" tle waged by an English professor, J. R. Green, the historian, against disâ€" ease and pain. It was in 1869, when the disease which had assailed him for many years finally prostrated him and when the doctors gave him no hope of living more than six-months, that Green set to Work to write his famous “Short History of the Engâ€" lisli People." Daynfter 'day he toiled at his task, holding deperately on to life and in 0. STATE OF CEASELESS PAIN and exhaustion; and so ‘b'rave was the man’s spirit that he actually pro- longed his life for five years. Even he was bound to confess, “I wonder how in those years of physical pain and despondency I could ever have written the book at all.” General Grant’s “Autobiography,” which bi'OUg-lit his widow the enorm~ ous sum of $500,000, was written under even more trying conditions than Green’s “History.” In 1884, the year before his death, the ex- President found himself bankrupt; through the failure of a bank in which‘ he was a partner, and face to face with‘ the prospect of dying penniless and leaving his wife destitute. It was at this terrible crisis that he began to write the story of his stirâ€" ring career for a firm of publishers. But the cup of his misfortune was not yet full. A cancer formed at the root of his tongue. and the gallant“ soldier, already doomed to death, was ‘ compelled to write day after day, sufâ€" fering constant and severe agony. He completed his colossal task just four. days before the merciful end came, having thus performed in his study, and in his bedroom an act of heroâ€" ism which has never been eclipsed on any field of battle. .: Mrs. Browning, too, one remembers wrote most of her beautiful poems “confined to a darkened chamber, to which only her own family and a, few devoted friends could be admitted, in great weal-mess and almost u,nin< termiltent suffering, with her favor- ite spaniel as her companion." THE GERMAN POET IlElNE was another martyr and liero of the study. The last seven years of his life were spent on 'his “mattress~ grave,” racked with such excruciatâ€" ing pain that he had to take doses of opium large enough to have killed several men in order to give him a. few bICSSed' hou,rs of freedom from it. Through all these years of tor- ture he not only bore himself witli a noblg resignation and cheerfulness, but produced many of his finest and most finished works, including his “Last Poems and Thoughts” and his “Con- icssions.” Sir Walter Scott’s heroic struggle With' misfortune and failing health during the closing years 'of his life is perhaps too well known to cull for more than mention. After the com- mercial crash came which left him crushed with debt and with shattered healt’h, he set to work “with wcnrierl eyes and worn brain” and toiled for years, often as much as fourteen hours a day, until the end came, and with it the lifting of all burdens, in- cluding that of his debts, every penny of which his monumental toil had paid. ' Who does not recall the patience and pluck which enabled Frank Smodâ€" ley to wrile his books on a "bed of anguish"; how for years Edna Lyall literally kept at buy by her brave spirit and her busy pen; how Mr. Clark Russell has preserved a bright. spirit and set a magnificent example of patience and industry while on “the daily rack of rheumatism"; and how much of su- Artliur Sullivan's sweetest music was distilled from pain?â€"London Titâ€"lifts. _._.__.+.__..._. “I appreciate the fact that you have honored me with a proposal," said the dear girl; “but are you sure your love for me is the real thing?" “Perhaps not,” replied the young groz-er, “but it is less e:‘;[-.en~ sive and just as good.” “And do you really want to be my son?” ns'~:ed the widow Mullins of yorng Spudds. who had asked for her daughter's hand. “I can't say that I do," replied the truthful suit- or. “i want to be Helen’s hus- band." ‘A‘AAALAAA‘A .A_‘__A-_--A.A-.