Pittston Gazette

              •  lMtabli»h«'«l 1 Hr»0. f VOL. D MX No. 1* S Oldest Newspaper ill the Wvomine Vallev P1TTST0N LUZERNE COU /. PA., FRIDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1898 A Weekly Local and Family Journal. j (II.OO a Year ; Id Advanca. name. i'he love 1 naa ior you luiueo to bate for bur, and tonight for you there is love; for her, nothing but bate— fierce, consniuit g hate. Wbeu my love for her took wings, love for all but myself went with it. 1 have revenged myself ou tbe world, which Mole her from huiue Dead to human suiiering, I will continue to wring tighs and groans and te.i!D end blood from them. Today I chiukkd when that old man wept, lie cried like a habe that is drowning itself iu teaie. Hih words pounded like sighs —hot from hn heart. He bad been born ill the house, and all his long years had lived undor its roof. There bad been births and deathb ill it foi TO years. Balms had come and goue. The walls bad echoed to the laughter of children and to tbe music of marriage bells. They had beard the lamentations Of tbe living over tbe loved dead, and now but three were left, and one of those would soon be gone, as they were waiting a summons for her. Could be not remain until she departed? Tbeu she and be would be alone, and they, too, wonld like to die under the old roof They would feel at home dying there. hand, when it gradually opened, and iti it lay a email immature. The pinches were fast disappearing. Tbe hard expression had gone, aud his face looked like a new oue. Ten years of life had Ikhju wiped out of it He raised the picture to his lipsaiid kissed it. Again and Hguin he kissed it His eyes closed and tears started from thenj. As they touched the pinches, which still lingered at their corners, they washed them out. They ran down his chucks aud smoothed them. They tout bed the pinches at the corners of his mouth, and they disappeared. All the pinches wt re gone, washed out by the waters that How from the eyes, but have their birth in the heart. It was no longer the face of JoLn Frostberg. Lo\e aud light, pity aud obarity, hope aud fear, hud driven away gteed, avarice, revenge aud bate II is baud opened and the face of tbe miniature was exposed. It was that of the girl under the chestnut tree matured by years. Girlhood had given way to womanhood. Again it went to bis lips, where he held it, kissing it passionately. "1 was w □ when you received it from 'lit witnessed you kiss it, but not jnateiy as you did a few minute * K has grown dearer io you as tl» pass. Tonight's exhibition !D».•„ uany rehearsals, i have seett tuein «lL LDo you kuow me now, John Frosthers?" were as a cliiia in weaKness. "For three years, John Frostherg, I had been whispering of 'home,' of 'mother,' of 'her,' but you would not listen. You had no tar for the old idols. The demons were in possession. Greed, avarice, revenge and liute tilled your heart. They were powerless to help you in your extremity. The sun slipped behind the hills and bade tbe world merely, but scores of times since your return." heart, to remain out forever. In their stead j-on must place back the chestnuts and the elms, the clover blooms and wild flowers, the gentleness and generosity that oiiuu dwelt iAt, mD i then 'bhe' will return." a child crying. morning/ COPYRIGHT 1098, BY THE AUTHOR "What is that?" asked John Frostberg, stretching his neck in an endeavor to see. "Yes, she lives. You, too, might have seen her, but you were blind. Passing in the street you have brushed her well worn garments. Not that you desired to touch her. You thought her a beggar aud endeavored to avoid her, hut tbe jostling crowd would not peimit you. Sbedidnot hold out her wasted hand, aud you were glad. She was seeking labor, not alms.'.' "Then she lives?" "Nothing," answered the host, "only that little thing's feet cannot stand the biting of the snow and ice," pointing tu a little 4-year-old child who wM footed. "I cast them out foreveir John Frostberg. His lace was the picture of agony. Great drop* of sweat oaine from every pore. The demons were not leaving hint without a struggle. They were tugging and rending at his heartstrings, determined if possible to burst the tenement they had so long occupied. .lobn Kr iHtbt'.. shuded hik eyes -Mined his hand and gazed iuto the stiauger's tuur good night. Still you sat on that rude bench, and the letter, unopened, lay in your hand. It felt cold and icy. There was death in it. I sent a messenger iuto your heart and gave you strength to open it. It was very formal: 'Dear Sir —I write to inform you of the death of your mother.' Your head fell forward aud yon uttered a groan that sounded like a prelude to death. Then followed a stillness unbroken by even a breath. The bright colors of the dying day faded out of the sky, twilight yielded to darkness and nigbt settled down on your cabin. Your agony continued. It was only when I whispered, 'Weep, John Frostberg, weep,' that yon found relief. Tears flooded your eyes and rolled from yonr cheeks. In your grief tbe new tenants of your heart rejoiced. Your mother in her grave was in it, Aid she rejoiced. 'She' was in it, and 'she' rejoiced. The chestnuts and the elms were there, and they waved all their branches and quivered all their leaves for joy. The clover blooms and wild flowers were there aud filled it with fragrance. It was your old heart with its old tenants. The demons vanished and shrank aghast at tbe scene. Tears gaw yon relief, and a sweet peace came to calm tbo storm of anguish. You remember your dream that night. Yon were back at tbe homestead. Indeed you had never left it. Sleep hid your life of misery and isolation and surrounded you with those who loved and were loved. In the morning you were a new man. The forbidding scowl yon bad worn for three years had given place to an expression of kindness and gentleness. The tenants of youi heart had taken possession of your face, as they do all faces. Even the grizzly old miner who brought you tbe letter and whom you hunted up that you might thank him noticed the change and told his fellows. He swore that you were really human and could feel. He knew it by your face. "Bless me, bless me! Shoeing 1" said John Frost berg. "She must be provided with shoes. Where can we get a pair for her!1 Poor little thing! Feet freezing!" "Cannot s Your features familiar. I i where?" », John Frost- are very f must I ave John Frostb'.rg attempted to rise, but his guest held bini to bis seat. "Say in berg; say in "Where will I find her?" he- asljed. "Lead me, I pray you, lead me to her." "I believe you, John Frostberg," said his guest, "but I must test you. Pot on your greatcoat and muffle yourself up. We must take a ride together. I have a sleigh at the door." Just then a policeman came up. He spoke to the child in a rough tone, when an older one said, crying as she spoke: "in uiydrea he dreamily mu, S." a my dreams," "Not yet, John Frostberg, not yet. The demons are still in your heart. Before meeting 'her' you must cast them out. She would not, could not, live in such company. Her life has been true aud constant, filled with holy thought and suffering, which have chastened and purified it. Her heart is as pure as you left it, and all the tenants which occupied it 25 years ago save one are in it. A single change has taken place. Your mother is absent, and in her stead there is a grave. There is but one unworthy thing in it. John Frostberg is there." CHAPTEK I. Christmas eve gfi years ago tho worthless thing tioze. It was a soft, tender heart when I offered it to her—too tender and too soft. They used to bay that my heart was so tender that it made my head soft. I guess that was true. It is not so now. It is hard enough now, and my head is hard too. Soft hearts aud soft heads pj together and hard hearts aud bard heads go together. Tbauks to you, Miss Fanny, 1 have a bard heart Thanks to you. Miss Fanny, 1 have a hard head, a heart that does not throb with sympathy towaid human suffering, a head that is thrifty, a head that makes the mot t of tbe least, a head that is at home with bonds and 3tocks aud mortgages anil deed.-. Aha! Tbauks to yoa. Miss Fanny! My heart, which yon threw liack, iu its bitterness and suffering turned to stone aud has given character to the head. Twentyfive years I have been gathering, gathering, gathering." "Very ofteu, ▼ often," replied tbe guest. and again you Dave grown weary o »uD ana dismissed me from your presence. In passion you have cursed me and bode me never return. Had I not loved you I would long since have ceMed my importunities; would have left to yourself, your miscrttljle self; would have given you up to greed, avarice, revenge and hate. These demons have possession of yon now. They have driven from your heart every seutiment and aspiration which would ennoble ynn. Tonight is to decide whether they are to remain in possession or give up the heart they have debauched to purer thiugs. Beateu in this last contest with the demons, I will quit you forever, leaving you to their sole companionship aud guidance. Did you hear? 1 called them demons. Do you know me now, John Frostberg?" "She's my little sister. I was holdiu of her, bat ®y arms give out, and now I can't." The storm exteuded from Labrador to tbe gulf. The wiud bad been from the northeast and at poiuts along tbe coast bad the speed and violence of a hurricane. The sea was in a potential fury and lathed the rocks as if determined upon poonding them to powder. Tbe marshes and inlets were as turbulent as tbe mighty ocean. Tbe shipping was (beeted in ice, and tbe wharfs and docks were bidden in the embrace of teething billowj. Tbe air was filled with crystal snow, which struck with inch foroe aa to cot the flesh of tbe an fortunate* who were compelled to face "Why did you bring her here?" asked the policeman roughly. Without remonstrance or word, John Frostberg obeyed his guest. Coat, muffler and gloves were soon on, and as he placed his hat on his head the guest led the way to the sleigh. It looked as if made of mist, and as he stepped into it be feared that it would fall to pieces with his weight. He noticed that while the air was filled with saowflakes, there was none in the sleigh, though it must have stood in the storm for an hour. An ho took his seat, invisible bands tucked robes about him until he was almost smothered. The horses were of the save material as the sleigh. They did not look like flesh and blood, but like fog. The guest, who had now become host, gathered up the reins and at the word the team fairly flew. There were no bells on the horses, and as they dashed over the snow bed not a sound was made. On they flew through narrow streets until they reached Wideway. Here they met sleighs which were filled with young ol both sexes, singing, shouting and laughiDg until the air was weighted with their merrymaking. As the sleighs passed "Merry Christmas!" came from many voioes. The host responded, "Merry Christmas!" but John Frostberg sat in silence. The sidewalks were thronged with people, hurrying to and fro, entering stores, only to reappear with arms filled with packages and the pockets of their greatcoats packed with them. The streets were brilliantly illuminated, and the show windows of the stores were marvels of beauty and taste. Notwithstanding the intense oold, everybody was happy, and smiling faces greeted smiling faces at every turn, while the sound of little chattering voioes penetrated the streets as the store doors were opened. CHAPTER IV. "Oh, she wanted to come so bad and see all the things, and I carried her and holded her till my arms give out Didn't you, Sadie?" The big, barly policeman picked her up, and, gathering the side of bis greatcoat, wrapped her little bare feet in it. He held her to the window while the little wizen faoed shopkeeper gave the supple Jack a pull. When the toy had done its gymnastics, the policeman tapped the older girl on the head, saying: "Show the way home. This one will freeze 11 it stays here.'' "Ha, ha! i listened to bis broken sentences, and then demanded the amount of my mortgage. He did not possess the hundredth part of it. 'You must go,' I said. 'I will have my mon ey.' tie looked at me a moment, speechless, and then bis head fell forward. I was sure he was dead be grew so ghastly pale. "She gave it to me tbu morning after my arrival in tbe city As I kissed it in her pie.-ence she laughed aud said it was a odd thing to kiss, that its cheeks could not burn nor its lips be warui and generous, o God! That she had not learned of tbe world and 1 had not learned of her! Tbe bitter, bitter eml "God of mercy!" sighed John Frost berg. +-~-r • *•- ' tbe storm. All ordinary traffic had MNd, and the great city seemed stricken aa by plague. The gas lamps bad been burning for hours, though the day was not yet spent. An hour before sunset the wind changed to the west, tbe great sheet of angry clouds lust tbeir texture, broke into flocks and skurried to tbe east as though whipped by tbe demons of the storm. Tbe cold increased in intensity and the wind iu force, while tbe dissipating clouds sifted delicate splinters of ice, filling the air with aiiuiatute poulards. "Yes, yon, Johu Frostberg, jnst as certainly and surely as you were the night she went to sleep ou your breast under the chestnuts and the elms, just as surely as you were that Christmas eve 25 years ago, when you misinterpreted her joy. She has been watching and waiting. She has known of you; has known that you were consecrated to the demons; has passed you among the great tlirnng, and has looked into your face. It was so changed that she scarcely believed her senses. Your gen- .She wan lost, and I was a wau derer Ki r 25 years 1 lmve been of the living dead All whom 1 loved are gone The earth has opeiiod and closed over them forever. Would that 1 were in the narrow house with those who are dear to iiie I have never inquired for her. No one kntw my passion but t-he. uo one Httv».' her the cruel blow which drove me from home and friend* and made uie a Granger on tbeearth. Where is she? In the grave with the others I loved? What if fhe still lives': W hut if she is another's? Why did I return to cbi*D soulless city which 1 had forsworn? She ih deurt else 1 should have seen her —heard of her beauty, would have wen it iti some child's sweet face on the city streets. No, iio, she if dead. I coulc cauie. " 'Don't die here. Go where you were born if you are to die. As you say, it will be more homelike.' The girl scratched her head where the olub had touched, then started down the street, with her face turned back to (he shop window. "In my dreams I have met you—in my dreams," answered John Frostl»erg, still shadiug bis eyes with his bony fingers aud looking into his guest's face. lie turned from tbe crayon and ran bis loug. bony fingers through bis bristlelike hair. Withdrawing theui, he pnt bis bunds and indeed most of his long arms into his breeches pockets, drew bis shoulders np and let bis head sink uutil his neck was lost. His brows straightened, and betyeeu them the skin fluted. The pinches in bis cheeks aud at the corners of bis eyes and mouth deepened until they looked like scars. He sank into the scarlet velvet cbair with a grin and a chuckle as be mut- "He raised his old head, as if assenting to my words. He appeared dazed, and I culled to my man and said: The host whistled and the horses ■tasted. He gave a little jerk, when thay left the earth and oommenced prancing through the air. Noticing the aerial flight, John Frostberg grasped his host tightly as he exclaimed; "What does this mean? Waare flying through the air and not on the streets." " 'Help him out! Help him out!' " 'I fear, sir, that be will die in tbe "Years ago you bad no difficulty in recognizing me. I was your constant companion, and daily you burdeued nie with your hopes and fears. Twenty-five years ago your heart was the home of every manly quality and every pure sentiment. Love controlled your thought and uction. Alas, for that Christmas, when in your frenzy, folly aud madness you oursed its gentle tenants out! Love went, carrying with it the very wells of happiuess, leaving your heart barren, empty aud dry. It had to have occupants. Hate entered first, and revenge aud greed aud avarice quickly followed. The demons took possession of you and there they have remained, to your utter misery. Time aud again I ha*a done battle against them, with the hope that I might restore the old tenants. Once I was sure I bad them in to stay, but I was mistaken. Yon remember that evening in May, three years after you reached the diggings? The spring was fairly ou, aud uature was clothed with richness aud rareness seldom equaled. Som£ of the miners had gone to the coatt "io get news from borne. You, as was your wont, were alone, seated at your cabin door, weary with the day's toil, wbiob bad made generous returns to you. As you leaned back toward the rough boards of your cabin, I was impressed with the thought that your mind had wandered back to earlier days. Yon were thinking of home, aud of mother aud of 'ber'—of wild flowers aud clover bloom—of the cbestuuts aud the elms. Yua appeared aunoyed at the approach of that grizzly old miner, uo doubt preferring your thoughts to his company. street!' " 'Help him out! Let him die where he pleases outside of my office!' "Hitter, bitter! It is a bitter day! My eyes acbe. That blast which struck me as I turned the corner of the street pierced we like a kuife. There is a sting aboot my heart—not a cold bat a warm ating—as though tbe biuer blast bad turned to steam. " This was uttered by a man wbo bad just quit the street. As be soliloquized be drew off bis gloves, and then bis greatcoat, throwing them on a table standing in tbe center of tha room; took off a well worn silk bat, and began rapidly running bis long, bony fingers through his hair. It was iron gray, cat close and stood on end, stiff, brashlike. Turning his face to the grate of white bot coals, be gazed for a moment, and tben stepped closer. He was 6 feet high, but not erect. His bead bent forward and hie shoulders were rounded and stooped. He was rawboned and angular, with aims so long that they seemed out of proportion with bis long, gaunt body. His face was that of a man past middle age. It was pinchad all over—pinched at tbe corners of tbe month, pinched in tbe cheeks, pinched everywhere, except over the nose. There tbe skin was tight and smooth, and tbe color of parchment. Little red veins c«uld be plainly seen and seemed to be running over instead of under the ■kin. "As the door closed on tlie wretch 1 touched myself on the breast und said: 'Stone here, stone here; yes, thanks to you, Miss Fanny, stone here.' " "Just an elevated road, John Frostberg ; that Is all. Just as safe as if yon were on terra firma. Don't hold me so tight We wonld never be able to get through the labyrinth of these tenement houses, so we will just step in through the windows. We will not disturb them, though they wake easily. It Is difficult to sleep when you are hungry and oold, and most of these tenement people are hungry and oold." The horses stopped at a fifth story window. The host touched the sash, and it flew up as if by magic. "Step in lightly; she is asleep, and so are her babes. Follow me and you will not stumble over anything." He turned trom tbe crayon and sank iuto tbe scarlet cbair, stretched oat his legs and let bis arms fall at bis side. The pinches had grown deeper aud coarser, and the skin between bis eyes was heavily fluted. tered not have moved through the throngs for five years aud not heard of her if living. She is dead. It is better that sbe is in her grave. There I can forgive her. Living, I would hate her." "Yet, I may thank yon for all, Miss Fanny—for tbe bonds, tbe stocks, the mortgages, the deeds and boards of money! Yes, for more—for the pain, the anguish, tbe nutold misery aud tbe utter isolation," he paused a few seconds, and then added, "tbe desolation of my life." "John Frost berg, you are a success," bo soliloquized. "Your touch is the philosopher's stone. Streams of gold start at your bidding. Men court you aud fear you, flatter yon to your face and deride you behind your back. Why should any mail court me? All the flattery and sycophancy that can be practiced would not affect me to the granting of the slightest favor or accommodation. I have no transactions save to my own advantage. One aim controls all my actions—gold; yellow, bright, precious gold, sought by tbe myriad but found by the few. I am of the few For more than 20 years it has come to me in an unbroken flood, increasing in volume with each day in each year. Tbe first stroke of my pick threw up a uugget. Three months after that fatal Christmas night 25 years ago, wherein I moodily discussed if it were not better to oast n.yself into the sea, landed me on the Pacitio coast. 1 was soon among the outgoing crowd, seeking the mines. 1 made no friends, entered into no alliances; just joined tbe crowd and busiltd on, I knew not where. I was soon known as the silent man. I hated my fellows as 1 bated everything but gold. No partnerships were offered me; no proposition of joint labor. I was left alone—to myself—and in my heart I was glad. Tbe first stroke of my piok threw up a nugget. I looked around to see if any one were near before reaching for tbe glittering lamp. They bad avoided me. 1 was alone. There was no sonnd of pick or shovel or voice, no song of bird or bam of insect At that moment I felt that I was tbe only living thing. As I gazed on the metal, glittering in tbe sun's rays, thoughts of borne, of mother and of 'her' came to me, and for the instant I forgot tbe preoions ore. Thoughts of'her!' Yes, of Fanny! I was under the chestnuts and elms again. In my heart I heard her sweet voice and saw her still sweeter face. One of my ships bad come iuto port It was freighted for'her.' She had crept back into my heart and was whispering, 'Forme, forme.' 'No, not for yon, but for myself, myself,' I answered. 'You are oast oat, and in yoai He looked at the miniature intently, raised it to his lips and pressed it there, as if it were a living tbiug. His head fell back on the scarlet plush. The mass of coal was all ignited, and the chimney was singing in baritone. John Frostberg was back at the homestead. He was romping with a fair haired girl over the meadows aud through the stubble and resting under the chestnuts and the elms. He was platting wild flowers in ber golden tresses in the early springtime, stringing rnby red cherries aronnd ber neck for coral in the summer sunshine or gathering brown nuts for ber in the misty autumn days. Memory was throwing all ber early day treasures into the Lap of the present."Thoughts of home absorbed yon, and the glittering ore lost its charm. Yon would return to the homestead and spend your days there. You would forgive 'her' at least, and wondered if sbe were living or dead. When yon reached the coast, you were impatient of delay. As you jostled with the tide of life ebbing and flowing through the streets of the city, with its unrest, yon compared it with tbe quiet of the homestead, and yon longed to be back again. It was a fatal night when you went to brooding over that Christmas eve of tfcree years before. You magnified your funcied wrong until it absorbed your being and changed all your purposes. It first drove 'ber' from your heart, then the chestnuts, tbe elms, tbe clover blooms and the wild flowers. A mother's grave still remained. You would not permit that to be tossed out. It should remain, and at some convenient time you would visit the sacred spot, Some time, but not then—not then. I remained in your heart with that grave and pleaded with you to bring back tbe tenants which were fit companionship for it. but you would not. You iuvited back the demons. Greed, avarice, revenge and hate returned. Tbe grave annoyed them, and you were restless until you cast it out Your 'soon' never came. Yon have not visited your mother's grave and today you could scarcely find it. It is uumark ed, and bramble and weeds hide the mound. Do you know me now, John Front berg?" Again be sighed. It was quick and sharp, as if some breaking cord had smothered it. His hands cave from his pockets aud fell nerveless on bis kuees. Sigh followed sigh in quick suocession. The pinches in his cheeks and at tbe corners of bis eyes and month grew smaller. The flutes were lessening be- "Go along!" said the host to the horses, and the pace was increased. They flew past a large sleigh. Ji Though dark when they entered, the room was instantly flooded with light, |\ I * |i * - Frost berg noticed that it was filled w children, girls and boys, in the nr of whom stood an elderly man wi snow white hair and beard. Whenever it met a bevy of children, it stopped. "Jump in!" cried tfie elderly man "It looks crowded, but it is not. There tie eyes had become fierce and inquisitive. Your pale, smooth brow was wrinkled and dark with sordid passion. Your cheeks weie pinched and your lips so tightly set together that your mouth looked like a scar. Greed, avarice, revenge and hate had written sordidness in every feature and line of your face. Sbe read your life's story in an instant. 'God pity him!' she muttered, as she quickened her step and hurried to her single room home. There, alone aud in tbe twilight, she wept and sorrowed as only a woman with a lost treasure in her heart can weep and sorrow. Continually she asks herself, 'How much am I to blame?' In ber magnanimity and love sbe answers: 'For all, for all; God pity mo! God forgive my blunder which has entailed misery on two! When he told me anew of bis love aud asked me to be his wife, I was wild with joy and could not answer with words. In ecstasy I laughed. I was longing for bis story and for tbe embraces which he had given me under the chestnuts and the elms, praying that be would repeat the story of bis love as be told me the last evening we spent together at the homestead, when I went to sleep iu his arms. When be did, It ao filled me with joy that I oould not utter a word. My tongue refused its office, and in tbe boundlessness of my ecstasy I laughed, then hurried from bis presenoe to my room, that I might weep for joy. A sweet little conceit came to me. In the morning when I meet him I will lay my hand in his and say, "This is your Christmas gift." "Oud pity him!" she muttered. this eleigh for over 1,800 years room for a million more! I have dri' "Come in," he said in response to a rap at the door. have never had it fall. Jump in, darlings; jump in 1" The door opened withont noise and closed as quietly. Johu Frost berg did not rise or even turn bis head. Tbe room was more than comfortable —it was bot and cloae—yet he sbiveied as though be were oat in tbe storm. He attempted to stand erect stretched his neck and threw back bis head, but did Qot sucoeed. After a few moments' pause be began to strike himself upon tbe breast, on tbe left side tbe most. Perhaps he was striking at tbe sting of which be spoke. Again aud again be atruck, tbeu shrugged bis shoulders, twisted bis body iu his clothes and increased tbe violence of tbe blows, as if knocking at a door he was impatient to have opened. Still shivering, be pushed a cushioned chair near the grate and sank iuto it as if exhausted. At tfao word the little ones spranp into the sleigh, and the fan became and furious, while the elderly man shouted: " Well, Madison, what is your wish? This is Christmas eve. I suppose yon expect a present, or a leave of absenoe. You will get neither. I have no gift for you aud will need yon tomorrow. I bate tbe custom of gift giving, and I never indulge in it. You have been with me long enough to know my disposition in this particular. You need not greet me in tbe morning with 'Merry Christmas.' I do not wish one. I have not for years, aud never will. I have not bad one for 26 year?, aud never expect one. Christmas is to me worse than an ordinary day. Tbe law makes it a holiday, and I hate holidays. They are wastes. It is a day lost. There is plenty of coal in the scuttle, and I shall not need anything. Good night, Madison." " 'Tis the merry Christmas time—the birthday of Christ, the Lord! He lor little children and bade them bring them to him." " 'Jack Frost,' said the miner, without any ceremony, 'is your name John Frostberg?' 'What's that to you?'you replied. They called you'Jack Frost,' an abbreviation admirably adapted to your disposition. There were clapping of handi. shoots of joy as the great sleigh pas sea on with its precious harden of Christ in as eve hearts. When John Frost berg host saw the great sleigh, he rose fron bis seat. , ATI the children reoognized him and kissed their hands to him " 'A little civil, Mr. Jack Frost. It's nothing to me. and I hope it's no oom- response to his greeting of "Merry Christmas I Merry Christmas!" The room was targe and cheerless, the paper dingy and smoky, and in a oomber of places torn aad hanging iu laps from the wall, which showed cracks in zigzag lines. The window frames were twisted ont of shape, yielding to tbe decayed walls, and the panes iu tbe saabes wenj/dirty, a few broken and patched with paper. The house had been a fashionable one before the city went up town, but its beauty hud gone with its fashionable occupant*, and it was now pleading with a hundred ragged tongues for repairs. Between the central front wiudows, incased iu tbe wall, was a mirror reaching from ceiling to floor. The fnrniture was scant and poor except the chair into which be sank. That was elegantly upholstered and looked easy and comfortable. Tbe table on which be bad thrown his gloves and greatcoat was of pine and solid, litter»d over with papers, pamphlets, used uivelopea and opened letters. A well worn carpet, blotched and spotted, cov»red tbe floor. There were two rooms with folding doors. The front he used aa a night office and tbe rear as a bedroom. Tbe only occupunts of tbe premises were John Fruttberg, "broker and Qeneral Money Dealer," and bis mauler van t and the wife of the latter. A tingle picture hung on tbe wall near tbe entrance door. It was a poorly executed crayon, inclosed in a frame, which at one time no donbt protected a more valuable work of art. Four children were gathering chestnuts under a great tree. One was a boy of 14 and anttber a girl of 12 years. The others *ere younger. The eldest girl held her apron by the corners, while the youth smptied his hands of brown nuts into It. CHAPTER III. John Frostberg in the faintest of whispers said, "Merry Christmas!" "Go on." He held her to the window. "I was near forsaking yon when yon restored the demons. Had I not loved yon dearly in yonr youth I should have gone from you forever. I am still at yonr side, possibly for the last time. I have used all means to enlist yonr attention and call yon back to yonr better self. I have tbrowu the poor in yonr way—those who are constantly hungered and athirst and naked—but yon would not see them. 1 have pushed their pale, haggard faces aud great hungry eyes into your door and have heard you say: 'Out with them. Keep them out. They freeze me. They dry up my blood. Keep them out, I tell you, or I will find some one who can.' They have turned away with 'God pity him!' while a few called curses on your head. Did yonr head never feel hot after one of those visits? They were so earnest, I thonght perhaps that answers would be sent them. Yon have passed the poor when crouched and huddled on your porch, with the night hanging over them and the air filled with snow. They have held out their wasted hands and turned np their pleading eyes. They have pointed to famishing babes, sucking at the fountain of infant life, which had dried up for want of nourishment. They have pleaded in God's name and heaven's sake, and you have had but oue antwer: 'Begone! Where are "the faithless offioers of the law, that they do not drag you to prison, you miserable beggars!' The host alone beard him and remarked, " You are thawing, John Frostberg," but there was no answer. just sufficiently strong to make everything in the room distinotly visible. Asleep on a chair, her head resting on a little stand, was a woman. In the grate a few ooals were burning. There was no oar pet on the floor or other furniture in the room. Be took a handkerchief 'from his pocket ami wiped tlteylags. feveen bis eyes. His long, bony fingers dovetailed themselves witb each other, Hid bis head dropped forward until bis ;biu rested on his breast. "It is not Madison. It is I, an old friend, who calls without ceremony." Away tbey dashed, heedless of accidents and fearless of danger. The snow had ceased to fall and the heavens were sparkling with a million coronets. The streets were in such a blaze that night appeared to be challenging day. John Frostberg sprang from his chair. Confronting him whs a lyan taller than be aud older, with long, white hair and full beard, white as his hair, iiis eyes sparkled I ke diamonds. They looked more like stars than eyes. His face was full and round, and the expression intelligent aud benignant. Without invitation he drew off his greatcoat and laid it on the table; then motioned to John Frostberg to resume his seat, but the latter stood staring at bis guest in a vain endeavor to recognize him. He bad seen the face somewhere, but when and where he conld not remember. He beld out his hand to the stranger, saying:"Oh, cruel, cruel woman!" Water trickled from tbe comers of bis eyes. Hid respiration was long and heavy. He rose from his chair like au old man, and as he walktd to the crayon bis step was unsteady. He took out his handkerchief not to rub the glass as before, but to wipe something from his eyes. "Where is her bed?" asked John Frostberg. John Frostberg began to feel uncomfortably warm. He pressed away one of the robes which were bound around him, stretched his neck, twisted his body, and said: "Where?" echoed his host On the floor in the corner of the room was what appeared to be a pile of rags. The host led the way to them. "Pick up a handful," he said. "It is nfucb warmer here than down town. That is a bleak, oold plaoe of mine." John Frostberg did so and exposed the faoes of two children. "Mercy! They are ohildien!" he exclaimed. "It is fadiug. Line after line is disappearing, little by little, but constantly going, in a few more years all the outlines of figures will be gone. It is better so. Would that you were gone now. 1 cannot hide yon away, and I would that all were effaced. The Fanny of them and the Fanny of 26 years ago were not the sume. I have room for 70a, but none for her. " 'When morning came, he was gone. I thonght that he had returned to his home, and feeling that he bad misinterpreted my langh I wrote him, wherein I told him with more truth than modesty how dearly I loved him. He never received that letter. His mother did, and after keeping it for years returned it to me. When I found that he was gone, no one knew where, I returned to the homestead, to our mother, for such she has always been to me. She comforted me by saying: "Ho will soon return. He will write to me, aud I will send him your letter. Then, could be command the winds, they would be too slow for his return." She stilled my throbbing heart by resting it against her own. We waited, but he came not. Her sorrow, though never uttered, ate up her heart. One evening she drew me close to her breast and said, "I am going to leave you; then he will return. "Temperature is about the same, but the surroundings are different. Besides, you are thawing, John Frostberg. Yes, sir, thawing. Let us leave Wideway; it is crowded with the rich. Let us go where we can see the poor." "Yes," replied the hoet, "sleeping too. These rags are their covering." "Rags for bedclothes?" said John Frostberg. "Your face is familiar, but I am unable to recall the circumstances under which I met you." "Where is the bed?" asked the host "They are lying on rags. There is no bed under them. No sheet, nor blanket, uor coverlet over them. Nothing but rags. She"—pointing to the sleeping woman—"gathered them off the streets and washed them so as to make covering for her babes. Did you ever see her face, John Frostberg?" John Frottberg sprang from his chair. fort to you, as how I think you deserve none. Nobody has any right to be good to one who is no good to anybody, neither the well, nor the sick, nor the dead.' "The poor, the poor," muttered John Frostberg, as though he were trying to comprehend the meaning of the two The stranger took the extended hand, replying: "I sent her out of my heart with a bound that Christmas eve. She crept back, but I would not let her stay. She oame for admission at odd times. At night, when I was aobing for sleep; in the morning wheu I awoke; when in sickness, and always when in darkness and alone, she has knocked for admittance, but I have had but one answer, 'No room.' All the avenues to my heart are closed against her. Trifling, perfidious womau I lhateherl You were innooent, pure, gentle, trustful and truthful. You had not learned of tho world. The clover blossoms, the wild flowers words. "For the present say yon have seen me in your dreams — yes, in your dreams. When I have talked with you. perhaps you will recognize nie." "Yes, the poor. You do not know mach about tbem. You have seldom seen their faces. Often you have seen their outstretched, withered, bony hands; you could not avoid them as you did their faces. I want you to Bee them—rook into their hungry eyes and hollow cheeKs and wasted features. The sight may help to thaw you." " 'I don't attend lectures, so have done with it,' you pettishly answered. 'If your business is ended, I will detain you no longer. My name is John Frostberg. ' Drawing a chair near to the scarlet plush oue in which he had reseated Joun Frostberg, he asked, "What is that in your band?" "No, never." "That was because yon would not look at it. Perhaps you would reoognize her hands. Yon have seen them. She has turned her faoe full upon you, that you might read in its expression the sight you now see, but you would not look at it. In her extremity she went down to the busy mart, bearing in her arms this little wasted form (touohing one of the babes), that she might attest the truth of her story with its pleading face. Weary, she sank on your steps and was there when you name from 'ehange. She held out her band and asked you to look. Did you do it? No. You asked where were the faithless officers of the law that they did not drag her to prison. At the sound of the word 'prison' she sprang from " 'Then there is a letter for yon. I was in Frisco and saw it printed in the paper, and as how I thought it might be for Jack Frost I just brought it along, aud no thanks for my trouble, as is very plain, and no comfort to you, as I hopes.' "Nothing. A toy," replied John Frostbeig, closing his fingers tightly over the miniature. John Frostberg twisted in his scarlet ohair. His faoe was the picture of agony and despair. Great drops of sweat welled from the pores and dropped from his faoe. He groaned as he did in the cabin when he learned of his mother's HPkon toaim paPii hi»n «dliof hnr now bis eyes were dry. Not a tear had passed from them in twoscore years until this night, and the fountain from which they flowed had well nigh ceased. Greed and avarice, revenge and hate had no use lor tears. He writhed in his chair as it devoured by flames. In his agony he exclaimed: Oil through the side streets flew the horses untii they reached a point where the streets were narrow aiid the dwellings in bad repair and dingy with age. The sleigh stopped in front of a small one story frame building. An old fashioned square window, extending two feet from the honse, was dimly lighted by a lamp. There was glase on threC sides, panes small and dirty at the cor ners, while the oenters were bright anc clean. Strings were stretched across and from these dangled cakes, littli bunches of candles, bunches of raiding with here and there a toy—a sn Jack, a tiny doll, a paper elepb' tin horse and carriage, with other mon toys, snch as the shopkeeper tb would Buit the purchasing ability customers. Extending from the of the window sill were pies, p! cake and parcels of candy. Crc around this window, with noses cd against the panes, were raggea dren. Some were hat]ess and coatless, while all the girls were sbfc less, and most of them were w; bonnets. There they stood sbivei the cold, gaping into the window mouths and eyes. Occasionally a no better clad than those who throi the sidewalk caine rnnning into street, entered the shop and eper penny or two. The purchaser w envy of the ragged crew. Wheu shop was without customers, a old man with a wizen face wouli over tho pit s and cakes and giv*. string hanging between the legs of supple Jack a pull. Jack wonid bis own head and tangle bis Ion; with his long arms. The ragged clapped their hands and shouted laughter at the antics of the toy "Ah, a present for some child; make some little one's heart glad, eh?" "No, I never give presents. I do not know any children." "Help him out!" "Oh, no, you must not—shall not go!" I exclaimed. "If you go, he will never return. While yon remain there is hope. Without yon there is none." "Ho will return. Ho will return," she faintly murmured. I burst into passionate tears. When I had wept myself calm, I gazed into her face. I was with the dead. Desolation of desolation ! The sweet, kind messenger who released her sorrowing soul denied himself to me. I was then alone indeed. The weary years came and went ladened with disappointments. The entate pioved insolvent, and my little all was swallowed up with the rest. I returned to the great city, where I have struggled for bread and raiment and shelter. It has given them to me grudgingly. I have not been exactiug, but have accepted thankfully the little 1 have earned. Now he has returned, but he is no longer John Frostberg. There are two. The one of old 1 will retain in my heart as the lost one. The one of today I will not know, nor shall he know.' John Frostberg rose from bis scarlet ohair and opened the folding doors. and myself were your loves. You were artless, sincere, innocent and sweet as the birds which sang in tbe branches of the elms aud tbe chestnuts. And I had no thought which was not for you or of you. My boyish fancy sent out ships 011 every sea, all laden for you, and brought in shipu from every {tort, each freighted for you. The future was a panorama which passed before me, with yon iu every scene. Ou the evening of your departure you wept yourself to sleep in my arms, and I dried your tears with my hot lips. You went, and I waa in despair. There was 110 longer music in tbe song of the birds, nor beauty and fragrance iu flowers. She for whom tbey sang and for whom they bloomed oould not bear or see them, and tbe melody of the one and tbe beauty and the fragrance of tbe other were gone. I ■till remember the weary years of her absence, and still fresher is the recolleotion of my visit to ber. You, tbe girl, was lost, and she, tbe woman, was in your stead. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me, then blushed and turned away as though she bad committed a shameful act. As I met her day after day I felt that she had drifted I knew not where, but from me. I should have returned to my borne aud left her to the world with which she was iu love, but 1 could not. 1 loved her as I did you when I filled your apron with chestnuts or waded for the buttercup and the cowslip or climbed the rock for the wild honeysuckle; loved her as I did yon when 1 freighted all ships for you. 1 felt that I could not live without her, and therefore had to tell the story. stead are greed, avarice, revenge and hate.' I snatched tbe glittering lump, and as I hid it from sight I muttered, 'For myself.' My streugth grew with success, aud every stroke of the pick rolled the metal-to my feet. It came iu little tiuy scales, and tbeu again iu strangely shaped lumps, as though tbey had their birth iu fire. I gathered tbe yellow particles and thrust them deep into my pockets as I muttered, 'For myself.' " "Do not give presents? And do not know any children? Not even at Christ mas time? True enough. I should have known better than to have suggested such a thought. I have known you a long while, John Frostberg—since your earliest childhood. For 2iD years you have not given a present to any oue. Before tiiat you were impulsively and at times foolishly kind. At Christmas time you were always generous beyond your means. You taxed friends and exhausted resources to enable you to procure gifts tor hor." "You took the letter with a nod of your head, holding it in yonr hand until the miner was far out of sight. It was the first mail matter yon had received since yonr arrival in the diggings. You examined the superscription aud the postmark. The latter yon recognized, but not the former. It was from yonr old boyhood home. Yonr mind was flooded in an instant. The future to yon was lost. Yon thought of nothing but the past—your mother, and 'she' danced into your heart; the chestnuts and the elms, the meadows aud stubble fields, the clover blooms and the wild flowers, the red barn aud the old frame house jumped in, too, and mixed themselves up with the living things. Your heart felt the occupancy of the old tenants. The demons had fled from the temple they were desecrating. The attack was so sudden they could offer no opposition. Your heart quickened its pulsations, aud you unconsciously threw your hand over it to still its throbbings. You could not. It throbbed and thrilled and beat against your breast as it had never done before. It rejoiced that the demons had been driveuout and the old occupants had returned. You looked at the address, 'John Frostberg,' written in a rouud, bold hand, which you had never seen before. There was a wild anxiety in your eyes, aud yonr cheeks were destitute of color. Your hand trembled and the letter dropped to the ground. You stood there trembling aa does the smallest shrub in the breath of the fierce north wind. Your long, bony fingers twitched aud made motions toward the letter, bnt yon were powerless to stoop for it. Your heart beat more violently aud then ceased. It was lying still in your breast, gathering blood from every artery to send it in fieroo tumult to yonr brain. How long you stood there yon know not—know not when you fell, nor how long yon lay at the side of the letter. As you arose yon picked it up aud entered yonr cabin. You sat down uu the rude bench and "Take tbe chill off the bed," he mattered, and resumed bis seat. He fixed his (yea ou the tiny wbite flames which :rept from tbe bank of coal on tbe grate. Occasionally he ran bis long, bony fingers through bitD bristlelike bair, or polled at the point of his ohin, or ran his bauds down his cheeks iu vain sndeavor to smooth tbem. He threw bia bead back, resting it on the soft velvet piuah, oloaed his eyes and laid bis bauda across them. pple 'V.ntninwl on tw ant, a M „, ~om- CtV!!e3r®* """ ,5. »D-L Of his Br of the Glooefor D■ ,'r:;; f RHEUMATISM,! wding B MKU ttATAT A »«C ilmllw flnrnplatwtj, I Dress- *nd prepared under the stringent U obii- MEDICAL LAWS.^ others Pfcribed by eminent phyrioianii^M J1' Km DR- Richter's (Km S?2 MP " ANCHOR "*39 child [PAIN EXPELLERl 'gad ■ World rewjwnod! RomarkaMy aoccewful 1 I thn ■OnlygenolnewUhTrade Mark " Anchor,"■ ne Br. Ad. Kiekter 'Co., 816PearlSt., Xeir Vork. ■ as the I 31 HIGHEST AWARDS. .. ■ IS Rranoh Homes. On Glaisworka. M CDe H u«»ik WmtuiiManWki ■ ittle HtKKK a rut, to Lawn* »«•••. 'each O-C-OUCK, »• Hart* Mata Slraal, 1. H. HOK'K, 4 Narth Bala St. 6 MTTBTOX, Tk. lege KICMTOTS .J?_ I •• ANCHOR" 8 TO MAC HA 1. beat for I ifth "TTl--|Tf l irf-1-Tirr r "Spare me! Oh, spare me!" "Why should you be spared?" replied the guest. "Whom have you spared? You have witnessed the iron entering the soul of the unhappy, and you were without sympathy. Nay, more. You have struok with pitiless foroe the bruised and wounded hearts which Borrowed. Only today, John Frostberg, I saw an old man in your offioe. He was bowed down aud stricken with grief. He wept as a child and pleaded with feverish earnestness not to be driven from the roof under wbiqb he had been cradled. He spoke of births and deaths, years of joy aud years of woe, of present misery and expected grief, told you of the wretched living and the coming dead. His lips trembled, his voice trembled, his body trembled, and his old heart, which you could not see, trembled as he waited for your answer. Heartless it came: 'I want my money, aud will have it, or you and yours will go.' When he fell, limp aud unconscious, in a chair, you had him dragged into the street, to die there, as you believed. Did you spare him?" CHAPTER II. "Twenty-five years ago tonight—yes, IS years ago this very night,'' be said He stopped bis soliloquy, and, reaching for the tonga, began to feed the grate from the large scuttle. Little blue flames commenced to creep through the fresh coal, and as they struggled John Frostberg with the poker opened ways for the fiery tongues through the black pile. Little red flames took the place of the tiny blue ones, and soon the whole mass was ablaze. The cold chills were goue, and John Frostberg yawned. Without rising, he pushed the scarlet chair farther from the grate and then looked around the room, apprehensive thut some one had entered withont his notice. Satisfied that he was alone, he carefully loosened one of the studs in his shirt front, paused, and then made a faint effort to readjust it.. His chin rested tin his breast for several minutes, while be gazed intently at the mass of burning coals, apparently without really looking at it. He loosened another stud, working very slowly. The pinches on bis face were softening; the hard, close lines at the ootnersof his eyes and mouth were losing their distinctness. The flutes between his brows had entirely disappeared ; the long, bouy fingers of his right hand crept into the opening in his shirt front and rested. They were drawn out, only to creep slowly back. There was a motion as if feeling for something. The band came out. It was not open, as when it entered, but tightly closed. His eyes turned from the buruuiif ooals and rested on the closed At the word "her" John Frostberg attempted to rise, but the guest threw his arm in front of him. in slow, audible tones. He sigbed. It waa more like a groan than a sigh. "Sit still, John Froetberg. I said 'her,' a fair haired, blue eyed girl who was your father's ward. Sit still. Don't lDe rude. I am an old friend and your guest, and you must listen to me I have had many talks with you heretofore, aud I beg that you give me a pa tieut heating." "Twenty-five years, 25 years," he kept repeating. His face grew longer. Hia lower jaw fell as if dislocated. In another instant be bad sprung from his •eat with a start, still mattering: "Twenty-five years tonight." His eyes wandered around the room until tbey fell on the orayon of the children gathering chestnuts. He gazed for a moment, then threw his arm in front of bis face, as though brushing something sway, robbed bis eyes and walked to the crayon. He took a handkerchief from bis pocket and wiped the glass which covered the picture. "It is aa years sinoe that time—8a years — 82 years," he kept repeating years. I wonder what became of her, the kind hearted child, the croel hearted woman. I gave her all the nuts I fathered, every wild flower 1 called, every tinted leaf, and she gave me smiles and kisses. Had it only ended there! Hut no! It had to go to the end. Twenty-five years ago tonight I gave her my heart and she scornfally threw tbe throbbing tbing back to me —threw it back with a laugh. In an instant it was as worthless to me as it was to her. All the fires save those wMtb feed bate and revenge died oat 'li *nC la lb# latter of that "Who are you?" asked John Frostberg in a determined tone. "John Frostberg of today," said the guest, "how much does that story add to yonr happiness?" "Don't be inquisitive. By and by you will know me. For 25 years yon have given me but little consideration. You have tieen petulant and rude at times. Thin has arisen from the fact that you have heeu too busy with yourself—'doing for yourself, living for your self, thinking of yourself, wrapping yourself up in yourself. Seltishnuss, John Frostberg, is the meanest and smallest of vices. It dedicates you to greed and avarice. It hardens your heart, dulls your sensibilities, stifles your emotions, dries up your affections, crushes your better impulses and cor rodes your entire being. It steals from you, lies to you, leaves you in poverty and waste and unfits yon for either hope or love. It has not entirely bereft you of the latter. That toy, John Frostberg, is the evidence that it has not yet robbed you of the power to love." John Frostberg clasped bis baud tiwkiar mid iutuiiiI it with tbtt othwr. "Oh, wretch, monster that I am!" agonized John Frostberg. "That is true, "said his guest. "You know yourself. You are a wretch. Yon have hugged a delusion that another made you so. You are the outgrowth of your selfish self. You are miserable aud wretched, and you deserve to be so. You should not be a monster. There are two parts of you. The wretched aud the miserable is the better. That you can be miserable is evidence that you are not entirely lost. It is proof that it is possible to save you from yourself. To do this you must adopt heroic actiou. You must cut out the "Spare me, I beseech you! I will un do all the past. Give mo but opportu nity. Spare me, I beseech you!" "Do it some more. Make bim kiok hisself again," they shouted. "Not yet. John Frostberg, not yet. You must cast the demons out of your heart. Greed, avarice, revenge aud hate must be cast out forever. This is the final struggle. They or I must triumph tonight. Listen, John Frostberg. I have seen 'hex.' " ACTIVE SOLICITORS WANTED EVERYwhere for "The Story of the Philippines," by Murat Halstead, commissioned by the Government as Official Historian to the War Department. The book was written in army camps at San Francisco, on the Pacific with Gen. Merritt, in the hospitals at Honolula, in Hong Kong, in the American trenches at Manila, in tne insurgmt camps with Aguinaldo, on the deck of the Olympia with Dewey, and in the roar of battle at the fall of Manila. Bonanza for agents. BrlnCful of original pictures taken by (foyernn eat photographers on the spot. Large book. )jov prioes. Big profits. Freight paid. Credicj,lTen. Drop all trashy unofficial war books. Outfit free. Address, F T. Barbur, Sec'y, Star Insurance Building, Chicago. "Only 6 cents for that delicious soppie Jack," remarked the little wizen faced shopkeeper. "Can't none of ye git 5 cents fer to buy him?" "The fatal evening came. I can bear her laugh of derision even now. For years it rang in my ears, and in my heart too. It was like tbe laugh of a maniac. It came near making one of me. Had I not cast her out I should have gone to the madhouse. The fire left my heart and took possession of my brain, and for days and weeks I was ail monster part." "I will, I will," exclaimed John Frostberg. John Frostberg looked at the ragged crowd and muttered, "These are the children of the poor." Then turning to bis hoht he said, "Don't yon think it is getting very warm?" at the same time pushing the robes from his person. Uuforuih* Koat could rani? thay heaid "Her!" exclaimed John Frostberg. He would have Eprung from hia seat, bnt his gnest restrained him. "Stay a moment and bear me," said bis guest. "You must cast out the demons which have possessed yon. Greed, •wioe, revenge ana nate ana your wretohed self must be cast out of vuuf "Sit still. Y«t 'her.' Not once