The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1882-12-22

time so nearly like it that you couldn't
have told one from the other, that Will
son McWhyrter left his wretched den,
old Mr.. Bartholomew left his beautiful
home TO go down to his Office. 1t was
Christmas day, but old Mr.. Bartholo-
NEW didn't care for that Like Wilson
McWhyrter, he wanted his breakfast,
but his appetite was much larger than
the lads He wanted to eat farm out
in Iowa. And he was going down to
his office TO get his breakfast. He was
going TO lend an Iowa farmer 5000 on
$1,000 farm, and charge him $40 for
lending it TO him, and $50 year for
keeping il lent, and then at the end of
five years he would take the farm and
rent il to the farmer for all that could
be raised on it.
But he had tender spot in his heart.
1t wasn't large enough to distigure his
heart. 1t was about the size of the up
per half of a semi-eolos; but such as
it was he was proud of it. He was a
widower, and he had only one relative
in the "orld, sister, who married
poor man against his wishes, Mr.. Bar
tholomew's wishes, that is, and went
away years ago Mr.. Bartholomew was
thinking of this sister as he walked
along. His face wore troubled look,
and somehow his prospective breakfast
of the Iowa farm didn't taste good to
him. He tried to drive this sister out
of his thoughts, but she would come
back. Fifteen years ago she married a
man Mr.. Bartholomew hated, because
he was so poor he hadn't anything to
borrow dollar on. Fifteen years ago,
Mr.. Bartholomew, rich, proud, selfish,
had clouded his only sistes's wedding
day with his naughty anger. He re-
membered her pleading face. Where
was she now? She had son, she had
once written him, and she had named
it for him. Her husband he had heard
was dissipated, and it wasn't likely they
had prospered. He tried to drive these
thoughts away, but they steadily
haunted him. Poor Eleanor, lie thought.
Then he made up his mind shat he
would make this merry Christmas for
somebody. He would make the day
bright and full of sunshine and happi-
ness for the first poor wretch he met
He would, for few bright hours at
least, lift the burden of poverty off
some burdened heart; he would let the
sunlight of his wealth stream into some
poverty darkened life.
Little did this hard, stern, wealthy
man know of the tangled web that fate
was weaving for him i'll the troubled
channel of his vague. half-formed
wishes. Itisn't often that fate does weave
a web in troubled channel, because a
troubled channel isn't just exactly the
place TO stand loom in, but when she
does, you want to stand from under.
Unless You are web-footed.
Mr.. Wilson w. Bartholomew did not
hear The stealthy tread of Wilson Nc
Whyrtyr SIS the lad came sneaking
along beside him. He was too deeply
ergrossed in his project for devouring
the Iowa farm, for making somebody
happy, and in thinking about his sister,
to notice anything else. Presently he
paused i'll front of store window to
LOOK at chrome of young lady in a
bathing suit, whose stockings were so
short that she had to wear a lace collar to
supply the deficit. While enjo ing this
beautiful fit of chromatic art, Mr.. Bar
tholomew felt tug on his pocket, and,
turning suddenly, caught Wilson Nc
Whyrter just taking out the brokers'
watch to see what time it would be at
that time next Christmas.
1t was the work of the same minute
to fondle the frightened boy once or
twice with his cane and call policeman.
While the officer was crossing the street,
Mr.. Bartholomew shook the boy until
his ragged clothes nearly fell off him.
Whom the policeman came, he collared
the boy and shook out of him what lit
tie breath he had left. Then he shook
him because he wouldn't stand up
straight and walk along. On their way
to the magistrates Office, Mr.. Bartholo-
new stirred the boy up, from time to
time, with his cane. Such people, he
said, should never be allowed to walk
on the streets. And then, as he looked
at the boys pinched, hungry face, the
thought of his sister came back TO him
somehow or other, and the old troubled
look stole into his face. Then he would
shake off the thought, and wonder
where he had seen that boy before.
"Why did you try to steal this citi-
zens watch?" asked the tender-hearted
magistrate.
Because / was hungry" said the cul-
prit.
ooh, good land!" calculated the po-
liceman, i'll overwhelmingly Disguised
tones.
with the wheat crop in this country
40 per cent. larger than it was last
year. sneered the broker, in derisive
incredulity.
"As though you could eat a WATCH"
said the tender-hearted magistrate, and
that settled it,
"How old are you?" he went on.
"Ihirteen years." said the boy.
Mr.. Bartholomew started. Thirteen
years? Somehow the troubled look
came and went over the brokers' face
like passing cloud. Thirteen years ?
Why he thought but just then he
heard the voice of the tender-hearted
magistrate once more.
What is your name? And don't you
lie about it or I'll put you in dark cell