The Russellville Democrat., 1891-04-16
BY WORD OF MOUTH.

TThe author of this story Rudyard Kipling is ( young Englishman who has lived most of his life in British India His stories of that country, written during personal contact with it's people and the British army, have recently attracted . great deal of attention both in England and America.l
 This tale may be expiaineeaa U those who know how souls are made, and where the bounds of the possible are put down. have lived long enough in this country to know that it is best to know nothing, and can only write the story as 1t happened.
 Dumoise was our civil surgeon at Meridld, and we called him ''Dormouse," because he was a round little, sleepy lit tie man. He was 8 good doctor, and never quarreled with any one, not even with our deputy commissioner, who had the manners of bargee and the tact of horse. He married girl as round and as sleepy looking as himself. She was Miss Hillardyce, daughter of Squash" Hillardyce of the Berars, who married his chiefs daughter by mistake.
 A honeymoon in India is seldom more than week long; but there is nothing to hinder a couple from extending it over two or three years. This is de- hghtful country for married folk who are wrapped up in one another. They can live absolutely alone and without interruption. just as the Dormice did. These two little people retired from the world after their marriage, and were very happy. They were forced, of course, to give occasional dinners. but they made no friends hereby, and the Station went it's own way and forgot them, only saying occasionally that Dor mouse was the best of good fellows, though dull A civil surgeon who never quarrels is a rarity, appreciated as such.
 Few people can afford to play Robin son Crusoe anywhere-least of all in In- dia, where we are few in the land, and very much dependent on each others kind offices. Dumoise was wrong in shutting himself from the world for a year, and he discovered his mistake when an epidemic of typhoid broAe out in the station in the heart of the cold weather, and his wife went down. He was a shy little man, and five days were wasted before he realized that Mrs. Dumoise was burning with something worse than simple fever, and three days more passed before he ventured to call on Mrs. Shute, the engineers wife, and timidly speak about his trouble. Nearly every household in India knows that doctors are very helpless in typhoid. The battle must be fought out between death and the nurses, minute by minute and degree by degree. Mrs. Shute al- most boxed Dumoise's ears for what she called his criminal delay" and went off at once to look after the poor girl. We had seven cases of typhoid in the station that winter, and as the average of death is about one in every five cases, we felt certain that we should have to lose somebody.
 But all did their best. The women sat up nursing the women, and the men turned to and tended the bachelors who were down, and we wrestled with those typhoid cases for fifty-six days, and brought them through the valley of the shadow in triumph. But, just when we thought all was over, and were going to give dance to celebrate the victory, little Mrs. Dumoise got a relapse and died in week and the station went to the funeral. Dunoise broke down utterly at the brink of the grave, and had to be taken away.
 After the death DuInoise crept into his own house and refused to be comforted. He did his duties perfectly, but we all felt that he should go on leave, and the other men of his own service told him so. Dumoise was very thankful for the suggestion--he was thankful for any thing in those days-and went to Chini on walking tour Chini is some twenty marches from Simla, in the heart of the hills, and the scenery is good if you are in trouble. You pass through big, still, deodar forests, and under big, still cliffs, and over big, still grass downs swelling like a woman's breasts, and the wind across the grass and the rain among the deodars says, sh-hush--hush." So little Dumoise was packed off to Chini to wear down his grief with full plate camera and rife. He took also a use less bearer, because the man had been his wifes favorite servant. He was idle and thief, but Dumoise trusted every thing to him.
 On his way back from Chini, Dumoise turned aside to Bagi, through the Forest Reserve which is on the spur of Mount Huttoo. Some men ,gho have travelled more than little say that the march from Kotegarh to Bagi is one of the finest .~.o !. dar rly xxraf forest, and ends suddenly in bleak, nip ped hill side and black rocks. Bagi dak- bungalow is open to all winds and is bit terly cold. Few people go to Bagi. Perhaps that was the reason why Du- noise went there. He halted at in the evening, and his bearer went down the hill side to the village to engage coolies for the next days march. The sun had set, and the night winds wore beginning to croon among the rocks. Dumoise leaned on the railing of the veranda, waiting for his bearer to return. The man came back almost immediately af- ter he had disappeared, and at such a rate that Dumoise fancied he must have crossed bear. He was running as hard as he could up the face of the hill.
 But there was no bear to account for his terror. He raced to the veranda and fell down, the blood squirting from his nose and his face iron gray. Then he gurgled: T have seen the Memsahibl have seen the Memsahibr'
 -Where" said Dumoise.
 ADown there, walking on the road to tho village. She was in blue dress, and she lifted the veil of her bonnet and said, Ram Dass, give my salaams to the Sahib, and tell him that shall meet him next month at Nuddea.' Then I ran