The morning news., 1894-09-30

gulsed satisfaction and relief at last
turned to'a railway map upon the wall;
and, slowly repeating "Brice's Cove
Brlce' Cove e,-Brice's COve,'' ran his fat
and pudgy finger back and forth along the
heavy dotted line
"Umph, Never heerd o. that. Must be
on salt water, though Yes. yes; here
It's. Flag station. II it amt Jest like
him { bury hisself where there amt no.
body Z even plant a headsJun over him.
lie now pushed his fat and pudgy head
luIo the ticket window, as there was
moments lull in purchases, and inquired
anXIously about Brice's Cove.
IWenty-elght miles out. First flag
station. All rocks and trees and water.
Half a dozen old sea captains remp
around there. Nobody can live near 'em.
One woman there; that's all we know of.
She's telegraph operator and station
agent. We call her General Manager
Mary because she runs tn town and tn
captains 10 Ooot.' gi6ly replied the voice
in the window
"Thankee, thankee, sir: answered the
questlOner heartily, replacing his specta-
cles IN their case and turning abruptly
away, muttering to himself:
IF General Manager Maryu only run
afoul o. kirtley Breem an send him T.
drydock, till he kin git remodeled, fore
an aft, deck an keel, 'Liiah Whitaker
III have the cussedest load often his mind
That ever got into it vet But, Lord all
them other editOrsll be waitin' down
there I tn Motor Office { begin :"
He thus set out from one completed
task to another, cheerfully comforting
himself from time TO time with the half
audible reflections.
"One managin' editors vacationin',
anyhow; an 'Lijah Whittakers gained
oneo' his p'ints If this editor business
amt too alfred weakenin' I'll tackle
them gamblin' blood suckers t'-morrer
an, t'-morrer amt any too soon -
When kirtley Breem stepped from the
scarcely halting train at Brice's Cove sta
tlon the only passenger to alight among
It's tumble of gnarled coastwise trees and
It's huge phantastically piled rocks he felt
a strange sense of insupportable weight
IN his limbs, a whirring and confusion in
ms ears, dull beating and throbbing in
his head; and, though it was still
balmy and radiant morning, il seemed
that poetentous hush and twilight were
settling down upon him and closing him
IN, as II by the t1uttering piniOns of night
and rest, all alone there in the silent
old hamlet where he was born.
Just a glance or two through this sooth-
ing twilight which was swiftly coming on
revealed everything as he had LETT it more
than twenty years before with mother and
brother and waiting sweetheart behind A.;
his spirit big with resistless purpose, his
soul swelling with lofty motive, his heart
thrilling from what remained and what
surely must be waiting for Mary Brice
and Kirtley Breem, the other side of eff
fort and its noble gains-the brown road
way winding among the fir-covered crags
TO the drOning country nests among the
sweet New England hills; the tumbling
stream that sang itself asleep across the
shadows within the shadowy cove; the
Point" where, like frowning frigates
dragged to land, the huge, old habita-
tlons raised their great gables and pom
derous chimneys above the dark
masses of fir where for cen
turies the storming sea-captains-
| the Brices and the Breems-had dwelt
and where his father had never returned
| from the one voyage of wreck and death
which had transformed the lad, Kirtley
| Breem, into the brave admiral of the
helpless home feet; and beyond, with ten
| thousand memory whispers now, the
| everlasting witchery of the smiling bound
| less sea.
| To what measureless shores awakened
| recollection may instantly voyage amid
the thunderings of reality or the silences
| of dreams, no adequate human revelation
| has been made. What illlmitable geo
graphies of dream-life hope and
| efforts and do,Or and loss,
| perhaps of half-hinted rediscovery,
| kirtley Breem saw unrOlled before him
| in but single moment of time, can never
| be told or known.
But The clicking of the telegraph broke
| the spell upon him for a little. In this
| interval of material consciousness, he
! somehow entered the tiny, vine-covered
| station and wrote this brief dispatch:
! Elijah Whitaker, Esq, Motor Editorial
! Rooms, New York city. At Brices Cove sta
! ton. No plans, and subject to recall at your
| convenience. hIRTLE BREYEM
He leaned against the counter after he
had filed the message. Strangely, his
fingers had clutched into the wire guard
as If for support. Faint and far distant
! were the form and face and voice of the
matrOnlv, busting little woman who took
| the message and fee without looking up.
The clicking of the instrument began Ia
seem to him but as the echo back from
| some far continent. Its indistinct palpi.
| tatiOn, rather than sound, was suddenly
| wholly stilled The matronly little woman
at the instrument swung around in ner
! chair, sprang to her feet and thrust her
face far forward across the counter to the
white face at the window Her hands
! grasped wildly at his clutching fingers in
the wires.
"Kirtley !-Kirtley Breem! Is you, OF
! your ghost, at last.'
His lips scarcely moved, but there was
a half artlculate "Mary!N from between
them. And that was all; tor the man
| fell heavily and unconscious upon the
! station floor; and there al the threshold
of his bOyhood home and scenes. the
blessed vacation of mental night and its
rest had come, for time, to Kirtley
Breem at last.
1t was upwards of a month later when
the managing editor awoke He was lying
upon broad bed in the huge paror OF
the ancient Brice mansion The room
was high and long and wide and cool, and
| but for the outlandish relics of sailing in
! far-on seas hanging grOtesquely against
its panneled walls, it had the seeming tC
the one lying there of some pleasant
| cathedral nave. He knew the room. 1t
was where in the old days, his troth had
! been plighted with girlish Mary Brice.
His eyelids closed again, and he thought
he heard the whisperings of the breeze
through the rustling hrs, the chattering
and low songs of the birds within the
! shrubbery, even the measured throb of
! the sea against its granite walls. He
! had known and loved these sounds in his
| youthtide long ago.
BY and by it seemed as if he caught an.
other old-time sound within the room
the steady click of needle, somewhere
near his head
lie will look, he thinks, but his head
will not move; and then his unsteady
| glance aIights upon his own hand. 10 is
J so like q SkCictOn's that he irr,apinee ba