The farmers' union. (Memphis, Mo.) 1891-1895, 1894-06-21

his white cravat, which he thought
had become little loOsened. He de-
scended with slow and rickety steps,
pausing now and then, for he was full
of q novel emotion which rendered ex-
ertiOn difficult.
The man at the door greeted him
heartily. He was tall and in the prime
Of manhood-forty-fve, perhaps. or
little more. A great. dark-brown
beard streamed around his sharp,
bronzed face. The deep gray eyes con-
vincing with their honesty, and the
sinewy form, 1.-the and wiry. but broad
strength and power of endurance of no
ordinary kind.
Again, as the musician approached,
he imagined that he saw q second
figure dart away into the gloom and
vanish there. But the thought was
merely momentary, AMI he knew his
eycsight to be so treacherou, that he
smiled q: himself for believing to SEQ
what was not there.
odd gentleman" said the stranger,
"the air of that good old tune once
made me strike fellow-being down in
murderous rage. Oh, don't shy of. It
has just contrary effect now. Yes,
when once on time heard a comrade
singing the words OF that hymn. I
drove q pickaxe into his brain and was
glad to believe that had killed him."
What could have impelled you to
such dreadful crime:" And the old
man shrunk back in horror from q
creature who 50 calmly and coolly men,
toned his own guilt.
But the stranger did not look like an
assassin. for he had frank eyes and a
kindly voice.
1T has given me great pleasure, sir, "
said the American. TO hear yOu play
that good cid psalm so beautifully. [
have not been long in England AMI l
am stranger in these parts, but feel
quite at home with any body who can
play for me that lovely melody. If you
will do me the honor, sir, to come to
the George, where lam staying, and to
drink bottle OF port with mo, or
sherry, or Madeira, if you prefer it, l
shall feel proud AMI tlattered.
You are too god, sir" the old man
replied, after moments reflection,
smiling feebly. Il thank you, and 1
will accept your offer.
For awhile they walked in silence
along the leafy lane, with its arch of
beech and elm and oak and its border OF
fern and of butte. cups, which led from
the church to the village, and the old
man fancie that he could see his COM
pani on look back, as if 'earphing for
somebody who was following them. 1t
mattered not to him, he thought, and
whoever the stranger might be he
looked honest enough and gentlemanly
enough to warrant that his acquaint-
anceship might be accepted by so poor
a person as the village organist.
HNnnn i. cnouoon Is, ,,o<.O
asked the American as they strolled
along.
The old man stared and stopped
How do you know" he inquired
family.
IL know it," retorted the bearded
man, with smile, because asked at
the inn; SO you need not be astonished
a. my fullness of information. That is
q fine organ that you have there, Mr..
Spencer. AMI a lovely church. Such
church as that would be worth a lot of
money if it could 30 taken out West
and put up in the Place where l have
been living"
The simp'e word West" vib ated
holly in the Old mans ear.
You mean cut in Western America
amid the prairies and the mountains; is
that it," he asked efficiently.
Yes, that is it, replied the other.
"In Arizona-that is my home, though
l don't stay there all the year round
I've been living there these twenty
years past, off and ON. and an old Nor
man church like yours here-why. it
would set the folks crazy-the women.
they'd kiss the ground. But it can't
be, of course. These things don't grow
in a few years, any more than an oak
gets to be Il mighty tree in the same
space of time"
The organist gazcd in mild inquiry
and establishment at the American.
Whats queer that YOU see in me, old
gentleman:' the stranger asked.
1t seems strange to me. MIR. Spen-
Ger replied. after single moment of
thought. that one man could be at the
Same time !; lover Of music of churches
and a slayer of s. fellow-crcature.
All. but | am not both of those
things at the same time. 1t WIS twelve
years ago that | committed the crime. "
Twelve years ago." Mr.. Spencer
cried out: why. it was twelve Years
ago that my son Charles died in Amer
lea. You knew my name. 1t was he
whom You murdered.
The old man staggered and would
have fallen if he had not been caught
in the strangers arms.
CHAPTER. IL.
The American supported Mr.. Spen-
Ger to a seat. gently and tenderly. and
famed him with 4 hat until he had re-
covered himself.
Wait till you hear my story" said
the stranger. before you condemn me.
or Judge me a. all. Come along to the
inn"
They soon reached the quaint old
| ho>telry. with its rubbed front inter
sected by black oak leans and half
covered with lacy curtain of travel
ers' JOY and ciematis. 1t was snug.
old-fashioned place. and the private
parlor was fitted with all the broad,
spacious, and massive comforts which
the substantial leather covered oak
furniture OF the early Gregorian period
could bring.
The little man was seated in bi j.
arm chair by tae bread diamond paned
| <hcr,rh hicb th, VIOLA 4