Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1907-09-24

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dressed no question. Apparently un
conscious of the constable's observant
glance, he still continued to scrutinize
the great pile of brick and stone which
thrust its splendid campanile into the
warm sunshine of an April day.
Beneath the name was an inscription
"These are they which passed
through great tribulation."
A queer smile did not improve the
mans expression as he read the text.
"Tribulation! That's It," he contin-
ued. "Tve had ten years Oft. And II
started somewhere about the end OF
that fine entrance too. wonder where
Sailor is. and that boy. He's man
now, mebbe twenty-six or so, II he's
alive. Oh, 1 hope he's alive! 1 hope
he's rich and healthy and engaged or
married to nice young woman! If
I've managed to live in purgatory for
ten long years, u youngster like him
should be able to pull through with
youth and strength and bagful of
diamonds"
Without turning his head he became
aware that the policeman had halted
at some little distance.
"Of course I've got the mark on me"
said the man savagely to himself.
"He's spotted ME all right. Well I'll
let him see don't care for him or any
of his breed. 1 never did care, and it's
too late to begin now."
| He crossed the road, passed between
| two fine iron gates standing Hospitality
| open and paused at the door of the por.
ters lodge, where stalwart commits
sionnaire met him.
"Have you called to see one Of the
boys" said the official cheerfully.
"No; I'm stranger. It's good
many years since I was in these parts
before. In those days there used to
be news here and some warehouses
at the back, with Il few old shops
ooh, l expect so, but that is long be-
fore my time. The Mary Anson home
was founded ten years ago, and it took
| two years to build. It's one Of the fin
est charities in London. Would you
| like to look round?"
as that allowed?"
Certainly. Everybody Is welcome.
If you go in by that side door there,
you'll find an old man who has moth
ing to do but take visitors to the chief
| departments. Bless your heart, we
lose half our bOarders that way. Peo-
pie come here, see the excellences Of
the training we give and offer situa-
| tions to boys who are old enough"
The man appeared to be surprised by
the commissionnaire's affability. He
did not know that civilty and kind
ness were essential there if any en-
ployee would retain an excellent post.
He passed on. measuring the tessel-
lated court with backward sweep Of
the eye. In the sunlit street bc-ond
the arch stood the policeman. The WIS.,
itor grinned again, an unamiable and
sulky grin, and vanished.
The policeman crossed over.
"What is that chap after" he In
quired.
Nothing special" was the answer.
"Last time he was here the place was
news, he said"
"Unless l am greatly mistaken, he
has q ticket in his pocket"
"You don't say! Do you know him?'
"No. I'll look him up in the album
| in the station when 60 off duty"
"Well, he can't do any harm here.
O'Brien takes visitors over u regular
round, and, in any case, the man SEEM
ed to be honest enough in his curl
osity."
"You never can tell. They're up to
all sorts of dolges."
Thanks very much. I'll ring for
O'Brlen's relief and tell him to keep an
eye on them, as the old man Is blind as
| bat"
Meanwhile the stranger was being
conducted up wide staircase by I
somewhat tottering guide, who wore
on the breast Of his uniform the Cri-
mean and Indian mutiny medals.
As he hobbled in front he told, with
a strong Irish brogue, the familiar sto-
ry of the Mary Anson home-how it
fed, lodged and clothed 600 boys Of
British parentage born In the White
chapel district; how 1t taught them
| trades and followed their careers with
| fostering care; how 1t never refused a
meal or warm sleeping place to any
boy, no matter where he came from or
| what his nationality, provided he salts
fed the superintendent that he was
really destitute or needed his small
capital for trading purposes next day.
The great central hall where the GOO
| regular inmates ate their meals, the
dormitories, the Fairgrounds, the drill
shed and gymnasium, the workshops,
the library, the theater, were all point
ed out, but the big man with the star
ing eyes was not interested one jot In
any Of these things.
"Who was Nary Anson" he asked.
when the well worn tale was ended.
"and how did she come to build such q
| fine place here"
"Ah, We may well ak that" said old
O'Brien "Sure, she. didn't build it at
all at all. She was poor WILDLY livin'
alone-st wild one son, Mr.. Philip that Is
now. She was born lady, but she
KEN down In the worruId and died, for
lorn an forgotten, in little shanty in
Johnson's News, as 1t was called In
those days."
II remember 1t WELL"
"Ye do, eh? Mebbe ye know my ould
shop, the marine store near the en-
trance to the court?"
Eyes"
"Arrah, ye don't tell me so. Me eyes
ire gettin' wake, an can't make out
yer face. What's yer name"
"Oh, I'm afraid we didn't know one
another. I can't recall your name,
Though recollect the shop well enough
But, IL Mrs. Anson died so poor, how
was her son able to set this great house
on its legs? It must have cost a mint
Of money"
"Faix, ye're right. Quarter Of mil
lion wint afore there was a boy under
its roof. And they say 1t costs foO,OOC
year to keep 1t goin'. But Mr.. Philip
would find that and more to delight the
soul Of the mother that's dead. Sure
It's alsy for him, in way. Isn't he
the Diamond Kingw
1.-THE Diamond Kingi Why is he call
ed thatT
"D'ye name to say you nivver- Mar
alive, what part Of creation did ye live
in that ye didn't hear tell Of Mr.. Philip
Anson, the boy who discovered an ex