The citizen-Republican. (Scotland, Bon Homme County, S.D.) 1???-19??, 1908-09-10
My the beginning of it. This was FRI

day.
On the Sunday. a rumor of the order
having gone abroad, a larger congrega-
ton han usual streamed across the
chase to church, prepared to hear Sorne
new thing. They were disappointed.
Sir Anthony stalked in. as of old,
through the double ranks of people
waiting at the door to receive him, n
after him Ferdinand and his wife n
P%etronilla and Baldwin and every ser
want from the house save a cook or W
and the porter. The church was full.
Seldom has such a congregation been
seen in it. But all passed as of old.
Father Carey's han shook indeed, and
his voice quavered, but he went
| through the ceremony of the mass. and
all vas lone in Latin. A little change
woul have been pleasant. some
thought. Bat no n In this country
place on the borders of the forest held
very strong views. No bishop had come
hereto hunting to Cotton End. No abbey
existed to excite dislike by its extrav-
agance, or by Its license. or by the
swarm of ragged idlers 1t supported.
Father Carey was the most harmless
and kindest of men. The villagers did
not care one way or the other. To them
Sir Anthony was king, Inc il any n
felt tempted to Interfere the old
knights face. as he gazed steadfastly
at the brass efflgy OF a Cludde who had
diic III spain uSllAiiS o5oiAio lklC
Moors. warned the meddler to be silent.
And so on hat Sunday all went well.
But some one must have told tales. for
early in the week there came a strong
letter of rernonstrance from the sheriff,
who was an old friend Of Sir Anthony,
and Of his own free will, I fancy, would
have winked But he was committed
to the Protestants and bound to stand
or fall with them. The cholertc knight
sent back an answer by the same mes
senger. The sheriff replied, the knight
Notwithstanding his brother always at
his elbow. The upshot Of the corre-
spondence was an announcement on
the part of the sheriff that he should
send his officers to the next service to
see that the queens order was obeyed
and a reply on the part of Sir Anthony
that he should as certainly put the men
in the duck pond. Some inkling of this
state of things got abroad n spread
as a September fire flies through a
wood, so that there was like to be such
a congregation at the next service to
witness the trial Of strength as would
throw the last Sundays gathering alto
gether into the shade
1t was clear at last that Sir Anthony
himself did not think that there was
the end Of 1t, for on that Saturday
afternoon he took a remarkable walk.
He called P%etronilla after dinner n
babe her get her hood and como with
him, and the girl, who had seen so little
of her father In the last month, and
who. what with rumors and fears and
surmises. was eating her heart out,
obeyed him with JOY. It was a fine
frosty day near the close OF December.
Str Anthony led the way over the plank
bridge which CLOSED the moat in the
rear Of the house and tramped steadily
through the home farm toward a hill
called the Woodlands View, which
marked the border of the forest. He
did not talk. but neither was he sunk
in reverie. AS he entered each field he
stood and scanned 1t, at times merely
rnuttering a few words. such as, THE
three acre piece! My father inclosed
it," or, That is where Ferdinand killed
the old mare!" or. The best land for
on this side OF the house!" The
hill climbed, he stood a long time gaz-
ing over h landscape, cycling first the
fields n meadows which stretched
away from his feet toward the house,
the latter. as seen from this point, los
ing all its statelfness in the mass Of
stacks n rfcks and barns and gran
aries which surrounded It. Then his
eyes Travelled farther in the same line
to the broad expanse of woodland,
Cotton Chase-through which the road
along a ridge as straight as an
arrow TO the right were more fields,
and here and there amid them a home-
stead with Its smaller ring Of stacks
and barns. When he turned to the left,
HIS eyes,, passing over the shoulders Of
hill and Mill Head copse and
hill, all bu1warks of the forest.
followed the streak of river as 1t wound
away toward Stratford through Iusci-
Gus flood meadows. here growing vida
and there narrow as the woodland ad-
or retreated.
1T is all NINE" he said as much to
himself as to the girl. ct is all Cfudde
as far as o can see.'
There were tears in her eyes, and she
had to Runaway to conceal them. Why
she hardly knew. for he said nothing
and he walked down the hill dry
eyed, but all the way home he stfIl
looked sharply about, noting this or
that. as If he were bidding farewell to
the old familiar objects. the spinneys
and copses-aye. and the very gates !
and gaps and the hollow trees where
the owls built. 1t was the saddest and
most pathetic walk the girl had ever
Yet there was nothing said.
(Cent,nued Mex. Weekl
Conniption Fit.
From the New York Press
When George told Anna that she must