Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1909-02-11
"Hurrah!" said the colonel.


more fervor than the occasion would
appear to demand. But Mrs. Wright
looked grave.
''He has broken his arm" she said,
and then she suddenly laughed
The letter was from an officer of
Charles Mistley's ship, was very
humorous production, purporting to
be written at Charles dictation, but
interlarded here and there with OBJ
servations from the writer's own fer
tile brain. Although the news was
bad, 1t was so cheerfully impaired
that the bright side of it was alone
presented.
"At any rate" said Lena, when
the letter had been read aloud, "he
is coming"
Eyes, he is coming" replied her
mother. thoughtfully, almost anx-
iously.
Charles Mistley had been the only
member of the little circle who had
refused, persistently and continually,
to acknowledge any feeling of anx-
iety at his brothers silence. His
letters, written in the Mediterranean,
seemed to have caught the sunshine
and joyousness of that favored sea.
No thought Of anxiety, no suspicion
of doubt, was allowed to find place
in the closely written pages. More
than a year had elapsed since Win
yards departure, and the silence was
yet unbroken. War had at times
appeared imminent, and then from
mere lack of interest had lapsed into
peace again. Great storms had
passed over the world-revolutions,
murders and bloodshed-but Charles
Mistley's faith had never wavered.
The black line on Colonel Wright's
map had turned back; it had even
regained civilization, and yet no
word was forthcoming. Despite this,
Charlie laughed at anxiety. Worst
of all, VINEYARD S name had gradually
been dropped from conversation at
the house in Seymour street. The
topic was tacitly avoided as we avoid
the mention of those dear names
which gain no answer now
1t was to this that Charles Mistley
was coming home.
A few days after the arrival of the
letter he presented himself in Sey-
mour street. Although he had given
no notice of his coming, he was for
tunate enough to find every one at
home. There was, however, another
visitor in the room when he arrived.
This was a brother officer of Colonel
Wright's, who had stopped his cab
in passing through Seymour street
to call and leave two brace of part
ridges.
At last the old sportsman took his
leave, and the colonel accompanied
him to the door. When the latter
returned, the fact had apparently
slipped his memory that he had
shaken hands with Charlie before,
for he went through the ceremony
again, taking Charles left in his
right somewhat awkwardly.
How is the arm?" he asked, glanc-
ing at the sling, which the young
sailor somehow managed to wear SO
that it failed to attract attention.
"The arm is getting on splendidly,
thank you," he replied in rather a
constrained tone. The colonel had
left the door open, and now the young
sailor crossed the room to close it.
He stopped in order to see that the
bolt had acted properly, and then he
turned and faced Colonel Wright.
Il have news" he said, quietly, "of
VINEYARD"
"Ah," exclaimed the old soldier,
rising from the seat he had just re-
sumed Tell me all about it! News
at last! Thank Cod"
1T is a long story" began the
other, in his slow manner.
Then be quick with it, inter-
rupted Mrs. Wright, with an impa-
tient laugh. A little catching" sigh
of relief came from Lena's corner of
the room.
'Let us hear all about 1t, said the
colonel, pointing to a chair.
But Charlie appeared to prefer
standing. He took his station at the
corner Of the mantel piece, and while
he was speaking he fidgeted with the
ornaments there, taking them up and
setting them down again one after
the other. He told his story with
characteristic simplicity and short
ness.
The day before yesterday he
said, II was at the club at Plymouth,
reading a paper or something, when
a fellow came and said, Commander
Mistley,' in a casual sort of way, and
held out his hand. ! shook it, and
let him have it back, and then. he
said L am Henry Akryl | was none
the wiser, so / said Yes in a vague
way"
81 know exactly how you sa,u 1T,
interrupted Lena. with little laugh
"Well, it ultimately transpired that
he dined with us one day in the Per-
sian Gulf. He is an Eastern author
ity-writes books, or reads inscrip-
tions, or something. Then he told
me his story. In January he was at
Kizil Arvat. One day he was in the
bazaar. and, of course, was being pes
tered by the scum of the place, who
wanted him to buy rubbish Of every
description. He is the eort Of man
who never buys curiosities. and he