The San Juan islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, 1913-02-28

- along with his wife and his boy
an only son. They say It was g
great pet at first, but it grew sulky
With age. and finally was kept chained
in the stables
"One Christmas eve, just as DUSK
was closing in, de Laune was trot-
ting down the drive-hes had Deen
hunting at a distant meeting-wnen
he heard a fearful screaming from the
lower gardens towards the cliff. He
mt spurs to his horse, and In two
minutes was galloping through the
shadows of the fir avenue towards
the sea. All Of a sudden his horse
pulled up dead, threw him. and bolt
ed. When he got to his feet-ne
wasn't hurt, luckily-what did he see
but the body Of his son, lying with
his throat torn out, and the white
wolf standing over him, the broken
chain dangling at its neck.
"They say he was giant, this
Philip de Laune, and Of very wild
and passionate temper. Anyway, he
went straight for the beast, and,
though he was dreadfully mauled. he
killed it-Heaven knows how-wlth
his bare hands. That's why the pres
ent branch of the family came by
the place. Pretty grewsome, isn't
it?"
"a strange story" 1 told him; "but
why must it be kept secret from the
ladies?"
Because the beast walks. man.
There's not a laborer in Norfolk who
would go into the lower gardens on
any night of the year, much less on
Christmas eve"
my good Talman, do you mean
to say you believe this?"
II don't know-but l wouldn't go
into the lower gardens tonight, If l
could walk round Think of 1t,
Phillips, the white shape with the
bloody jaws lurking in the shadows!
Ugh-let's go and get cocktail be-
fore"
Il beg your pardon, sir, but the
baron is looking for you"
He was tall, hatchet-faced fellow,
with that mixture of respect and dig
nifty that marks the well-trained Brit
ish manservant. Upon the soft pile
of the rugs we had not heard his
footsteps.
He asked me to find you. sir" he
continued, addressing himself to me
with slight bow HE is waiting in
his room"
AS he preceded us thither, Talman
whispered that Henderson-meanin
thereby our conductor-was Stems
valet, and very clever fellow by all
accounts.
The baron, fat, high-colored and
hearty, welcomed me with an open
sincerity of pleasure well calculated
to place guest at his ease. A re-
markable old boy was Baron Steen.
He always seemed to carry with him
which those to whom he spoke were
lost and blinded out OF their better
judgment He was kind enough to
pay me some compliments upon my
water-color work. Whatever else can
be brought against him, no one can
deny that he was sound Judge of
art.
The dinner passed pleasantly
enough that night, with free and wit
ty conversation. Our bachelor host
was in his most humorous mood,
keeping those about him in shouts
of laughter. Facing him, at the ex-
tremity of the long table, was his
secretary, thin, melancholy youth
of about four-and-twenty. My fair
neighbor told me that Terry, as he
was named, had been intended for
the church, but that his father, having
ruined himself on the stock ex-
change, had persuaded the baron to
give him work. He was devoted to
his patron, which, she smiled. was
not surprising, seeing that he must
be well on his way to rebuilding the
fortune his father had lost
I am not an ardent gambler, and
when l do play l admit preference
for games in which brains are of
some account. The roulette table
soon bored me, and after I had seen
the last of a few pounds, contented
myself by watching the changing for
tunes of the rest of the party. Just
before eleven the baron, who had
parted with considerable sums of
money in perfect good humor, excused
himself, and before the rest had set
tied down to the table again, l slipped
away to my bedroom, where a selec-
ton of novels and favorite pipe Of
fered more congenial attractions.
The room was Of considerable size
and majestically' furnished. It was on
the first floor at the extremity of the
right-hand wing, and looked out over
the gardens on, the cliff A branch;
road from the main drive ran be-
meath the windows to an entrance at
the back of the house.
They had steam heat on the upper
floors, and the high temperature of.
my room had drawn stale and heavy
odors from the tapestry on the walls
and the ancient hangings that fringed
the huge four-post bedstead. 1t was
the atmosphere of an old clothes
shop on a July day. I pulled back
the curtains, opened the window and
thrust out my head for a mouthful OF
fresh air