The Tabor independent. [volume] (Tabor, S.D.) 1913-19??, 1915-03-25
CHAPTER In-(Continued).

Say" said Chetwynd, 'If you think
Mary Is too young to know things,
you're off our base"
my son, I'm sorry 20 hear you use
What do you mean, sir?" B..
She's onto things all right" an
nounced the boy eagerAi. she knows
Q good deal more h o think she
does. You ought to her some of the
words she uses"
Incredible" cried Mr.. Presbrey,
plainly distressed, and without knowing
what words she had used.
Horace studied the figures In the
carpet for a moment. You may ask"
but Martha had departed. ring the
bell, please, my dear"
The bell was tangled once more and
Martha came into the room, somewhat
out OF breath.
II hadn't got half way upstairs,
ma'am," size announced rather sharply.
You may bring Mary downstairs,
also, Martha" ordered Mrs. Blagden.
Fifteen minutes passed before Eric
and Mary, very wide awake and curl
GUS, presented themselves in the IL
brary. Eric, while dressing, had given
himself up to reckless speculation as
TO the cause OF the summons. On the
way downstairs he confided his conclu-
stons to the mystified Mary. His eyes
ASe~AC VANA NAO SNyOuS bORO NAAuL
lurked In his soul.
I'm bet they're going to send US off
to boarding school," he whispered. She
gave an ecstatic gasp, n clutched at
his arm.
"Oh. Eric. do you really think so? oh,
Il can't be true!"
We'll. it's something" he argued ex-
citedly. 1T must be important, or they
wouldn't be getting US out of bed"
Mary was of faint heart. She pulled
q wry face. And Mary's dark, flower
like face was Of an exquisite modelling
that could not be wrought into any
thing unpleasant to the eye, no matter
how hard she tried. Her very worst
faces" were fascinating. You would
have loved every inch Of her. believe
me.
"Tisn't boarding school," she de-
clared. THAT could wait till break
fast time. It's something else. Mr..
Presbrey's still there"
Eric ~pondered. "In bet it's about you
and me skipping Sunday school two
weeks ago-the day Of the fire down
In Front street.
Maybe someone's left US q fortune"
whispered she, just as he a about to
turn the knob of the library door. "Oh,
my! What II someone hast"
Ertc's Gee" was q great potential
declaration of resolve.
The Blagden library, like all other
rooms In the big house, was stiffly re-
spectacle. The rows of books, in the
original cloth bindings, covered the
wall space on four sides Of the room
from floor to ceiling. The glass door
Of each section was locked, and Mr..
Blagden carried the key in his trousers
pocket. The only portion Of the vol
umes accessible to the reader was the
title stamped on the back. Dust was
not the only thing that was denied ac-
cess to the shelves. Most Of the vol
umes were first editions and uncut, and
they possessed a value that was no to
be disturbed by the ordinary mind.
Sometimes Mr.. Blagden himself looked
into them. but to no one else was this
privilege extended. There was no book
there, you may be sure, that the most
innocent boy or girl could not have
read without contamination. They were
q particularly clean lot Of Items to
use the professional term.
Once, by mistake, an English edition.
In IL volumes, Of the Memoirs Of Casa
nova Joined the solemn and sedase
company, quite without discussion, for
the simple cas- that the master of
h house had taken the books in part
payment Of a debt incurred by a real
literary chap, who had been in college
with him. The erotic Casanova re-
NAMED there for many months, touch
Ing hides with q carefully bound set of
Ruskin. before someone who knew
came along to enlighten Mr.. Blagden
a. TO their -salaciousness. The owner,
aghast, would have cast the offending
volumes into the fire had not MS
friend advised him that a good set of
Casanova would bring something like
800 II the right party" came along.
80 Mr.. Blagden kept them q veal long
er, waiting for h right party to come
along. He sold them at last to the
cashier in his bank, and ever afterward
looked upon that gentleman as a per-
son OF perverted taste and not to be
wholly trusted.
But 1 am diverging. The two Mid
thornes, on entering the room, paused
irresolute just inside the door, gazing
In no little dismay upon the our stern
visaged persons ranged about the long
library table. Chetwynd had partially
effaced himself by sitting upon the
OF his back In the great arm
"Close the door, Eric" said his uncle.
Now, come here. You, too, Mary" The
children approached timorously. lie
see your lip. You tumbled off the
fence2"
Eric fell into the trap. Yes SIR" he
replied.
There was a moment Of silence, while
AOAA - VI SJSS ASAAo
fixed the boy.
Eric, 1t is wrong to tell fibs," said
his aunt, in hurt tones.
The boy saw his mistake. He felt a
hot, furious wave Of humiliation shoot
by his throat and up to his brain.
TT isn't a fib," he cried stoutly. II
did fall off the fence last week."
You were attempting to deceive u.s."
declared his uncle, fastening his cold
grey eyes upon the boys face. 1T Is
quite as bad as lying. Why could you
not have told the truth, and said that
Chetwynd struck your"
because I'd soone lie than tell
tales" declared Eric boldly. MY moth
err used to punish me If I came in cry
ing and told her some boy had hit me
and father always said I ought to be a
man and fight back instead OF -"
THAT will do, that will do" inter
rupted Mr.. Blagden in some haste. Mr..
Presbrey coughed, with q delicate re-
gard for the feeling sof his unfortunate
friends.
Poor boy, poor boy" he sighed. LAS
the twig is bent!"
"Er-ahem! Your aunt and I have
come to the conclusion, children, that
Il Is high time you were brought to a
realization Of what Is before you. 1t
IL not a pleasant task. my lad-not a
pleasant task"
Far from It," said Mr.. Presbrey.
"Sit here on h sofa, both Of you.
aaN t.