The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1921-09-01

was because Of what he told the gov
eminent about the French navy. I've
seen the Joy of life sob itself down TO
news Of his fathers death, and told
him the creditors were swallowing
what was left Of Playmore, what do
you think he didr
Old Christopher Dogan smiled; his
eyes twinkled with a mirth which had
more pain than gaiety.
"God love you, l know what he did.
He flung out his hands and said, Let
it gOl It's nothing to me- Michael,
have l said true?"
Michael nodded.
almost his very words you've used,
and he flung out his hands, as you
said"
AYE, he'll be changed; but they've
kept the clothes he had when he went
TO prison and he'll come out in them,
I'm thinking"
"Ah, mol" interrupted Michael.
"1hat can't be, for his clothes was
stole. Only a week ago he sent to me
for q suit of my own. i wouldn't have
him wear my clOthes-he gentle
man! 1t wasn't fitting. So sent him
suit | bought from shop, but he
wouldn't have il. He would leave
prison n poor man, as peasant in
peasants clothes. So he wrote TO me.
Here is the letter." He drew from his
pocket sheet Of paper, and spread
il out. "See-read il. All, well, never
mind" he added, as old Christopher
shook his head "Never mind, I'll
read 1t to you" Thereupon he read
the note. and added: "Well see him
of the Calhouns risin' high beyant
poverty and misfortune some day."
Old Christopher nodded.
"I'm glad Miles Calhoun was buried
on the hilltop above Playmore. He
had his day he lived his life. Things
went wrong with him, and he paid the
price we all must pay for work i'll
done"
There you're right, Christopher
Dogan, and / remember the day the
downfall began. 1t was when him
that's now Lord Mallow, governor of
Jamaica, came to summon Calhoun to
Dublin. Things were never the same
after that; but l well remember one
talk / had with Miles Calhoun just be-
fore his death: Michael he said TO
me, my family have had many ups
and downs, and some that bear my
name have been in prison before this,
co. It'll ,f
fair fight One Of your name may
be in prison, sir said /, but not for
killing a man out of fair fight. If
you believe he did, there's no death
bad enough for your He was silent
for a while; then at last he whispered
Mr.. Dyck's name, and said to me:
Tell him that as a Calhoun / love
him, and as his father l love him ten
times more. For, look you, Michael,
though we never ran together, but
quarreled and took our own paths, yet
we are both Calhouns, and my heart
is warm to him. If my son were a
thousand times criminal, neverthe-
less I would ache to take him by the
hand"
flush Look at the prison gate"
said his companion and stood up.
AS the gates of the prison opened,
the sun broke through the clouds and
gave brilliant phase to the scene.
Out of the gates there came slowly,
yet firmly, dressed in peasant clothes,
the stalwart but faded figure Of Dyck
Calhoun.
Terribly changed he was. He had
entered prison with the flush upon his
cheek, the tilt of young manhood in
his eyes, with hair black and hands
slender, and handsome. There was
no look of youth in his face now. 1t
was the face of a middle-aged man
from which the dew of youth had van
ished into which life's storms had
come and gone. Though the body was
held erect, yet the head was thrust
slightly forward, and the heavy eye
brows were like penthouse. The
eyes were slightly feverish, and round
the mouth there crept a smile, half
cynical, but little happy. All fresh
ness was gone from his hands. One
hung at his side, listless, corded; the
other dotted his hat in reply to the
salute Of his two humble friends.
AS the gates closed behind BIN he
looked gravely at the two men, who
were standing not foot apart. There
swept slowly into his eyes, enlarg.ng,
Frightening them, the glamor of the
Celtic soul. OF all Ireland, or all who
had ever known him, these two were
the only ones welcoming him into the
world again
Michael Clones, with his oval red
face, big nose, steely eyes and stead
fast bearing had in him the soul of
great kings. His hat was set firmly
on his head. His knee breeches were
neat. if coarse; his stockings were
clean. His feet were well shod, his
coat worn, and he had still the look
that belongs to the well-to-do peas
ant. He was q figure of courage and