Year: 1877

might become. Alb, never Indian
monarch passed out of life amid
such splendor and msgni6cance as
this which should attend Barton
Moore's dying hour. Dick laughed
in savage glee, and sinking down
in the shadows, awaited for the
quiet and hush Of deeper night.


Meanwhile Barton Moore had
reached home, and giving his horses
in charge Of the stable-boy, went
at once into the sitting room, which
was now deserted. The lamps
were unlit, and he could hear the
soft music of his wife's voice and
the silvery prattle Of children in
their chamber. AS he stood by the
window watching the shadows fall,
and listening to the children's hap
py voices, strangely tender mood
stole over him. The Christmas
time was near, and there in the
twilight his thoughts went back
over the bitter past. 1t was hard
path he had trodden, striving to
atone for fathers sins, striving to
make the world bright and happy
for the one human being who low
ed and cared for him, his invalid
sister Mary, till after few years
of struggle and toll she went away


with the angels one solemn Christ
mas time and left him alone. He
remembered one Christmas, the
saddest of many sad ones, when
there had been no money in his
purse to buy the dinner, and Mary


must be denied her promised gift,
and as they shivered side by side
in the cold and lonely room, there


had come a sudden clash of bells at
the door, and some one came bound
ing up the steps, and wrapping
Mary in warm shawls, carried her
ont in his arms as If she had been
a babe, and placed her in the wait
ing sleigh; and then when Batron,
too bewildered to Think, had taken


his place by her side, away the
feet steeds few to the great house
on the hill. Was there ever a din


ner like that which followedi I or an


evening like that one spent by the
blazing fire, with song and story


and mirth and gladness Z then the


ride home in the soft moonlight /;


the bells chanting tenderly in the


steeples, the crisp snow cracking


beneath the horses feet, the small


arms clasping close the choice gifts


which had been pressed upon them.
All, It was . glorious time, day


that Mary never forgot, the bright


est in her checkered life; and to
whom was she indebted for it all


To whom hut brave, true, gener-


ous-hesrted Dick Selbyi


Then Barton Moore remembered


in the sad days which followed, IL


was Dick who brought fresh fiow-


ers and fruits to the poor invalid.


and as the days grew brighter and


warmer and the spring came back
over the land, took her for pleas
ant rides in the green flowery coun-


try. 1t was Dick who brought her
the books she loved and was never
weary of reading to her, or singing


in his rich, sweet toned voice
the hymns she longed to hear


Very tender and true had he been
, to her in those earlier days, and
, how did Barton Moore repay the
debit


Howl A low moan broke from
, his lips as conscience with unrelent-
ing rigor passed the question upon
him. He knew, none better, whose
hand 1t was that had closed one by
one every avenue through which
, Dick had sought escape from his
, wretched lot, and tonight he had
, passed him by in utter scorn as
! one unworthy even of his righte-
Gus glance to rest upon; while in a
miserable hut by the riverside,
Jennie, the woman he had once
! loved so truly and fondly, lay dying
Of neglect and starvation.


Was II yet too late to undoe. his
worki Just then o form came
, slowly up the hill and along the
road beneath the shadow of the
/ naples; q thin, spectral form how
} changed from the handsome care