Year: 1873

|
again with little air of offended surprise.
| made movement to 60, observing
that always knew Dncie was an uncom-
monty brave fellow, but now had high
er opinion than ever of his courage. since
l saw him venture to brave so fiery
young lady as my cousin.


She smiled and blushed little at this,
dropping her face like lovely pink lily.
he only made gesture to stay me, and
said.


! II would rather you remained, Fred.
You compliment me by calling me brave
fellow. Miss Curtis paid me similar
compliment just now. but will tell
you my story, and then you shall tell me
what you would call the hero, and wheth-
er you could have any kind feelings for
such person.


He spoke to me, but his eyes were on
Helen; and saw her whiten and finch as
if some one had threatened her with q
blow


Like a fool | never guessed the reason
why.


| Two years ago, Ducie said, "a friend
OF mine and his servant were travelling in
South America. The former went abroad
tor his health-not that he was i'll when
the anecdote l am going to tell you took
place. You will please not make that ex-
cuse for him-he was perfectly well; and
he took his servant with him because the
lad was so attached to him, such faithful
true-hearted fellow that he could not make
mp his mind to leave him behind. 1t was
scorching hot weather, such heat as you
may expect in a country which lies on the
southern border of Brazil; and my friend
used to go every morning to bathe at the
PLAYA Ramirez, a large unsheltered bay
about mile and half from the town. A
beautiful stretch of sand it was; the best
bathng-place in the neighborhood, and
yet very dangerous one; for if you went
outside certain number of yards You
were liable to get entangled in one of two
or three conflicting currents, which in a
dead calm YOU could see curling about
within each other like harmless sea-ser-
pents. but which, ii they caught you in
their strong embrace, would assuredly car
ry you out into the Atlantic, unless you
happened to be strong and clever swim.
mer. e A


We'll, one morning my friend and
John Barton, his servant, went to bathe as
usual about seven o'clock-a late hour in
those climates. Miss Curtis, where most
people start at five, and where the sun is
almost strong enough to roast the brains
in your head by eight. As natural con-
sequence. they found themselves alone at
the plaza, having met most of the Monte
videans returning. All the better. Eng
lishmen are not fond of publicity, as
you're aware.


MY friend went in first. leaving Bar
ton to watch his clothes, lest any of the
small fry from the negro hamlet of wash
erwOmen above the bay should come
down and appropriate the articles; and
when he had sufficiently refreshed himself
and emerged on to the sands again, Bar.
ton went in for similar enjoyment.
ls ut could not possibly shave been five
minutes later. He had barely got into his
clothes when he heard piercing shrek
from the water. and turning, saw that
Barton had disappeared. The next mo-
ment, however, the lads head rose to the
surface about dozen rods from the shore,
and he cried out, Master, help The
cramp! Help before going down again
like stone.


"Of course you think the master dashed
in and dragged him out. 1t was not much
to do for this faithful fellow who had
served him so well, and left his home and
friends rather than leave him. He did no
such thing.


"lie hesitated. and his limbs turned to
ice, and every drop of blood in his body to
water. Like wave there rushed over
him the thought that he could not swim a
stroke, that he was encumbered with his
clothes, that Barton was stronger man
than himself. that once in the current with
drowning mans clutch at his neck, they
must both inevitably be swept out to sea
and perish. 1t was only moment; then
the lads head rose again. For one Sec
ond his eyes caught his masters face in
look of wild, despairing appeal; and mad
dened by the situation, my friend rushed
hot into the water, but up the bank,
shrieking for help TO the men who drive
the sand carts along the brow of the bay.


Before he had gone two yards-be-
fore they even heard him, Barton sank for
the third time. and-all was over.


"Sheer physical pain, spasm of uncon-
querable cowardice which he had never
felt before in his whole life, and which,
finding him utterly unprepared for it,
nature, had in that one miserable minute
cost the lite of his faithful servant. and
darkened his own forever.


There is not much more to tell you.
1t was Just the turn of the tide. Within
twenty minutes of the affair, the waves
flung poor Barton's dead body within
reach of the man who might have tried to
save his life. and did not. The poems
helped him to carry it up the bank and
Law it on the sand-cart, to bring it into
town. | believe it was buried decently
next day They told me so; hut before
then was i'll, raving with sunstroke
which"


YOU The word leaped from my lips
in cry of horror. "Ducie! you don't
mean that you have told us of-that you
were that"


lie turned and looked me in the face.


Yes, Fred, was that man; l, whose
pluck people are so fond of praising.n


There was dead silence. s. ~,


l wish that could tell you my feelings
during the two minutes that followed.
do not believe any audience ever found
themselves in so miserable position.
Even now when think of it feel the old
hot, sick sensation, and see the whole pic
ture rising before me--the old-fashioned
paneled room, with the wet wind rattling