The Gall of the
Cumberlands
By Charles Neville Buck
With Illustrations
from Photographs of Scenes
in the Play
iCoyjiight. ism, by V.'. J. Wai it CoJ
SYNOPSIS.
On Misery creek Sally Wilier finds
George l.escott, a landscape painter, un
conscious. Jesse l'urvy olf ih Hollman
' clan has been shot and Samson Is sub
peeted of the crime. , Samson denies it.
The shooting breaks the truce In the
Hollnmn-Soiith feud. Jim lloilman hunts
with bloodhounds the man who shot Pur
vy. The bloodhounds lose the trail at
Bplcer South's door. Lescott discovers
artistic ability !n Samson. While sketch
ing with Kescott on the mountain. Tama
rack discovers Samson to a Jeerinx crowd
of mountaineers. Samson thrashes him
and denounces him as the "truce-buB-tr"
who shot Purvy. At Wile Mc
Cager's dance Samson tells the South
clan that he Is going to leave the
mountains. Lcscott goes home to New
York. Samson bids Spicer and Sally
farewell and follows. In New York Sam
eon Btudies art and learns much of city
ways. lrennie l.escott persuades Wil
fred Horton. her dilettante lover, to do a
man's work in the world. Prompted by
her love, Sally teaches herself to write.
Horton throws himself into the business
world and becomes well hated by preda
tory financiers and politicians. At a Bo
hemian resort Samson meets William Far
hlsh. sporty social parasite, and Horton's
enemy.
CHAPTER X Continued.
Acrienne Lescott nodded. Her eyes
ver- sweetly sympathetic.
"It's the hardship of the conditions,"
Ehe said, softly. "Those conditions
will change."
A man had come out onto the ver
unda from the inside, and was ap
proaching the table. He was immac
Ujatjsly groomed, and came forward
with the deference of approaching a
tltrcne, yet as one accustomed to ap
proi.ching thrones. His smile was that
t pleased surprise.
The mountaineer recognized Far
bjsh, and, with a quick hardening
of the ,face, he recalled their last
meeting. If Farbish should presume
to renew the acquaintanceship under
taeye circumstances, Samson meant
t ilse from his chair, and strike him
ln';Jie face. George Lescott's sister
cou'd not be subjected to such meet
ings. Yet, it was a tribute to his ad
vancement in good manners that he
dreaded making a scene in her pres
ence, and, as a warning, he met Far
fbish's pleasant smile with a look of
shlmk and studied lack of recognition.
The circumstances out of which Far
vtish might weave unpleasant gossip
-did not occur to Samson. That they
"were together late in the evening, un
tchaperoned, at a road house whose
"refutation was socially dubious, was
it thing he did not realize. But Far
bish was keenly alive to the possibil
ities of thr situation. He chose to
"construe tt Kentuckian's blank ex
pression as annoyance at being dis
covered, a sentiment he could readily
understand. Adrienne Lescott, follow
ing her companion's eyes, looked up,
and to the boy's astonishment nodded
to the newcomer, and called him by
name.
"Mr. Farbish," she laughed, with
mock confusion and total innocence
of the fact that her words might have
meaning, "don't tell on us."
"I never tell things, my dear lady,"
said the newconjer. "I have dwelt
too long in conservatories to toss
pebbles. I'm afraid, Mr. South, you
have forgotten me. I'm ITarbisb, and I
aad the pleasure of meeting you"
he paused a moment, then with a
pointed glance added "at the Man
hattan club. wa3 it not?"
"It was not," said Samson, prompt
ly. Farbish looked his surprise, but
was resolved to see no offense, and,
after a few moments of affable and,
it must be acknowledged, witty con
versation, withdrew to his own table.
"Where did you meet that man?"
demanded Samson, fiercely, when he
and the girl were alone again.
"Oh, at any number of dinners and
dances. His sort is tolerated for some
reason." She paused, then, looking
very directly at the Kentuckian, in
quired, "And where did you meet
him?"
"Didn't you hear him say the Man
hattan club?"
"Yes, and I knew that he was ly
ing." "Yes, he was!" Samson spoke, con
temptuously. "Never mind where it
was. It was a place I got out of when
I found out who were there."
The chauffeur came to announce
that the car was ready, and they
went out. Farbish watched them with
a smile that had in it a trace of the
eardonic.
The career of Farbish had been an
interesting one in its own peculiar and
unadmirable fashion. With no advan
tages of upbringing, he had neverthe
less so cultivated the niceties of social
usage that his one flaw was a too
great perfection. He was letter-perfect
where one to the manor born
might have slurred some detail.
He was witty, handsome in bis sat
urnine way, and had powerful friends
in the world of fashion and finance.
That he rendered services to his
plutocratic patrons, other than the
repartee of his dinner talk, was a thing
vaguely hinted in club gossip, and
that these services were not to his
credit had mor th ouc Lau con-ftetured
When Hortou had begun hi cru
sade against various abuses, he had
cast a suspicious eye on all matters
through which he could trace the trail
of William Farbish, and now, when
Farbish saw Horton, he eyed him with
an enigmatical expression, half-quizzical
and half-malevolent.
After Adrienne and Samson had dis
appeared, he rejoined his companion,
a stout, middle-aged gentleman of
florid complexion, whose cheviot cut
away and reposeful waistcoat covered
a liberal embonpoint. Farbish took
his cigar from his lips, and studied
its ascending smoke through lids half
closed and thoughtful.
"Singular," he mused; "very singu
lar!" "What's singular?" impatiently de
manded his companion. "Finish, or
don't start."
"That mountaineer came up here
as George Lescott's protege," went
on Farbish, reflectively. "He came
fresh from the feud belt, and landed
promptly in the police court. Now,
in less than a year, he's pairing off
with Adrienne Lescott who, every
one supposed, meant to marry Wilfred
Horton. This little party tonight is,
to put it quite mildly, a bit uncon
ventional." The stout gentleman Baid nothing,
and the other questioned, musingly:
"By the way, Bradburn, has the
Kenmore Shooting club requested Wil
fred Horton's resignation yet?"
"Not yet. We are going to. He's
not congenial, since his hand is raised
against every man who owns more
than two dollars." The speaker owned
several million times that sum. This
meeting at an out-of-the-way place
had been arranged for the purpose
of discussing ways and means of curb
ing Wilfred's crusades.
"Well, don't do it."
"Why the devil shouldn't we? We
don't want anarchists in the Ken
more." After awhile, they sat silent, Farbish
smiling over the plot he had just de
vised, and the other man puffing with
a puzzled expression at his cigar.
"That's all there is to it," summar
ized Mr. Farbish, succinctly. "If we
can get these two men, South and
Horton, together down there at the
shooting lodge, under the'proper condi
tions, they'll do the rest themselves, I
think. I'll take care of South. Now,
it's up to you to have Horton there
at the same time."
"How do you know these men have
not already met and amicably?" de
manded Mr. Bradburn.
"I happen to know it, quite by
chance. It is my business to know
things quite by chance!"
Indian summer came again to
Misery, flaunting woodland banners of
crimson and scarlet orange, but to
Sally the season brought only heart
achy remembrances of last autumn,
when Samson had softened his stoi
cism as the haze had softened the hori
zon. He had sent her a few brief let
ters not written, but plainly printed.
He selected short words a3 much
like the primer as possible, for no
other messages could she read. There
were times in plenty when he wished
to pour out to her torrents of feeling,
and it was such feeling as would have
carried comfort to her lonely little
heart. He wished to tell frankly of
what a good friend he had made, and
how this friendship made him more
able to realize that other feeling
his love for Sally. There was in his
mind no suspicion as yet that these
two girls might ever stand in conflict
as to the right-of-way. But the letters
he wished to write were not the sort
he jared to have read to the girl by
the evangelist-doctor or the district
school teacher, and alone she could
have made nothing of them. However,
"I love you" are easy words and those
he always included.
The Widow Miller had been ailing
for months, and, though the local
physician diagnosed the condition as
being "right porely," he knew that the
specter of tuberculosis which stalks
through these badly lighted and ven
tilated houses was stretching out its
fingers to touch her shrunken chest.
This had meant that Sally had to fore
go the evening hours to 3tudy, be
cause of the weariness that followed
the day of nursing and household
drudgery. Autumn seemed to bring
to her mother a. slight improvement,
and Sally could again sometimes
steal away with her slate and book,
to sit alone on the big jowlder, and
study.
She would not be able to write that
Christmas letter. There had been too
many interruptions in the self-imparted
education, but some day she would
write. There would probably be
time enough. It would take even Sam
son a long while to become an artist.
One day, as she was walking home
ward from her lonely trysting place,
she met the battered-looking man who
carried medicines in his baddlebags
and the Scriptures in his pocket, and
who practiced both form3 of healing
through the, hills. The old man drew
down his nag, and threw one leg over
the poni.nel.
"Evenin', Sally," he greeted.
"Evenin', Brother Spencer. How air
ye?"
"Tol'ablc-, thank ye, Sally." The
body-and-soul mender studied the girl
awhile in silence, and then said blunt
ly: "Ye've done broke right smart, in
the last year. Anything the matter
with ye?"
She shook her head, and laughed.
It was an effort to laugh merrily,
but the ghost of the old instinctive
blitheness rippled into it.
"I've jest come from old Spicer
South's," volunteered the doctor.
"He's ailin pretty cona!:Vb8, these
days."
"What's the matter with Tnc Spi-
' cer?" demanded the girl, la genuine
anxiety. Every one along Misery
called the old man Unc' Spicer.
. "I can't jest make out." Her in
former spoke slowly, and his brow cor
rugated into something like sulleu
ness. "He ain't jest to say sick. Thet
is, his organs seems all right, but he
don't 'pear to have no heart fer nothin.
and his victuals don't tempt him none.
He's jest puny, thet's all."
"I'll go over thar, an' see him.", an
nounced the girl. "I'll codk a chicken
thet'll tempt him."
The girl spent much time after that
at the house of old Spicer South, and
her coming seemed to waken him into
a fitful return of spirits.
"I reckon, Unc' Spicer," suggested
the girl, on one of her first visits,
"I'd better send fer Samson. Mebby
hit mout do ye good ter see him."
The bid man was weakly leaning
back on his chair, and his eyes were
vacantly listless; but, at the sugges
tion, he straightened, and the ancient
fire came again to his face.
"Don't ye do hit," he exclaimed, al
most fiercely. "I knows ye meau hit
kindly, Sally, but don't ye neddle in
my business."
"I I didn't 'low ter meddle," fal
tered the girl.
"No, little gal." His voice softened
at once into gentleness. "I knows
ye didn't. I didn't mean ter be short
answered with ye either, but thar's
jest one' thing I won't low nobody
ter do an' thet's ter send fer Samson.
He knows the road home, an", when
he wants ter come, he'll find the door
open, but we hain't a-goin' ter send
atter him."
Wilfred 4Iorton found himself that
fall in the position of a man whose
course lies through rapid3, and for
the first time in 'tis life his pleasures
were giving precedence to business.
Horton was the most-hated and most
acmired man in New York, but the
men who hated and snubbed him were
his own sort, and the men who ad
mired him were those whom he would
never meet, and who knew him only
through the columns of penny papers.
Powerful enemies had ceased to laugh,
and begun to conspire. He must be
silenced! How, was a mooted ques
tion. But, in some fashion, he must
be silenced. Society had not cast
him out, but society had shown him
in many subtle ways that he was no
longer her favorite. He had taken a
plebeian stand with the masses. Mean
while, from various sources, Horton
had received warnings of actual per
sonal danger. But a't these he had
laughed, and no hint of them had
reached Adrienne's ears.
One evening, when business had
forced the postponement of a dinner
engagement with Miss Lescott, he
begged her over the telephone to ride
with him the following morning.
"I know you are usually asleep when
I'm cut and galloping," he laughed,
"but you pitched me neck and crop
into this hurly-burly, and I shouldn't
have to lose everything. Don't have
your horse brought. I want you to
try out a new one of mine."
"I think," she answered, "that early
morning is the best time to ride. I'll
meet you at seven at the Plaza en
trance." They had turned the upper end of
the reservoir before Horton drew his
mount to a walk, and allowed the reins
to hang. They had been galloping
hard, and conversation had been im
practicable. "I suppose experience should have
taught me," began Horton, slowly,
"that the most asinine thing in the
world is to try to lecture you, Drennie.
But there are times when one must
even risk your delight at one's dis
comfiture." "I'm not going to tease you this
morning," she answered, docilely. "I
like the horse too well and, to be
frank, I like you too well!"
"Thank you," smiled Horton. "As
usual, you disarm me on the verge
1 '
"Don't You Do Hit."
of combat. I had nerved myself for
ridicule."
"What have I done now?" Inquired
the girl, with an innocence which
further disarmed him.
"The queen can do no wrong But
even the queen, perhaps more par
ticularly the queen, must give thought
to what people are saying."
"What are people saying?"
"The usual unjust things that are
said about women in society. You are
being constantly seen with an uncouth
freak who is scarcely a gentleman,
however much he may be a man. And
malicious tongues are wagging."
The girl stiffened.
"I won't spar with you. I know that
MiJ
I'll,
you are alluding to Samsou South,
though the description is a 6'.ander.
I never thought it would be necessary
to say such a thing to you, Wilfred,
but you are talking like a cad."
The young man flushed.
"I laid myself open to that," he said,
slowly, "and I suppose I should have
expected it. God knows I hate cads
and snobs. Mr. South is simply, as
yet, uncivilized. Otherwise, he would
hardly take you, unchaperoned, to
well, let us say to ultra-bohemian re
sorts, where you are seen by such
gossip-mongers as William Farbish."
"So, that's the specific charge, is
it?"
"Yes, that's the specific charge. Mr.
South may be a man of unusual talent
and strength. But he has done what
no other man has done with you. He
has caused club gossip, which may
easily be twisted and misconstrued."
"Do you fancy that Samson Smith
could have taken me to the Wigwam
road-house if I had not cared to go
with him?"
The man shook his head.
"Certainly not! But the fact that
you did care to go with him indicates
an influence over you which is new.
You have not sought the bohemian
and unconventional phases of life with
your other friends. There is no price
under heaven I would not payt for
your regard. None the less, I repeat
that, at the present moment, I can
see only two definitions for this moun
taineer. Either he is a bounder, or
else he is so densely ignorant and
churlish that he is unfit to associate
with you."
"I make no apologies for Mr. South,"
she said, "because none are needed.
He is a stranger in New York, who
knows nothing, and cares nothing
about the conventionalities. If I chose
to waive them, I think it was my right
and my responsibility."
Horton said nothing, and, in a mo
ment Adrienne Lescott's manner
changed. She spoke more gently:
"Wilfred, I'm sorry you choose to
take this prejudice against the boy.
You could have done a great deal to
help him. I wanted you to be friends."
"Thank you!" His manner was
stiff. "I hardly think we'd hit it off
together."
"I believe you are jealous!" she
announced.
"Of course, I'm jealous," he replied,
without evasion. "Possibly, I might
have saved time in the first place by
avowing my jealousy. I hasten now
to make amends. I'm green-eyed."
She laid her gloved fingers lightly
on his bridle hand.
"Don't be," she advised; "I'm not in
love with him. If I were. It wouldn't
matter. He has
" 'A neater, sweeter maiden,
" 'In a greener, cleaner land.'
He's told me all about her."
Horton shook his head, dubiously.
"I wish to the good Lord, he'd go
back to her," he said.
CHAPTER XI.
One afternoon, swinging along Fifth
avenue in his down-town walk, Sam
son met Mr. Farbish, who fell into
step with him, and began to make
conversation.
"By the way, South," he suggested
after the commonplaces had been dis
posed of, "you'll pardon my little pre
varication the other evening about
having met you at the Manhattan
club?"
"Why was it necessary?" inquired
Samson, with a glance of disquieting
directness.
"Possibly, it was not necessary,
merely politic. Of course," he laughed,
"every man knows two kinds of
women. It's just as well not to dis
cuss the nectarines with the orchids,
or the orchids with the nectarines."
Samson made no response. But
Farbish, meeting his eyes, felt as
though he had been contemptuously
rubuked. His own eyes clouded with
an impulse of resentment. But it
passed, as he remembered that his
plans involved the necessity of win
ning this boy's confidence.
At the steps of a Fifth avenue club,
Farbish halted.
"Won't you turn in here," he sug
gested, "and assuage your thirst?"
Samson declined, and walked on.
But when, a day or two later, he
dropped into the same club with
George Lescott, Farbish joined them
in the grill without invitation.
"By the way, Lescott," said the
interloper, with an easy assurance
upon which the coolness of his re
ception had no seeming effect, "it
won't be long now until ducks are
flying south. Will you get off for your
customary shooting?"
"I'm afraid not." Lescott's voice be
came more 'cordial, as a man's will,
whose hobby has been touched. "There
are several" canvases to be finished
for approaching exhibitions. I wish
I could go. When the first cold winds
begin to sweep down, I get the fever.
The prospects are good, too, I under
stand." "The best in years! Protection in
the Canadian breeding fields is bear
ing fruit. Do you shoot ducks, Mr
South?" The speaker included Sam
son as though merely out of deference
to his physical presence.
Samson shook his bead. But he
was listening eagerly. He too, knew
that note of the migratory "honk"
from high overhead.
"Samson," said Lescott slowly, as
he caught the gleam in his friend's
eyes, "you've been working too hard.
You'll have to take a week off, and
try your hand. After you've changed
your method from rifle to shotgun,
you'll bag your share, and you II come
back fitter for work. I must arrange
it."
"As to that," suggested Farbish,
in the manner of one regarding the
civilities. "Mr. South can run down
U tnc Kenmore. I'll have cti maA
out for him."
"Don't trouble," demurred Lescott,
coolly, "I can fix that up."
"It would be a pleasure," smiled
the other. "I sincerely wish I could
be there at the 'same time, but I'm
afraid that, like you, Lescott, I shall
have to give business the right of
way. However, when I hear that the
flights are beginning, I'll call Mr.
South up, and pass the news to him."
Samson had thought it rather singu
lar that he had never met Horton at
the Lescott house, though Adrienne
spoke of him almost as of a member
of the family. However, Samson's
visits were usually in his intervals be
tween relays of work and Horton was
probably at such times in Wall street.
It did not occur to the mountaineer
that the other was intentionally avoid
ing him. He tnew of Wilfred only
through Adrienne's eulogistic descrip
tions, and, from hearsay, likeq him.
The months of close application to
easel and books had begun to tell on
the outdoor man In a softening of
muscles and a slight, though uotice
able, pallor. The enthusiasm with
which he attacked his daily, schedule
carried him far, ana marie his progress
phenomenal, but he was- spending
capital of nerve and health, and George
Lescott began to fear a break-down
for his protege. He discussed the
"I Will Arrange So That You Will Not
Run Up on Wilfred Horton."
matter with Adrienne, and the girl
began to promote in the boy an inter
est in the duck-shooting trip an in"'
terest which had already awakened
despite the rifleman's inherent con
tempt for shotguns.
"I reckon I'd like it, all right," h
said, "and I'll bring back some ducks,
if I'm lucky." 1
So, Lescott arranged the outfit, and
Samson awaited the news of the com
ing flights.
That same evening, Farbish dropped
Into the studio, explaining that he had
been buying a picture at Collasso's,
and had taken the opportunity to top
by and hand Samson a visitor's card
to the Kenmore club. He found the
ground of Interest fallow, and artfully
sowed it with well-chosen anecdote
calculated to stimulate enthusiasm.
On leaving the studio, he paused tc
say:
"I'll let you know when condition
are just right." rihen, he added, a
though in afterthought: "And I'll ar
range so that you won't run up on
Wilfred Horton."
"What's the matter with Wilfred
Horton?" demanded Samson, a shade
curtly
"Nothing at all," replied Farbish,
with entire gravity. "Personally, 1
like Horton immensely. I simply
thought you might find things more
congenial when he wasn't amonj
those present."
Samson was puzzled, but he did not
fancy hearing from this man's lips
criticisms upon friends of his friends.
"Well, I reckon," he said, coolly,
"I'd like him, too.'
"I beg your pardon," said the othen
"I suppose you knew, or I shouldn't
have mentioned the subject. I seem
to have said too much."
"See here, Mr. Farbish," Samsow
spoke quietly, but imperatively; "if
you know any reason why I shouldn't
meet Mr. Wilfred Horton, I want you
to tell me what it is. He is a friend
of my friends. You say you've said
too much. I reckon you've eithe
said too much, or too little."
Then, very insidiously and artistical
ly, seeming ail the while reluctant and
apologetic, the visitor proceeded to
plant in Samson's mind an exagger
ated and untru& picture of Horton'l
contempt for him and of Horton's re
sentment at the favor shown him bj
the Lescotts.
Samson heard him out with a fac
enigmatically s&t, and his voice wm
soft, as he said tdmply at the end:
"I'm obliged ty you."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Swiss Want Nw National Hymn,
Switzerland is seeking a new n.
tional hymn In place of "Rufst du,
Mein Vaterland," which is sung to
the tune of "My Country 'TIs of
Thee," and "God Save the ESxg." It
Is said that there is some intentijj
of adopting a patriotic song, beginnin
"Heil dir. Mein Schweizerland," but
whether this Is to be sung to the same
tune or a new one is to be evolved for
it is not yet known.
Too Long to Be Entirely Valid.
Oliver Knox read some published
letters in a breach-of-promise suit, aud
laughed. "This idiot wrote to th
girl that he would love her always,"
he commented. "Now I contend that
'always' is the longest word In th
dictionary, and no wise man ever usei
it" "No," retorted bis discerning wif,
"and no "vise woman would beliiTt
him if h? did,"
The Disloyalty I
of D
emas
Br
REV. WILLIAM WALLACE KETCHUM
Director of Um Poetical Work Cnw
Moody B.U Intitule, QkAo
TEXT Dema hath foraken m. II
Tim. 4:10.
These are the words of an old man.
languishing In a Roman prison. They
are from tno
Apoetle Pan! to
his belowed Tim
othy. C r cumstances
are not bo favor
able with the
apostle as they
were during hi
first Imprison--tnent
at Rome.
Then he dwelt In
his own hired
house, received all
who tame unto
hini aid preached
the fcospel. no
man forbidding
him Now prison
7
'"ft
walls confine him and prison chains
restrain him.
There he sits in hid aarrow cell,
chained to a Roman guard, writing a
letter to Timothy: "Be net ashamed,"
he writes, "of the testimony of our
Lord, nor of me his prisoner." "Yea,
Timothy, all that will live godly in
Chrkt Jesus shall suffer pertecution."
And, aa the dampness of the cell
causes him to shiver: "When thou
comest bring the cloak 1 left at
Troas," and the words of our text,
"Demas hath forsaken."
The significance of this statement
is realized, when seen in the light of
the circumstances which called It
forth. Demas, a Christian, a friend
of Paul, with him during his first
imprisonment at Rome, has abandoned
the apostle. He stood by hhn when
everything was favorable, but when
imminent peril threatened Paul be
cause of his loyalty to Christ, the con
temptible coward fled for his life Ho
could not stand , the test, and ir thlB,
was the forerunnerNof many Demase3
of today who profess to be loyal to
Christ, receiving all the good things
that come from him, and who shout
aloud their hallelujahs andmens, but
when the testing time comes lack the
grit and grace to "endure hardnesa as
good soldiers of Jesus Christ." It Is
one thing to shout at a Fourth of July
celebration; it is another thing to
shoulder a gun and march to the
front.
It Is easy ti shout "hallelujah"
When everyone's saying "Amen;"
It's another thing to stand by him
When they curse him again aud again.
You may have wondered why many
who profess loyalty to Christ sadly
fail him when the testing time comes. .
Paul acquaints Timothy with the rea
son; "Demas hath forsaken me, hav
ing loved this present world." That
is It; the love of the world causes dis
loyalty to Christ, Jesus taught this
when he said, "No man can serve two
masters, for either he will hate the
one, and love the other; or elsp he
will hold to one and despise the oth
er. Ye cannot serve Go' and Mam
mon," (Matt. 6:24). Does this mean,
if we are to be loyal to Christ we must
give up everything in the world? That
depends upon what is meant by every
thing. Surely, anything that comes
in between Christ and us must be
given up. And if we are loyal to him
we will surrender all, that he may in
turn "give us richly all things to en
joy." As those who love him end are
wise, we will weigh the things of time
in the balance of eternity, just as the
gold hunter in the river bottom
washes the dirt that he may find the
pure metal, so we should carefully
sift the things of the world that w
may find the good and true. The
builder of the world that we may find
the good and true. The builder who
rears the skyscraper tests every bit of
material that goes into the structure;
how much more important It is for us
not to permit anything to enter our
Hie that will weaken any part and
cause us, when the stress and strain
come, to be disloyal to Christ.
John Conlon, walking on the rail
way, caught his foot In a "frog"
where two tracks crossed. He laughed
at first but when he tried to extricate
his foot, he found himself held fast.
He heard a locomotive coming around
the curve and redoubled his efforts
but without avail, and the merciless
monster crushed him to death. One
thing, only one, held John Conlon, but
it held him as securely as if he were
bound to the track by a legion of sol
diers. It may be just one thing, only
one, that holds us from being loyal
to Christ, and this one thing, as in
the case of John Conlon, may prove
fatal.
How shall we give up the things of
the world which are so alluring? It
,1s not by giving up but by getting,
hat a wrong love is displaced. If the
love of Christ is permitted to flow into
our hearts in all its fullness, it will
displace the love of the world "If
any man love the world, the love of
the father is not in him." This is
evident, for two opposite loves can
not occupy the heart at the same time.
The love given the right of way will
crowd the other love out.
Let Christ in and the love of the
world will be displaced.
He that creaks even the highest
good for himself alone shall be disap
pointed. George S. Mitfrtam.
A
-"I
"J