how he had been such a comfort to her and her mother since her father met his death at the hands of Mose Miller, and how Ned had sworn to avenge that death. Then they talked about the Star Gang, and Sylvester told her of meeting some of them while out riding, and of the marshals who were following them.

"The marshals here!" she exclaimed.

A pistol shot in the edge of the woods prevented a reply, and almost instantly a great flash arose from the middle of the street near the station, followed by a deafening explosion. This was succeeded by the rapid fire of guns and a blood-curdling yell.

The fiendish noise continued for several seconds, and a number of spent balls fell upon the house-top and in the yard.

Sylvester crept to the edge of the veranda and looked anxiously through the moonlight toward the center of the town. He waited for some time, but not another sound could be heard.

"Mose and Schute are at the head of that," said Miss Maddin. "They did it to anger the marshals. They get off something of the kind every time the marshals come to Braggs. They won't cause any more disturbance to-night, however, you may feel sure of that." And then rising abruptly, she said good-night and went to her room.

The young minister remained lost in thought and surrounded by the stillness of the night. Not a human form was discernible. Not even a light glimmered in the village, and through the oppressive silence the call of the whippoor-will in the woods and the croak of the frogs down in the pasture sounded loud and clear.

He had often heard his father tell of the oppressive stillness which surrounded the Confederate army just before Lee issued the command to charge the Union troops on the fatal field of Gettysburg; and although the shooting which broke the stillness of the night in Braggs could have been nothing like the thunder of the cannon which shook the earth around that great bat

247

tle field and destroyed men by the thousands, the incident that had just occurred gave Sylvester a more vivid picture of what that contest must have been.

CHAPTER IV.

The next day was an eventful one. The marshals paraded the streets for an hour or two in the early morning and then rode out of the village. Sylvester spent the morning reading and writing, took a nap and a ride in the afternoon, and a short walk in the early evening before beginning his meeting. About seven o'clock he went over to the little frame school house which was to serve for a church, rang the bell, lighted the lamps and selected hymns for the service. A congregation of thirty or forty soon assembled in front of the building, and among them he saw his old friend, Joe Farley.

Inviting the congregation to come inside, he began the services. Only one verse of the first hymn had been sung when Schute came in. He had two large pistols buckled around his hips and carried a repeating rifle in his hand. Walking up towards the front, he took a chair, carried it back to the door, placed it down beside the opening, sat and rested his rifle, butt end downward, on the floor. Nor did he change his position during the whole service. He kept his keen eyes riveted on Sylvester, much to the latter's discomfort. The young minister's courage rose as he proceeded with the sermon, however, SO that he got through without revealing the embarrassment which he really felt.

After the benediction, Sylvester went to the door to shake hands with the members of the congregation as they passed out. Schute dodged out, however, before the minister got there, but the latter saw him and shook hands with him later. Converse, however, Schute would not. He responded to all Svivester's questions with a nod of the head. and rever once took his keen, black eyes from the minister's face.

His general attitude, too, seemed to be one of growing suspicion. Annoyed by it, Sylvester finally asked him why he kept staring in that strange manner. The outlaw scowled, muttered something under his breath, and walked out across the narrow strip of field toward the woods, carrying his rifle under his

arm.

Sylvester soon overtook Miss Maddin, who had gone a short distance down the road, and was waiting for 1im.

"I was beginning to be just a little uneasy," she said, as he joined her. "Joe has just left me. He told me to tell you to be very careful. Schute and Mose are suspicious of you. He thinks they believe you are here for some other purpose than to carry on meetings. He said he heard they had agreed among themselves to watch you for a week, and unless they are fully convinced that you are what you pretend to be. they intend to kill you. They have appointed some of their own men to watch you meanwhile, but don't be alarmed, for Joe has already made himself your guardian. You're very fortunate in gaining Joe Farley's iriendship. you will find that he may be trusted fully, and that what he tells you may be depended upon."

"But how does Joe know all this? Which way did he go? I must see him."

"Not to-night. He'll see you in a few days, he said."

They reached the house, and Sylvester went immediatetly to his room. He sat for hours thinking of what he

"Shhh, remember, no names; some one might hear."

"Well, I can't do what you ask me to. You know I hate him too much to carry out such a scheme. Besides, it won't work-I tell you, he won't be deceived."

"But I tell you, Maud, it will work. Thy it; try it for the good of the cause if for no other reason."

Then after a pause: "I'll try it for your sake."

"And for your father's, Maud. Remember it is just two weeks from tonight. I'll probably not see you again until after the dance. Joe will bring the whisky; the rest depends upon you. Probably you'd better keep everything hid from Sylvester for a while. Good-bye."

Sylvester heard the grass rustling, and got back to his room just in time to avoid being seen. A crouching figure glided slowly around the veranda, and as it passed out into the bright moonlight he recognized Ned Foster. (To be continued.)

Y

EARS ago, during my midshipman days, it was my good fortune to make a two years'

cruise on the flagship of the European squadron. During this cruise I visited England, Portugal, Morocco, France, Italy, Egypt, Asia Minor, Turkey and Greece. I went not alone to the seaports of these countries, but to many places in the interior.

My observations in these places, combined with my experiences at home in the United States, broadened considerably my views on the subjejct of the use of alcoholic liquors. I learned lessons from both the wine drinking and the spirits drinking peoples.

Let me say at the outset that in the wine drinking countries of Portugal, France, Italy and Greece I never saw drunkenness among the natives. A degree of hilarity at a masked ball, particularly in carnival time, was not uncommon, but there was nothing like the "drunk" of England or of the United States. The only drunkenness I saw during the two years was in England, in Constantinople and in Egypt.

and

Practically everybody, old young, drinks light wines in Portugal, France Italy and Greece. Sobriety is the rule. No one would think of eating dinner without wine. Parents give it to their children, diluted with water, according to age. The cafes, both indoor and open air, are filled with quiet, wine drinking patrons, seated at tables drinking their light wines and enjoying the music of the orchestras.

In the Mediterranean ports, where we coaled ship, the laborers who discharged the coal lighters always brought wine with them, which they drank with their midday meals.

In the wine drinking countries named, wine is a valued and appreciated part of the regular diet. People there would as soon go without their salt, or their butter, as without their wine.

And they are sober, industrious people. When I said I never saw drunkenness in the wine drinking countries, I said and meant among the natives. Some drunkenness I have seen there, but it was among foreigners, who came from countries where the drinking of so-called "hard liquors" was prevalent, such as Great Britain, the United States and Russia. Most of the offenders were sailors on shore, from our own and other foreign ships. I never saw a drunken French or Italian sailor.

of

Wine is furnished by their governments to the soldiers and sailors Portugal, France, Italy and Greece. It is found not only that it protects them against typhoid fever, dysentery and other diseases, but actually adds to their efficiency. Dr. Arnozan, Professor of the Faculty of Medicine of Bordeaux, says that "it has proved that at the enlistment of soldiers the young men from the viticultural districts are better developed, taller, more alert, more supple, than those from the regions where wine is not cultivated." All the leading French savants agree that good wine is very beneficial in the army.

The Koran forbids the true Mohammedan to drink alcohol in any form. To what extent this command is obeyed I cannot say. When in Mohammedan countries, such as Turkey and Egypt, I found wine served at every hotel, restaurant and club. At a dinner given to our American officers by the Sultan of Turkey in the Palace of the Minister

Todos Santos

TESTLED among the Contra Costa hills, California, is the little valley of the San Ramon. It is early spring—a composite day, half rain, half shine-light and shadows interchanging. Aboard an old-time coach-and-tour, a joyous group of passengers are rolling on toward Concord. Following a wondrous burst of sun gleam from the vortex of the troubled skies, how assiduously, it rains! Surely the sun's valiant forces. shall yet be vanquished. Meanwhile onward we dash, catching from the exposed front and rear of the rolling ark rarest glimpses of green vale, mountain side and running stream.

For miles in our wake extend the avenues of oak and native walnut. Diablo's twin peaks are lost in vaporous banks of gray. Behold, the swirling clouds are mobilized to storm the distant peaks that would obstruct their courses. Again, the opaque heavens part, and light in wavering columns. deluges the earth. The almond groves are radiant in white and amethyst, and gorgeouly festooned in jeweled raindrops. Robin and blue jay are hiding in the copse.

The stage carrying the mails to Martinez stops at the quaint old town of the Dons. When the proud Pachecos were in their ascendency, it was with mingled apprehension and disdain that the new town growing at the "Devil Mountain's" base was viewed by the inhabitants.

Concord! our signal to disembark -for truly we had voyaged amidst the waters. Emerging from a veritable chrysalis of robes and rubber folds, we enter the neat hostelry bearing the

name of the town, where, at once surrounded by genial friends, as if by touch of magic wand, we are cosily established in our temporary home.

The Old Senora.

Strolling to the border of the town, and passing through the big ranchgate, we wend our way across the fields to the old Pacheco homestead. Entering the courtyard, and following the walk toward the veranda, we see, crouching among the shrubs and flowers, the form of an aged woman, robed in black. It is the old Senora, a gentle, fascinating creature-the almost sole survivor of her time, and the inspiration of this sketch.

"Good morning, Senora," we venture.

"Buenos dias a ustedes, Senores," comes the pleasant salutation, in reassuring tones.

The old Senora, aged 90 years, sits on the ground beside a mammoth Pelargonium, about which she is hacking the soil with a small implement. Undaunted, she wages her petty warfare against the weeds within reach, only casting keen, furtive glances toward her aggressors.

"Your gracious pardon, Senores! It is all that the old may do just potter around, pass the time, and wait. But you are welcome, buenos Senores! You do me honor."

The silence befitting the scene is broken by a cheery voice bidding us welcome, and we turn to greet the present occupant of the old mansion, and the guardian of the old Senora. Here upon the verdant plain, within. the cloister of these rude walls, lives this Dona of the old regime, contented in her peaceful isolation. There is a