THE COMMERCIAL
J. W. QUINS. Editor and Publisher.
CHELSEA. .... IND. TER.
A VISION.
She slipped across Iho doorstep
A being of light and bloom.
Bright as the noonday whiteness
That flooded my quiet room.
811m and rosy und dimpled
She stood beside the door.
And I looked r.nd BTtatly wondered
Had I seen the child before.
Back In my heart's far corner
A faint sweet fragrance stirred.
As the little one kept gazing.
Saying never a word.
Her eyes were olue as heaven,
Sun-tinted was her hair,
Quaint as an old-time picture
She stood, and blossom-fair.
A little red frock was on her.
An apron white and frilled.
I sprang from my chair to greet her.
My soul with ardor thrilled.
But lo! the vision vanished.
I looked through empty (pace
Where the doorway hail been shining
In the beauty of her face.
Then swiftly I remembered—
Though many a mile and long
Has been the path I've traveled
From the land of morning song—
That little red frock and apron.
Those fearless eyes were mine,
When childhood's rare enchantment
Made common things divine.
*Tls a far cry to the garden
Where the Kden roses blow;
But If we have had its freedom
In the beautiful long ago.
Still In the cloistered stillness
Of our lives the angels talk.
Still, with the Lord of angels
There are days when we fearless walk.
Lost on the world's wide desert.
Shall I find the child again?
Is she somewhere safe and waiting
Beyond the world of men?
Whi-n I reach life's latest way-mark.
And face life's latest day,
Shall the eyes I lift to heaven
Be brave as a child's at play?
—Margaret E. Sar.gster, In Chicago Inte-
rior.
The Hermit
A Story of the Wilderness
•y CHARLES CLAEI HUNK
Author of "Pocket Island.*' "Unci* Terry"
and " Rockhaven."
n^Li, iiQJ, bjr Lev and SLej*krd.)
CHAPTER XXXVI.—Continued.
Martin also arose.
"Be calm, dear Angle," he said, "be
ralm. It is blessed news I am trying
to tell you. That poor old hermit is—
is your father."
For one moment she gazed at Martin
with wide-open, terrified eyes, the next
on her knees v/ith her head in Aunt
Comfort's lap, sobbing.
Then came Aunt Comfort's heart-
burst. and all the years of her kindly
patient life of love and hope were con-
densed into few words. For with
hands upraised and eyes closed she
whispered. "O God, I thank Thee foi
this blessed news and all Thy good-
ness. O God, I thank Thee!" And
then she, too, was Fobbing.
Martin turned away with misty eyes.
He had heard prayers, but never one
that touched hi3 heart like this.
It was all over in less time than tho
telling, yet a lifelong drama was en-
acted In those few moments, and when
Angie arose again—her face wet with
tears and eyes still brimming—sh 
lool.ed glorified. She could not speak,
but two hands were extended to Mar-
tin, and as he clasped them, the long
ago of first love and the now of strong-
er love were joined.
"I can't thank you now, dear friend,"
she said, brokenly, "but I shall, never
fear, I shall."
It was midnight ere they parted:
when she again stood before the open
fireplace where only white ashes re-
mained. and glanced at the tall clock,
she heard not its solemn voice, for a
new life, a new joy, and a wondrous-
ty Messed hope had come to her.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
A CONFESSION.
Martin's first return and wooing of
Angie naturally interested all Green-
vale, but the news of his discovery of
the long-lost Am/.i was, as he expect-
ed, a veritable bombshell. No one ex-
cept Aunt Comfort and Angie learned
of it until the next day, and then Dr
Sol, so to speak, was the one to sound
the alarm. And no medicine he ever
gave had quite such an electrical ef-
fect. Men driving on the highway were
baited by others and told, women
scurried across fields to neighbors
house.? bareheaded lo carry the news:
Squire Phinney's store became a local
l f)int where dozens gathered to hear
the Joyful tidings told and retold again
*nd apain. and Angle, on her way to
school, had to give up and tarry for
congratulations. And so cordial were
I hey. so warm a spot did she hold In
(ireenvale's heart, that women insist-
ed on embracing and kissing her in the
street, and when she finally reached
the sehoolhouse, one of the committee
was there awaiting her and declared
lb* school closed for that day. Sh"
had walked there as her duty called,
bat she rode htmie, the cynosure of al!
eyes along the way, with most of licr
pc|iUa following.
Martin also received an ovation
wherever he went, and when he halted
to describe the hermit home of Amzi,
and tell the tale over and over again,
as perforce he had to. men left their
work, and women and children their
houses, to gather close and listen. He
was really the hero of the hour, and his
efforts to save Angie her heritage—
now known to all—his wisdom in not
even hinting his suspicions of who the
hermit wa« until proved true, and
forethought in taking old Cy into the
wilderness to care for him, were all a
matter of comment.
By night the public sentiment had
crystallized into a general invitation
to all "o meet in the town hall, and
listen to Martin's telling his story in
coherent order and in full. He rather
laughingly consented, and for an hour
held the unique gathering spellbound.
At its close Parson Jones was called
upon, as might be expected, and ut-
tered a fervent prayer of thankful-
ness, and in It ascribing Martin's intui-
tions and actions, as a pertinent ex-
ample of divine interposition, and
when amen was reached, called upon
all to Join in "Praise God from whom
all blessings flow."
It was rendered with unusual fer-
vency, while Aunt Comfort wiped her
tears away, and when the audience dis-
persed, Martin walked home with her.
Angie was not present, for she was
in a state of almost mental collapse
and for ample reason.
Collectively it was an exhibition of
public sentiment and kindly feeling,
the like of which could nowhere else
be found. Greenvale had for many
long years felt that a blemish rested
upon it, and, like poor dog Tray,
realized the stigma David Curtis was
responsible for. He had met a just
and well-merited fate, and the genera!
belief was that conscience had driven
him Insane. Angie, well beloved, had
come into her rights, and at the hands
of a long-faithful lover, who now hoped
to become a citizen of that village.
Aunt Comfort, too, was in a fair way
to recei\e due reward for her unfailing
charity and general benevolence, and
all in all—though slightly bigoted--
Greenvale stood ready, like the rest of
humanity, to a;>plaud and reward all
goodness and condemn all vice.
But there was another, and to Mar-
tin even more interesting, conclusion
yet to be settled, and alone In Aunt
Comfort's warm sitting room that
night they discussed It. What it was
need not be specified, but al the close
of Martin's plea for Angie's consent and
speedy marriage, although she permit-
ted his arm-clasp, she shook her head.
"No, no," she said, "not yet. Once
you left me without thought or care
and now let us try being lovers again.
I was forced to try to put you out of
my mind and heart once, and I
wouldn't care to live through another
such experience.
"Beyond that, I have Aunt Comfort,
and no love can set aside my duty to
her. She has been my mother since
a child, I am all there Is in life foi
her. and her care and happiness is
sacred and must be to me so long as I
live. You have brought to me aiso
another duty, and that, my poor father,
I shall not rest, or feel a moment's
content, until he is here and under
my care. You tell me he is almost de-
mented, but contented where he is,
jet he is very old. and to let him re-
main and die in that miserable abode
is out of the question. I would start
?nd walk to where he Is. If it were pos-
sible, and he must be brought here be-
I fore I shall know a moment's peace."
In vain Martin pleaded that marriage
would lie no bar to this double claim;
her duty must and would be his as
well and that Aunt Comfort would be
the happier ft>r this consummation. It
was futile, for all his specious plead-
ings and promises availed not. Duty
to those already dependent upon her
for happiness was her guiding etar
and watchword, and Martin had to
yield and accept it.
She even refused to be considered
as engaged, and her reasons for It are
worth quoting.
"A verbal bond has no strength."
she said, "unless reason wills and the
heart wishes. If you need me and I
you for life, that need must hold us
until death, or it is worthless and a
delusion. Promises can neither add
to, or Injure it. and be it one week,
one year, or a lifetime hence, it must
hold and remain the same divine obli-
gation Beyond that. 1 shall value a
faith and fidelity, given without ask-
ing. and bound by no promise, a thou-
sand time3 more than all the vows
uttered by mortal lips. I did not ask
Aunt Comfort to rare for me a help-
less child nnd not her own; Rhe gave
me home and love without It. She
would not r.sk me to sacrifice one hour
for her selfish needs, and yet I am
ready, and shall If need be. to devote
all my life solely for her in return.
This and this only is true and uns -lflsh
love, and all that is worth the name."
Then they changed the subject into
a discussion of ways and means to
rescue her father Irom his wilder-
ness abode.
"He has, so far as I could discover,
forgotten his early lift," asserted Mar-
tin, "and while he seemed disturbed
and In a way almost touched by the
sight of your pictured face, acted as If
the past was a blank in memory. Old
Cy he recalled well enough. In fait—
and it was curious—his coming there
appeared to strike him as perfectly
natural, and in a few days they b«came
like two old schoolboys playing at
keeping house. I'll wager at this very
moment they are content and talking
about their traps, the squirrels, and
how thick the ice is on the lake, or j
how deep the snow is. They once were 1
natural-born companions in outdoor
bports and such ways of living, and
now are Joined enjoying the same;
again I took old Cy along solely to
identify this hermit, but builded wiser
than I knew, and it turned out more ;
than fortunate. I was also so sure I
had found Am/.i that I took in extra
clothing for him, and before I left,
sent our guides to a settlement for j
more provisions and needful articles. [
It was by one of them that I sent you
that birch-bark letter, for I was with- |
out even a pencil. We also repaired
snd improved the cabin; built an ail- I
dition for the guide I left there for j
emergencies; they have meat and foo.I
supplies for a year, and when spring
comes. I'll take you and Aunt Comfort
to pay them a visit. To go there now
is Impossible, except to a hardy woods-
man on snowshoes, for the only high-
ways are locked by ice in that high j
latitude, ar.d snow Is likely to be a f«mt (
or more deep. I thought of all a man
could to make your poor father safe
and comfortable, and believe he Is. I ,
will do anything you ask, will take
you and Aunt Comfort there when ;
possible, and then you must judge what
is best to l>e done. If old Cy's compan-
ionship has the effect 1, hope It will I
on him, he may be changed into a
more normal state of mind, aud ready
.17 - .-««'•/
CHOPPING MINCE MEAT,
and even anxious to return to civiliza-
tion. The long years of solitary life
have made him almost demented,
however, and nearly obliterated even
the memory of you."
Much more—already known—was re-
la'ed by Martin, and when the even-
ing ended, a few words of defense for
her own resolution were uttered by
Ansie, and must also be quoted.
"You have rendered my poor father
and myself," she said, "a service for
which all you ask of me is no more
than just reward. Some day It shall be
yours. And now as partial payment
I will tell you what has never passed
my lips, and God's truth.
"Once and when a silly girl I grew
into a strangely sweet illusion. I did
not I now what It meant then, but
blindly believed it must last for life,
and that you would seem and be ever
the same to me. It was selfish, as
first love always is, but I did not. know
it. Now I do, and that the only love
worth calling such means self-sacri-
fice. Then you went away, and I tried
to forget you. It was useless, for noue
can force thought or feeling either to
come or to go. For years I suffered
as all fondly foolish girls must, and
in silence. It was like the Saviour's
cross to me. and I helpless to escape
its burden. In time and by trying to
assume others' burdens, my own
seemed lighter. I have never com-
plained, for It was useless. I could
not will you back If I tried, and the
only peace I found was in living for
Aunt Comfort and my pupils. At first
I hoped you might return some day,
but finally forced that hope away.
Other men and good ones tried to whis-
per love to me. It made no differ-
ence, for I felt no response. I cer-
tainly would have done so if I could,
but I could not. It seemed to me God
had willed me to live my life alone
and for others, and even now I feel
the same. Your finding my father,
your unaccountable impulse to return
here, then going back to him again
are all a part of my fate. I may be
wrong, but I can no more escape mv
sense of duty, and that it Is God's will
you should bring me this added one.
than I could put you out of my heart
long aeo. My duty now seems first,
and when th&t is performed, and no
one needs *r.3 more than ycu, I will
be yours until death parts us. I could
not do otherwise if I would, and I
would not if I could."
And when he parted from her. never
before hail he believed one woman
could seem so priceless.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
TI IANKSOIVING PAY.
Thanksgiving had always been the
moat Important day In Aunt Comfort's
calendar, and latt-rly the one most
anticipated by Nezer. For many weeks
previous to Its advent he heman to
count the days ere It was due, nnd
when preparations came, he was not
only a boy ready and willing to do
all that was asked, but on* who seemed
to be hunting for chores and chances
to assist. First came the selection of
the fattest turkey in the flock a few
days ahead, and his cooping and extra
feeding in due preparation for the
grand event. In this occult matter
Nezer displayed almost abnormal
acumen, and could tell by the bird's
strut and how he held his wings which
one to choose. Chickens must also be
selected and shut up, and here again
Nezer's night visit to the rooet and
choice of fowls showed discretion.
The yellowest ripe pumpkin was
picked out from the pile by him, and
all manner of smaller vegetables as
well. He cheerfully carried a big
basket of good things to old Cy and
others, and p<ior families a mile away
for Aunt Comfort; he made no com-
plaint at chopping wood, and when tho
big oven over the fireplace must be
cleaned out, he was anxious to do It.
By the time the all-important morning
arrived he had reached a etate of al-
most delirious excitement, and was
usually underfoot all the time while
watching the women folks preparing
tarts and jellies and filling the many
kinds of pies, to be deftly transferred
to the deep oven on a long-handled
shovel. To keep him quiet he was al-
lowed to help, and Angie usually put
an apron on him and set him paring
apples or chopping mlnce-meat.
When preparations were well on and
Aunt Comfort, who never forgot to go
to church, hurried away for the brief
service, then Nezer's expectancy
reached Its critical stage, and not even
a circus coming into town would have
tempted him out of the house. If com-
pany came, his excitement was In-
creased. and Fo keen was his ftnticipa-
lion that his best clothes we e donned
with cheerful resignation. The only
rift within the lute of his perfect Joy
was having to wait so long, and. when
the banquet was served, to be tho
last to receive his portion. He made
amends, however, In quantity, for his
plate had to b<-> passed up three times,
and he usually found room for two
pieces of mince pie besides.
When the joyful day came again,
both Aunt Comfort and Angie set
about making it memorable, and In-
vited a gathering that was likely to
crowd their home to its limit. First,
Dr. Sol and his wife, and Martin, of
course, then his mother, sister and
her family, consisting of her husband
and three children, from Riverton, as
wtII. Then Aunt Ixirey, whose ability
to assist at and enjoy such an affair
was even superior to her utility at fu-
nerals, was included.
"I don't know where we can put all
Martin's family to sleep," asserted An-
gle, somewhat ruefully, when she and
Aunt Comfort began counting their
guests. "The out-of-town people
will need four rooms, and we have ouly
two spare ones furnished."
"We won't worry 'bout such trifles,"
Aunt Comfort responded; "we kin
double tip somehow, and Nezer kin
sleep on the seitle."
She had set about a celebration that
was one. and the matter of crowding
was a trlPe of no account, ar.d the
event was one the like of which her
ancient dwelling hail not held slneu
the Joyous days of her youth. For
three days the women folks were mora
than busy, nnd the store of good things
provided seemed limitless. Twice tho
big oven had t ) be heated to bake all
the pies, und again to hold th  two
turkeys and tempting spare rib, and
Nezer's nose was nearly blistered whilo
basting them. Martin obtained per-
mission lo add his mite, and he sent
to the city for flowers enough to turn
the whole house into a bower, and
had Aunt Comfort known what they
cost, she would have fainted. It mat-
tered not to hin. however, for he was
in that state of mind when money
seemed like tht dry leaves of autumn
compared to Aneie's happiness.
Nezer was almost be.-ide himself
with Joy when the supreme day ar-
rived. but when the tomewhat citified
Hiverton party drove up and two pert
and pretty girls about his own age
alighted with the rest, he. for perhaps
the seeonil time in his life, felt scared.
Of the Introductions, hand-shakings
and genteel efforts to make everybody
feel at home and happy, nothing need
be said.
Dr. Sol and family soon joined the
party, and when formality had merged
Into the happy-go-lucky cheerfulness
of such an occa.-ion r.nd the banquet
was served, r.o j:en can describe Its
all-around enjoyment or hilarity.
[To ltc Continued.!
DERANGELHERVES ' I
DISTRESSING TROUBLES LETT B1 ■
ST. VITUS AND GRIP.
Our rorcfnllirrM.
A littl? storm-tosaed vessel cast Its
anchor off the barren shores of Cape
Cod, on the twen'y-first clay of Novem-
ber, 1020. at the point that is now
Pro\lncetown H.irbor. On board were
72 men *nd women, with brave hearts
and fixed purpose, and "0 children.
Their Intention was to r.n further south
and their pr^nt of land was made out
for a r.olnt n-ar 'he II" "3on. but the
voyage had been long p.nd boisterous
r.nd the captKin of 'he ship had prov/n
tired of the > dition h*m! was rnxiou.«
to he r'd of hi i cow; h > '.:c stopped hero
and reftTed to (o further. As a fi'ght
of birds determined Columbus' destina
tir.n. so an irritable captain gave to
Now England the honor of being the
home of our fourofithc-is.—F.-om "Thr
Nation's Crrner-Stone." by Mary I.
Kane, la Four-Track New*.
fom  A filiated for Year* by Strang*
Spalls of XuiubuMi Bad Wnkaui
RiMnri Perfect Health.
When she was fourteen years old, Mrs,
Ida L. Brawn had Bt. Vitus' dauce.
She finally got over the most noticeable
features of the strange ailment, but wai
still troubled by very uncomfortable sen-
sations, which she recently described al*
follows:
" One hand, half of my face, and hall >
of my tongue would get oold and numb .
Therm feelings would com* on, last foi
about teu minutes, and then go away,,
several times m day. Besides I woulc
have palpitation of the heart, and nij
strength would get to low that I could
hardly breathe. As time went on thes*
spells kept coming oftener and growing.
worse. The numbuess would sometime.' >
extend over half my body."
" How did you get rid of them?"
"It seemed for a long time as if I neve: •
could get riU of them. It was not untl
about six years ago that I found a reined; \
that had virtue enough in it to reach m; •
case. That was Dr. Williams' Pink PilL t
for Pale People, and they have sinoe en«.
tlrely cured me."
" Did it take long to effect a cure? "
"No I I hadn't taken the whole of th< •
first box before I saw a great improve
ment. Bo I kept ou using them, growin|.
better all the time,uutil I bad taken eigh'
boxes and then I was perfectly well, un<
I have remained in good health eva.
sir.ee with one exception."
" What was that ? "
" Oh I that was when I had the grip •
I was in bed, under tho doctor's cara
for two weeks. When I got up I luU
dreadful attacks of dizziness. I bad t<
grasp hold of soinothing or I would fal
right down. I was just miserable, nnc
when I saw tho doctor was not helping
me, I began to take Dr. Williams' Pinl.
Pills ngain. In a short time they cured
me of tliat trouble too, and I luivo neve;
had any dizzy spoils sincc."
Mrs. Brown lives at No. 170.1 DeWit'
street, Mattoon, Illinois. Dr. Williams
Pink Pills are without an equal for th'.
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—Los Angeles Express.
Piso's Cure for Consumption i« .-in infallt
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According to Ruwsiaa disnntrhes then •
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