132 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER, 



May 



DO YO'u EVER THINK? 



Do you ever think as the hearse drives by 

 That it v."; n't he long till you and I 

 Will both iid(» out in the big, plumed hack 

 Anil we'll never, never, never ride back? 



Do you ever think as you strive for gold 

 That a dead man's hand can't a dollar hold' 

 We may tug and toil and pinch and save, 

 And we'll lose it all when we reach the grave. 



Do you ever think as you closely clasp 

 Your bag of gold with a firmer grasp 

 If the hungry hearts of the world were fed 

 It might bring peace to your dying bed? 

 — L. A. W. Bulletin. 



FOUNDED ON FACT. 



"Mr. Eogers, did you say?" 



"Yes, sir; a tall, middle aged gea- 

 tleruan," replied my servant. 



I could recollect no acquaintance of 

 the name. 



"Ask him to step in here," I said at 

 length. 



The man who entered my study was 

 a complete stranger to me. He was tall, 

 between 40 and 50 years of age, rather 

 thin and very angular in his move- 

 ments. He wore a short beard, was 

 slightly bald and had decidedly pleasant 

 features. Wlieu he smiled, his eyes 

 seemed to sparkle and he exhibited two 

 excellent rows of teeth. 



"I am afraid I am quite unknown to 

 you," he began. 



I bowed my head and wondered what 

 was coming next. 



"But your name as a rising young 

 novelist and writer of short stories is, 

 of course, familiar to me. " 



Who could he be? I began to have 

 Tisions of publishers and editors clamor- 

 ing at my door for contributions from 

 my pen. Was he about to give me a 

 commission for a new serial? Perhaps 

 he represented some leading magazine 

 and was prepared to pay sums undream- 

 ed of for my tales of love and adven- 

 ture. Or was he only some newspaper 

 interviewer bent on satisfying the curi- 

 osity of his readers respecting my opin- 

 ions and manner of life? 



"Pray be seated," I said. 



We sat facing one another on opposite 

 sides of the 3i earth rug. It was a cold, 

 dull November day, and the bright fire 

 that bnrued in the grate was comfort- 

 ing. Mr. Rc,;ers took from his pocket a 



copy of a popular magazine and held it 

 on his knee. 



"Capital story that of yours!" 



"Which?" I asked. 



"That last one in here," he said, tap- 

 ping the covers of i.he book, "the story 

 called 'The Mystery of Rowner's Mill. ' " 



"I am glad you like it, but really" — 



"A splendid story! Rather daring 

 thougli. " 



"Daring?" 



"Yes — to publish a story of real life 

 as mere fiction. " 



"I don't understand what" — 



"But why did you make Maud a dark 

 girl? Of course she was fair, as you 

 know. Her real name was Mabel, but 

 that doesn't matter." 



"You are quite" — 



"Still, yon have hit off Maltby to 

 aT." • 



"The story, I assure, you, was" — 



"Written under pressure of time?' 

 Yes, I have no doubt of it. But your de- 

 scription of the old mill is exact. Row- 

 ner's Mill is, of course, Radford's Mill, 

 near B . ' ' 



"Allow me to explain" — 



"Quite unnecessary, I assure you. 

 You were perfectly justified in changing 

 the name. But that passage in which 

 you describe the act of vengeance on 

 Maltby is remarkably powerful and ac- 

 curate. Ah! here it is: 'Seeing his vic- 

 tim powerless, Jasper Gore, with the 

 strength of a giant, seized him in bis 

 arms and for one moment held him 

 above hio head in front of the open win- 

 dow. Then he hurled the wretched man 

 into space. Down, down he fell, until, 

 with a splash that was inaudible amid 

 the roar and rattle of the mill, Maltby 

 disappeared in the deep water of the 

 race, and was instantly battered to a 

 shapeless mass by the huge revolving 

 water wheel !' " 



"But surely you know" — 



"Oh, yes; I know every inch of the 

 place. Of course you are a little bit 

 rough on me. " 



"On you?" 



"Yes; yoa see, Jasper Gore" — 



T rose to my feet. So far I had hardly 

 been able to get a word in edgeways. I 

 had not the slightest idea what he was 

 driving at. He was exhausting my pa- 

 tience. 



"Look l::re, sir," I shouted warmly, 



