-~ ORTH SHORE BREEZE 
swallowing it. She confessed after- 
ward to a little malice in forcing me 
to eat it. and later, when I really be- 
gan to like it, she would often say, 
“Will you have your rice with cream 
and sugar on it or a little pepper, Mr. 
Palmer?” 
After dinner we went on the porch, 
where Bud brought us pipes. “I hope 
you like the pipe.’ he said as he hand- 
ed me an old brier root. “We have 
given up cigars lately—on account of 
the tariff,” ae added with a big, good 
natured lamgh. I said I did; that it 
was my chiefest luxury in my univer- 
sity days and I still preferred it to 
cigars. Colonel Turpin said that if I 
did not object to music Ellen would 
play us something; that she always 
did when he took his after dinner 
smoke. I said that I could not imagine 
greater luxury, and I leaned back pre- 
pared to undergo any amount of tor- 
ture and outrage to my artistic nature, 
for I knew something of music, as my 
father had been a splendid performer 
on the piano and had given me the ben- 
efit of his knowledge. Instead of hymns 
and waltzes, however, there floated 
through the window to us the sweetest 
notes [| seemed ever to have heard. I 
sat dreamily thinking of this lovely 
girl and her odd surroundings when 
she appeared at the window and asked 
if there was anything that I liked espe- 
clally. 
*“T do not know if you care for 
Chopin,” she said. “Father does not 
know it is Chopin, but it is the music 
he likes, and so I always play some of 
the nocturnes for him.” 
“The truth is, Miss Turpin,’”’ I said, 
“T did not think of what you were play- 
ing, but was merely feeling the effect 
of the music. Your playing seemed to 
me to be a part of the scene out here, 
as if it were an accompaniment to the 
moon in its wanderings or to the stars 
in the silent watches.” 
My speech sounded like flattery, and 
I blushed as the thought came to me. 
“T hope you will forgive my praise if 
it seemed extravagant,” I said, “but I 
only said what was in my heart with- 
out reflecting that you might take it 
for flattery.” I had been accustomed 
to pay compliments at will and some- 
times, I fear, was given to flattery, but 
I would not have had this young girl 
think me guilty of such ill breeding 
for anything in the world. 
“If that is the way you feel,” she an- 
swered sweetly, “I will play something 
for you and trust to pleasing father,” 
and, going back to the piano, she play- 
ed something—I do not know what. 
Bud said he had never heard her plag 
it before, and, though I asked her often 
after that to play it for me again, I 
never heard it, yet the strains even 
now go through my head when I sit in 
the moonlight or lie awake at nights 
thinking of Ellen. 
She disappeured after awhile to clear 
the table and wash the dishes, I 
thought. with some resentment. Colo- 
nel Turpin talked politics, and I soon 
learned that he was decided in his 
views, though somewhat mixed in his 
politics. I found out that he was ad- 
dicted to the habit of writing ‘‘pieces”’ 
for the papers, but never under his 
own name. He chose rather such noms 
de plume as “Vox Populi,” “Citizen” 
and sometimes “Patriot.” He did not 
believe that writing was the profes- 
sion of a gentleman unless one could 
hide one’s identity. Yet he felt that 
the public should be educated by this 
means. He was a Democrat, but be- 
lieved in a high protective tariff. He 
disclaimed being a jingo, but thought 
it the-duty of tive government to avenge 
the wrongs of any people persecuted 
by a foreign power. And so the night 
wore on and the moon rose higher in 
the heavens. [| heard Bud and the 
eolonel discuss the work on the farm 
and judged that the former and two or 
three negroes did it all save in the 
picking season. 
There was a contradiction about this 
strange household which was perplex- 
ing to me. Where had Miss Ellen 
mastered the piano, and why was Bud, 
with the apparent education of a cul- 
tured gentleman, wearing jeans and 
doing the plow work in the fields? I 
had begun to weary of conjecture 
when Miss Ellen returned and offered 
to show me the view from the cupola. 
It was a weary climb to the top of 
that old house, but one felt repaid on 
reaching there as the panorama un- 
folded itself in the moonlight. The 
moon was but a fortnight old, and the 
night was cloudless. Miss Hllen point- 
ed out to me the field where the army 
of Sherman had camped on its famous 
march to the sea, but had not a word 
of criticism to make of that great gen- 
eral. She told me of the strong young 
manhood that was developing to re- 
generate the land and seemed to think 
the freedom of the slaves a blessing 
to both people. She promised to take 
me to the negro settlement some day 
and show me how they lived. She 
had a Sunday school there of colored 
girls, “for,” she said, “it is gging to 
be through the mothers of the colored 
race that we will some day reach it 
and elevate it to what is good and 
moral.’’ I stood spellbound, as it were, 
by her earnestness and faith, and all 
my preconceived opinions began to fall 
away under the influence of this little 
brown eyed girl in a gingham gown. 
That night after I retired to my 
room the instincts of the newspaper 
man, which had lain dormant since ar- 
riving at the Pines, began to stir, and 
I could not help thinking what a pic- 
ture this household would make if 
held up before a Boston audience. But 
to turn these kindly people into an ob- 
ject lesson would be the basest in- 
gratitude. Yet put this ‘idea from me 
as I would, it would recur to me during 
the night, and scene after scene, with 
Ellen and Bud always in the fore- 
ground, kept shifting themselves across 
the mental canvas, and argue as I 
would that to make use of this homely 
life with its poverty and pride, its dig- 
nified endurance of changed conditions. 
as the subject of a news letter would 
be an ill return for the hospitality I 
had received, yet I could not put aside 
the longing to pen the picture as I 
saw it and to paint it boldly. in order 
that others might see it in the same 
light as it had appealed to me. 
The next morning I was up early. the 
sun, in fact. being only an hour ahead 
of me. Thinking it would he an ex- 
cellent chance to see something of the 
place and study its character more in 
detail, for I had become deeply inter- 
ested in everything connected with the 
Pines I dressed hastily and starred for 
a brisk walk. As I was making the 
half circuit of the house by way of ex: 
ploration I came upon Miss Ellen, car- 
rying an armful of kindling wood. 
“Why, Miss Turpin,” I cried, “I had 
no idea of finding you up at this hour.” 
“You forget the dual character I 
play,” che laughed. ‘I am not early, 
however, for it is late. But you are 
responsible for it, as you demoralized 
the household last night in encourag- 
ing father to discuss politics. Doubtless 
you saw all his fallacies, but was kind 
enough not to point them out to him.’ 
I had been much entertained, I said, 
though his politics appeared to be 
somewhat mixed and his ideas were 
quite different from those I had expect- 
ed to hear him express. 
“Yes,” she answered; “he is halt 
Democrat and half Republican,  \7ith 
a dash here and there of populism, I 
fear, but it makes him very angry to 
tell him so, as he thinks himself a 
hidebound Democrat. He can never 
forget that Henry Clay believed in a 
protective tariff. I think, next to Gen- 
eral Oglethorpe, he admires the Ken. 
tuckian more than any of our historical 
characters. But I must not allow my- 
self to be dragged into political argu- 
ment, for I see you are ready to take 
up the cudgel for Clay, no doubt, and 
since you have come bothering about 
so early you must make yourself use- 
ful.” She then showed me the wood 
pile and told me to bring enough to the 
kitchen to last two full days. 
“Miss Turpin,” I said a little later 
as I entered the kitchen with my arms 
loaded down with short oak logs, “‘is 
it really necessary for you to do this 
work add 
[To BE CONTINUED.] 
Nalts. 
America has the honor of having 
made the first cut nails, toward the 
close of the eighteenth century. Before 
that nails were made by hand, and 
their manufacture was a household in- 
dustry. Cut nails are made by machin- 
ery from plates rolled to the proper 
width and thickness. They may be 
rande of steel or of malleable iron. 
Wire nuils, though originally a French 
invention, were brought to perfection 
in the United States 
TT SL ee” 
le 
