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SQUARING ACCOUNTS.

where nothing could save her from being carried out to sea.

The water rose higher and higher. The horses were wild with fright, and on a lurch of the sinking ferry, they plunged over the foot plank into the open waters of the river, carrying little Jimmy with them.

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The first boat from the mill had already reached the ferry, and Captain Fred had thrown a hawser around the forward pole of the ferry railing. The crews were rowing as only strongarmed, brave-hearted river men row, hoping to reach the sand spit. The life boat was nearing the ferry from the mill side, and had a clear view of Jimmy and the horses. the horses made the leap, Jimmy, full of the excitement of the situation, and forgetting for the time the change of elements from land to water, shouted wildly to them: "Run, you devilsrun!"

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This was his "jolly up" call whenever he reached a hard, smooth piece of level land, and meant a steady, swift trot. In spite of the serious situation, there was something so ridiculous in Jimmy's shout that the oarsmen laughed and almost stopped rowing. Jimmy was no swimmer, and sank as soon as he touched the water, while the horses swam on as best they could.

No one knew Jimmy so well as Winters, and he shouted to the captain: "Charlie, save Jimmy. He can't swim."

This quieted the boat crew in an instant, and it took only a few strokes to bring them close behind the slash of the swimming horses. Two men. with boat-hooks stood at the bow, watching for the first glimpse of Jimmy's yellow oilskins. A few yards ahead they saw him. The strongest swimmer among them sprang into the water, and soon had the little stage driver under his arm. All the lines but one had slipped from Jimmy's hands, but over that one his fingers clenched with a death-like grip. So, Jimmy, line and all, was dropped on board. In a few strokes they were all

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ashore. The work of restoration was rewarded by first a slight stir, then a quiver, and a gasping breath or two, and a weak: "Hey, there: what's up?"

"We will have you on your feet again in a hand's turn and warbling as loud as ever," said Captain Charlie, in a try-to-be-cheerful voice.

"Where's the team?" asked Jimmy, in a scared whisper.

"All making for the sand bar the last I saw of them," said Nick Norton. "But never mind, Jimmy; you're safe-that's the best part of our business. Rest awhile; then we'll take you up to the hotel."

Winters stayed with his ferry boat, but his heart was with the life-saving crew that were following Jimmy. He watched them with a white, scared face.

"Is my awful wish to be fulfilled? Is Jimmy's voice to be hushed forever?" he muttered.

He left the ferry, stage, horses and all without saying a word about their disposal, and sprang into the boat that was heading for the mill. He must see Jimmy.

He arrived just in time to hear Nick Horton's last words. Motioning to Nick, he said in broken sentences:

"Get-Robinson's team. Take Jimmy up there. Tell Robinson-hemust have the best. Get some one to stay with him. The bill is mine." Then with shaking legs and a thankful heart, he went down the steep path that led to his own back door.

In the meantime the horses were really swimming toward land, and as they had not been drawn into the center of the stream, they made it with little difficulty.

The express agent, the detective and Bob Rutherford, a rancher, quickly caught the team.

From the window, Sister Susan saw the strange procession as it drove up to the barn. She knew there must be two more plates laid, and the spareroom fire lighted. But first of all, the great logs in the living room fireplace must be stirred and more short sticks added to make a quick hot blaze.

It was almost dark. If you have never seen a Mendocino County living room and a real stone fire place, piled with redwood logs and driftwood, you cannot picture the bright glow and the warm welcome shining through the room that greeted our well-nigh worn-out traveler at the open door. The warm bath, the dry clothes that either fitted or didn't fit (Bob was tall and Neal was short), and then the steaming hot supper, and the four tired but satisfied men were in their best humor.

A ride back to the river to see the stage to find their baggage (the express box being safe in the Rutherford living room), and more than all, to get the latest news from Jimmy, took the next forenoon.

Jimmy, propped up in bed, declared he felt fine; but as Mother Ainslie said, "He looked a leetle pale and peaked like."

Jimmy found his horses none the worse for their bath. They enjoyed the abundant feed and the rest. As soon as harness could be provided, they were hitched to the stage and driven off the ferry on to the sand-bar. By dint of shoveling and log lifting, a new road was made, leading to the old road that the farmers had used to haul driftwood from the beach to their homes; and the the nine-seater was housed under the Rutherford shed. The boxes and baggage were put in the Rutherford store room, awaiting further orders.

When fully recovered, Jimmy was at his post. He was, and he was not, the same Jimmy. He came quietly down the grade now, no matter what his humor.

"Holler, if you want to," said Winters one day when they were alone. "I was a fool to let it bother me, and a bigger one to say all the mean things I did. Gosh, but you can never know how I felt when I saw you go down behind your team."

Jimmy scratched the ground with his toe and dug holes with his heel while Winters went on:

"When you were 'come to,' I made up my mind if it took all I had you should be on your feet and your loss made good."

"Yes, I know; but why should you pay the bills? I'll pay them myself."

"No you won't! That's the only way I can even up. What if one of those wheelers had kicked you in the head, where'd I been? An' me wishin' you dead!"

""Twas licking mean for me to tease you so, Winters. If you'll forgive me, we'll call it square.'

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"Yes, and my hand on it, too. Now holler all you please. No one can beat you at it. That's sure."

"Not till you get your new boat, Al."

Jimmy carried the mail on horseback for several weeks, from Russian River to Gualala, where Winters accepted it, turned it over to Robinson, giving Jimmy the return sack. An extra horse carried the express.

. At last came a day when the ferry was rebuilt, new poles reset and wires strung, and Jimmy, as happy as a man could be, drove down the grade again to the ferry landing, with his jolliest "Yippity, yoppity, yow, yo, yo, yo, oo, ow-ee." Al. Winters, all past accounts squared, was glad to hear him; and all the town, mill, camp and rivermen knew it.

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My Literary Acquaintance ·

By Eleanor Connell

L

ONDON, from a social point of view, was very dull that early summer. Leaders of all grades of society from the beautiful and exclusive Duchess of Ayrshire, a lady of high degree and of a stamp genuine and rare, to the well poised and ambitious Mrs. A. Bamford-Leigh of Queen's Gate, had arranged a long season of entertainment. But the sudden death of the reigning sovereign, King Edward VII, had plunged the metropolis into mourning. Not until the last funeral rite at Windsor had been read did Society pull itself together. Then began, in a careful and quiet, yet nevertheless certain way, a "small and early" form of function. And wherever the place to which one had a "bid," whether the scene shifted from Mayfair and Hyde Park to Kensington, or even comfortable Bloomsbury, the very edge, may I say, was taken off the top of gayety. I was, as the visiting society representative of a well known American newspaper, thought to be "worth while." Then, too, my connection through my maternal parent with the widow and daughter of an English officer who were among the privileged guests of the realm, inasmuch as one of the charming and homelike apartments at Hampton Court had been placed at their disposal for life, had given me a certain "cachet." Add to this fact that I showed myself ready to enjoy everything which came my way, you will find explained the fact that my days were not long enough for pleasures offered. And at night I was always "going on," as they say in London. Sometimes "doing" four and five

engagements in an evening. My hostess of the first named type radiated a certain gracious splendor. Among these are leaders of the most indisputably aristocratic ton. They were ladies of birth and title. Their homes in Mayfair, Belgravia, Grosvenor Square, opened to me vistas of splendor, yet withal, this grandeur showing a certain charming coziness. Another order of ladies, wives of brilliant men, graced in a circle of London society. This set may be described as Parliamentary, political and official. And many of these, I remember, lived in or near by Park Lane. These people often entertain royalty. The wife of the Speaker of the House of Commons is at the head of this faction of society. And though for a period of thirty days, when complimentary mourning was obligatory, all functions wore a certain sombreness; many brilliant men and women dazzled and delighted by their wit, great charm and cleverness. Then there is another class more or less accredited to society in London, known as the artistic circle, and of this set Mrs. A. Bamford-Leigh was a leader. Born well, the third of a family of four beautiful girls, daughters of a struggling Lincolnshire barrister, she had met whilst visiting in London at the home of her eldest married sister the staid, rather elderly man who became her husband. As editor of one of the foremost morning papers of London, he had accumulated a fortune. Together they had succeeded in attracting a large acquaintance and delighted to have their parties spoken of as "Bohemian." Lion hunters they were, and at their home was

to be met the poet, actor, musician and the danseuse of the hour. My reader says: "But what has this to do with the lady from Chelsea." And in answer I say: "Much indeed." I had looked for her for years-for this was my third visit to England. I had met duchesses and dukes, lords and ladies, statesmen, their wives and daughters -ladies whose husbands were always in the background, and in whose exquisite, if tiny, houses in Jermyn and Curzon street one met personages.

On one occasion there was a dancer of two years ago, who is Lady Somebody to-day; actors and actresses; artists of the brush and singers; literary folk from all the United Kingdom. From all ranks of the social scale, from Mayfair to Bloomsbury, had these interesting folk come into my life. I had motored to Hurlingame, and punted on the Thames. I had been among large and small parties of simple dear folk in

char-a-banc through Warwickshire. And rarely has there been a bout without a sprinkling of literary lights.

But none of them lived in Chelsea. I wanted my charmer to be a woman and to have an apartment-for then, oh, joy! perhaps she would ask me to visit her. And I hoped she would be a writer of some merit, and live in Cheyne Walk-not far from No. 5, Carlyle's old home! And just as I had ceased expecting her she came into my life. Let me tell you how and

when.

CHAPTER II.

Spring was late in arriving that year in England. Twice, if not thrice, during the last week in May, London was visited by a flurry of snow. I was "booked" for Oberammergau; was waiting only for friends from California who were due any day at Plymouth. I saw, visited with and parted from them within a few days. On a murky morning in mid-June I left my hotel in Russell Square, and putting myself and belongings into a "four wheeler," was driven to Victoria Sta

tion. My destination was Brussels, where I was to visit friends, and with them see the splendid World's Fair (Exposition Universelle) which was 'on." There had been much thunder, lightning and rain; indeed the morning seemed wintry. After seeing my luggage weighed and on its way to the "van," I was shown into a compartment by a "guard." After taking the only vacant seat, the door was closed finally. Reader, my lady from Chelsea was there, yet not the slightest intimation had I of it. I did not have to cross the small compartment (seating six), the only vacant seat being at the right hand corner on entering. Next to me was a young girl about seventeenand one saw at a glance that she was well mannered as well as pretty. Next to the girl was a lady approaching middle age, wearing widow's weeds. They proved to be mother and daughter. Opposite them were two ladies, very English, one of them in a buxom. sort of way. The other had an appealing look and manner. I should say she had a timid nature. And this type I met with rather often among a certain class of women and little children in England. They impressed one as being very shy. I could not quite place these two ladies. I believe that they were old friends renewing a girlhood friendship. The stouter of the two was home from Egypt on a visit. Her husband was an English officer. The only one not mentioned was directly opposite me, and from the first I thought she sat in her corner as if (although without a look or movement intended to be unkind) the rest of us were ignored. The train started, and when the long station was cleared and we were well into the suburbs, a remark was made about the weather. The English ladies opposite said it was strange weather. It is already mid-June, said one, and only a fortnight ago it had snowed, and ever so many thunder storms! The rain and hail was rapping on the windows as the sweet-faced one was talking. "But," said the lady in weeds whom at first I took for the widow of a Church

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"Reader, my Lady from Chelsea was there, yet I had not the slightest in

timation of it."

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