FOR

OR the past five minutes Lester Prior lay watching that shadow moving back and forth across the parlor floor of the inn. First the ghostly object moved with becoming dignity, but soon its speed increased at such a rate that it threatened to out-do Tam O'Shanter in his race with the witches. In irritation the young man sprang lightly from the settee on which he had been resting, determined to cross the path of the mad thing, if he could do no

more.

There, on the stretch of green in front of the window, walked the cause of this irritation. Evidently something troubled this "cause," for, in his nervous excitement, he was apparently lost to his surroundings, and his steps were keeping time with his thoughts. Matthew Grabell, for it was none other than the great electrician, was a man who looked to be in the prime of life, though possibly older. Everything about him betokened that centralizing power that had ruled his every act. His world was within himself. Even as he walked one would note, in the slightly rounded shoulders, the head resting forward, the eyes partly veiled by the puckered lids; the arms pressed against his body, an obedience to that all-controlling power within.

Stopping suddenly before the window at which Lester stood, he "squared off" as if about to attack the young man, and there gave vent to his pent-up annoyance.

"I thought, day before yesterday when I saw those shutters thrust out, that something unusual was going to happen, but to have that something develop into a young woman, and, Lester, to have the contrary minx passionately fond of roses ". "See here, professor, where did you, the avowed woman hater, get this interesting information? Passionately fond of roses, eh?"

"No more of that, boy, the case is a serious one, and if we come through without losing the results of a year's labor, we'll have to be pretty sharp, for she looks like a knowing damsel, and any intrusion on those grounds will have to be satisfactorily explained. I didn't tell you how it all came about. While I was waiting for you to come back to the laboratory, I thought I'd once more test the machine, get our angles ready, and well, something, I can't tell what, gave a twist to my line of thought, and I looked over into the garden just in time to see a blackrobed figure walk briskly down the path in the

direction of our rose tree. From my position I could see her face relax when she looked at the beauties. She actually laid one against her cheek caressingly, but she didn't pluck it like some of the simpletons would. I couldn't quite catch the expression of her face, so I took out the fieldglass"

"Well, well, professor, taken to studying women's faces through the field-glass. New business for that heavenly-consecrated instrument. No matter, its all in the cause of science. Go on, I'm interested."

"I think it was her consideration for the roses, Lester, that fixed my attention, and I tell you I was rewarded. As she turned the angle of the path, I caught a full view of her face, and such a face"

'Poor love-lorn maiden pining away her precious existence for some ninnyhammer of a fellow, who wouldn't be worthy of her if he could live out twice his little span. Not so?"

"I can't think it. No passing love affair could give that startled, agonized look," and Matthew Grabell lapsed into silence. Suddenly the annoying features of the case came back to him, and he angrily blurted out, "What in thunder brings this young woman now to that musty old house that has lain vacant for years, and what's more to the point, what business has she interefering with our schemes?"

"Well, professor, things do look a little snarled, but ten to one you find the formula out of this."

On the morning of the foregoing conversation, in the veritable old garden referred to, the unconscious object of the scientist's annoyance was seated on a fallen log at the entrance to the grape arbor. With one arm stretched to its full length in grasping a heavy grape-vine overhead, her slight figure in tense attitude, her finely poised head thrown back of the normal line, she presented an interesting study in profile. Her finely cut mouth was set in almost harsh lines, so intent was she with some dominating thought. Outlined against the old gray wall, and seemingly unconscious of the heroic pose which she

had assumed, she was not unlike those carved medallions of Joan of Arc so plentifully displayed in the Parisian shops. * * She stood thus for a while, evidently struggling to suppress some strong emotion. But the iron grip with which for months she had held her feelings in check was removed, the flood-gates opened, and the deluge of tears that followed threatened to overcome her.

"Mercy, child, what can be the matter?" cried her aunt, Mrs. Berkeley, as she hurried down the garden path. "What shall I do? Oh, I must call Peter."

"No, auntie, no," and Myra raised her tearstained face, beseeching her aunt not to call assistance.

"Well, dear, we'll sit right down on this seat facing the wall, where no one will see us, and you will tell me all about your trouble, and you will feel the better for it."

"I have tried so hard to keep this to myself," said Myra, "but I cannot any longer."

'Why, child, this is strange talk," and Mrs. Berkeley looked anxiously at Myra.

The harassing experience of that night of nights, which had haunted Myra's sleeping and waking moments during these weary months, came upon her now with full force, and it was with difficulty she finished her story.

It seems that on the day Squire Moseley died, some four months before the opening of our story, he sent for his granddaughter Myra, who, since she had grown to womanhood, had been his secretary, and in this capacity had proved most useful to him. When she went to the library that afternoon in answer to his call, she noticed that her grandfather was unusually pale, and when he placed on the table an envelope which he held his hand shook violently.

Myra took up the envelope and was about to extract the letter, when her grandfather raised himself from his easy-chair and with great effort said, “Seal it, seal it, I say." This unusual demand was instantly obeyed. Myra turned over the letter and read, "To be delivered to my son, sealed, on his twenty-fifth birthday.

The Squire never spoke again. The imperious man whose will had been the law that none gainsaid had bowed to a mightier will.

In the bustle and excitement incident to the Squire's unexpected death, Myra's thoughts more than once reverted to the sealed letter, and towards evening of that day, in sorting over the papers on the library table, she thrust it into a book. The Squire's command to seal it had aroused in Myra a painful curiosity which developed into a feverish desire to know the

contents of the letter. What communication had her grandfather to make to Berke that she must not read? Was she concerned in it? She must know.

A half-hour later Myra sat in her room with the letter before her. It was, as yet, sealed. The struggles through which that soul passed in the face of this temptation must have been pitable, for Myra, heretofore, had been even ruggedly honorable in dealing with herself as with others. Her overweening curiosity in this instance mastered and she read:

My Dear Son:

In my unsettled state of health, feeling the uncertainty of life, and wishing to explain my will, the contents of which may seem strange, if not unnatural, I address this letter to you.

You are, as I have before told you, my son by adoption, the son of parents who were to me as my own children, and whose untimely death I have long mourned.

You came into my life at a time when my heart was almost broken. The rash act of my daughter, who was only a school-girl, in leaving her honored home for an irresponsible fellow whom she scarcely knew, the subsequent homecoming of the deserted mother and her little babe, and then the death of my poor daughter before she could tell her story, are scenes that I would fain banish from my memory, but it cannot be.

Although I have learned to love Myra (God help me for her likeness to her mother, still I feel that the honor of our house must be held inviolate. There is no tie of blood between you and me, but there is a strong bond of love, cemented by the memory of your honored parents. I, therefore, vest the sole proprietorship of my lands in you, my dear son, to take effect on your twenty-fifth birthday, and the will so reads.

I have settled a proper amount on Myra Moseley to secure to her a living such as she has been led to think is her right, and I leave it to your discretion to reveal the contents of this letter or not, for to no one have I confessed my doubt concerning Myra's parentage, which doubt has weighed me down all these years. Your loving father,

JOHN MOSELEY.

The letter lay in Myra's lap. During these four months she had carried it about her night and day. She was yet too honorable to destroy the evidence of justice in the Squire's act, although in so doing she would cover up her

disgrace, and, too proud to reveal her own misdeed and her mother's shame. It is then no wonder that, with the daily struggle between right and wrong, the poor girl was well-nigh distracted.

Reaching over, Mrs. Berkeley took the letter, scrutinized the signature, and then replacing it sat quietly looking at the stone wall in front of her. She could not tell Myra that, in any way, she was justified in opening the letter, and, too, she felt that in her other trouble no human comfort could suffice for loss of name. After a few moments of silence she turned to the young girl at her side and solemnly repeated, "Remember His promise, Myra, I can quickly raise thee up again, and turn all thy burden into joy.'"

66

Come, dear," she continued, we will talk about this to-morrow. It must be past the luncheon hour."

During Myra's recital, if one could have looked within that bonnet-like projection which shaded one of the deep-seated windows in the tall building adjacent to the garden, he would have marveled at the scene being enacted there. The genius of this high-in-air laboratory had seated himself before the receiver of the radiophone, that wonderful machine which was to revolutionize the entire system of telephones and place him on the pinnacle of fame.

"If Lester's adjustments at the transmitter are correct, and that seat just the right distance from the speaking-tube, then the conditions for trial are perfect," mused the electrician. "Why couldn't those people have staid away a little longer? Well, I suppose we'll have to explain our invasion of their premises, and, if necessary, remove the apparatus, but we must test it first if we have to do it by stealth. We can't wait much longer either, for if that girl begins peering around there, she'll soon fix the transmitter for us."

Muttering in this strain, Matthew Grabell toyed with the portion of the instrument before him. All of a sudden he started as one shocked. A peculiar sound had come over the receiving wire, and then all was silent. With pale, excited face he rapidly adjusted his position and sat motionless awaiting developments. In a few moments, with puzzled air, he arose and in a strained voice exclaimed, "It works - someone is under the rose tree."

With a smile of conscious power which, in his delirum of excitement, was almost a grimace, he sat down to the pleasant task of hearing that new-found voice. As he listened it might be noticed that the smile was fading from his countenance and a look of deep surprise and

concern forming there. Fifteen or twenty minutes later Matthew Grabell sat before his machine in a dazed condition. Then, as one who has lost his bearings in time and space, he stretched out his arms wildly, as it were to grasp at the lost threads in an almost forgotten past.

Late in the afternoon of the day on which occurred the events recorded, Mrs. Berkeley was awakened from her after-luncheon nap by a light rap on the door, and immediately the maid appeared bearing a card. In a little flutter of excitement Mrs. Berkeley read the name, Matthew Grabell. "Well, what can bring him here? No new trouble, I hope. It's an old saying, but a pretty true one, 'Once the door has been opened to trouble, you may expect any amount of it." "

Notwithstanding possible annoyance that might come to her through her lately announced visitor, Mrs. Berkeley was careful to see that every detail of her dress was arranged to the best advantage, for whatever might be the import of his visit, it was still a fact that she was about to meet one of the most distinguished men of his time. A few moments later she was bowing in acknowledgement of her name which was pronounced by her visitor, who, without any attempt at paving the way to the occasion of his call, began plying questions which somewhat astonished her.

"No doubt you may think me rude, but there are certain business complications which must be settled, and to understand fully the situation, I must ask some personal questions." At this Mrs. Berkeley craned her neck and maintained a dignified silence.

"Squire Moseley had a daughter. right?"

Am I

Mrs. Berkeley looked coldly at the questioner, but did not answer.

"She married when a schoolgirl. Is it not so?"

She is dead," said Mrs. Berkeley. "Did she die without issue?" "She left a daughter." "Where is that daughter?” She is with me." "May I see her?"

Mrs. Berkeley replied that Myra's health had failed since the Squire's death, and that to-day she was suffering from a severe headache.

Matthew Grabell sat in silence for a moment, then arose, and confronting Mrs. Berkeley, in an excited voice exclaimed, "I must see her I have a right to see her."

At a loss to know just what to do, Mrs. Berkeley looked nervously about for some safe method of exit. Mr. Grabell, I am sure I do not understand you. You seem greatly excited. Will you not be seated and compose yourself?" Without complying, Grabell continued: "It is, perhaps, as well that I do not see her until I am calmer. Mrs. Berkeley, I am a man of few words, but I must speak to-night. Twenty years ago, while I was a student at Southdown Academy, I loved, or thought I loved, a girl who was yet in school. In our youthful impetuosity we planned a secret marriage. We took apartments on the outskirts of the town, and, according to our arrangements, I was to finish my course, and we were to eke out an existence on my allowance and what I could earn at tutoring. The happiness in that little home was short-lived. I learned, when it was too late, that my science was more to me than my wife.

While I realize now that no circumstances could justify my dastardly act, yet I can with all truth say that I tried hard to fulfil my duty, but Helen was unreasonable. Most of my time after hours was needed for original work and such tutoring as I could get. My work was nerveexhausting. Sometimes in the midst of an experiment requiring time and the utmost care, Helen would appear and upbraid me for neglect. She was not happy unless she had my undivided attention, and that I could not give. So daily I found that my laboratory was more congenial to me than my home, and I discovered, too, that the irritating conditions at home were telling upon me in my work. I was not successful, and in sheer desperation I started out, I knew not wither, left college, home, everything, that I might pursue my beloved work in peace. I found my way to the metropolis, and after weary waiting and much suffering, made connections which led to my present position. The year following my departure from home, when I read the notice of my wife's death, harsh as it may seem to you to acknowledge it, yes - even brutal, I felt a sense of freedom akin to joy. I buried myself in my work. That early life was to me as if it had not been, and were it not for what was revealed to me to-day, I would gladly shut out any thought of it. But henceforth the one object of my life will be to atone to my poor daughter for the sorrow which I have brought to her and hers. All the honor and distinction which have come to me through my work will be as nothing if not shared by her."

Mrs. Berkeley had remained silent during this rapid recital, but now, as her visitor moved towards the door, with suppressed excitement she exclaimed, You married Helen Moseley?"

"I did."

"Thank God," she fervently repeated.

When Matthew Grabell returned to the inn that night, he found Lester seated at a table strewn with maps and plans, and formidable looking papers. Evidently he was wrestling with some problem, for, when the professor drew near, he frantically waved him off.

"There, I've been working on that curve for the last forty-five minutes. Got into a perfect nest of logarithms, but they had to come round. News, professor? Did you brave the lioness in her den?"

"Lester, when is your time up?"

'Lester, the machine works."

"Works," cried the excitable youth, bounding from his seat and peering into the face of the professor to see if there were indications that reason had taken flight. "Your'e pretty calm about it. How could it work with you alone?"

Then the professor briefly and rapidly told Lester what had happened since he left him that morning. Lester was more deeply affected by the remarkable tale than even his intimate relations with his mentor would seem to explain.

"Professor," he exclaimed with marked emotion, as the old man ended his tale, "we expected fame from our fettered sunbeam and it has brought us more a daughter and a sister."

A SONG FOR THE OLD YEAR.
Yes, sing a song for him, my friends,
The year is lonely now!
The frost and rime of winter-time
Lie thick on beard and brow.
He had his faults, his foibles, too,
His follies, doubts and fears;
Yet, take him all in all, 'tis true

He brought more smiles than tears.
So we will speak him fair, my friends,
We loved him well, you know,
And sing the good old year a song
Before we let him go.

- Helen Whitney Clark.

PERSONALS.

Prof. J. H. Stoller, of Union, has returned after a year's absense in Germany spent in study.

Miss Ellen Jones, whose kindergarten articles and programs in last year's NEW YORK EDUCATION attracted such favorable comment, has been appointed trainer of the Kindergarten Training Class in Albany, N. Y.

Dr. Thomas Hunter, of the New York Normal College, recently contributed a popular article to the New York Tribune on The Future of the Teaching Profession."

Dr. Mary C. Noyes returns from Mount Holyoke College to Lake Erie College, Painesville, Ohio.

Lieutenant Stephen Jenkins, second assistant in No. 67, who was the first to plant the American flag on Cuban soil, is on his way to Manila with the naval reserves, in charge of the collier "Abarenda."

Miss Cora Jane Flood, only daughter of the dead millionaire, has tendered as a gift to the University of California, the fine Flood mansion at Menlo Park, with its large grounds, consisting of 540 acres. The house is very beautiful and spacious, and the whole place is worth a quarter of a million dollars. The letter of gift provides that the residence and grounds are to be preserved intact and the income to be used for some branch of commercial education.

The death of H. E. Holt, which occurred October 18 at his home in Lexington, Mass., will be a surprise and great grief to his army of friends throughout the country. Mr. Holt has been for many years one of the most prominent and enthusiastic instructors of music in the Boston public schools, and, as an author of music books and charts, has made his name a familiar one in this important department of public instruction. Ex.

NEW YORK EXAMINATION FOR
PRINCIPALS.

OFFICE OF THE CITY SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS. 146 GRAND STREET,

A

NEW YORK, November 12, 1898.

WRITTEN examination of applicants for licenses as principals in elementary schools in any and all boroughs of the city of New York, will be held by the Board of Examiners, commencing on Tuesday, December 27, at 421 Broome street, Manhattan; and an oral examination, at the call of the Board of Examiners.

For admission to the examination for principal's license the applicant must have one of the following qualifications, numbered 1, 2, 3, 4:

I. Graduation from a college or university recognized by the Regents of the University of the State of New York; and two years of professional study in a university school or department of education, or in a normal school or college; together with at least three years' successful experience in supervision or teaching.

2. Graduation from a college or university recognized by the Regents of the University of

the State of New York; together with at least five years' successful experience in supervision or teaching. (Applicants in this class for licenses in Manhattan and The Bronx must have had eight years' experience in a graded school.) 3. A New York State certificate granted since 1875, together with eight years' successful experience in teaching or supervision, immediately preceding the examination. (The satisfaction of this condition constitutes a qualification for a principal's license in the boroughs of Brooklyn, Queens and Richmond, but not in the boroughs of Manhattan and The Bronx.)

4. Ten years' successful experience in teaching or supervision in city public schools, immediately preceding the examination. (Applicants in this class for licenses in Manhattan and The Bronx must also have successfully completed a course of at least two years in a school of pedagogy approved by the State Superintendent of Public Instruction, or have attended at least two sessions of not less than six weeks each in a university or normal summer school.)

The position of each applicant on the eligible list will be determined by his marks in the written and the oral examinations under the following heads, numbered I, II, II, IV. The attainment of not less than seventy per cent. under each head will be required:

I. Personality, studies, experience in teaching.

II. History and principles of education. III. Methods of teaching.

IV. School management.

Applicants will also be required to pass an examination in scholarship, as follows:

Group A. English literature, rhetoric.
Group B. Logic, psychology.

Group C. Algebra, geometry, trigonometry. Group D. Physics, chemistry, physiology and hygiene.

Group E. Physical and mathematical geography, United States history, civil government.

Group F. A language and its literature, viz.: Greek, Latin, French, German or Anglo-Saxon. Applicants will be required to take Group A and two other groups; but a candidate presenting, before December 15, 1898, a satisfactory thesis in any of the subjects mentioned in groups B, C, D, E and F, may be exempted from examination in the group of which such subject forms a part.

Note. - Each applicant must file with his application on the day of the examination, documentary evidence of possessing the qualifications named under "1," 2," 3 or "4" in the above notice.