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“My Peace I Give Unto You."

When Myra Forgave.

“Not as the world giveth."

The Master yet liveth,
Thy soul from its thraldom to win;

And lovingly greeting

Is gently repeating
His promise of heaven within.

BY ROSE RAWSON. Copyright, 1906, by Homer Sprague. The ice was in splendid condition, and carefully avoiding the people she knew in the crowd about the boat landing Myra struck out with long, powerful strokes for up the river.

She was in no mood for company. She wanted to be alone and think things over. It is a serious thing when a girl gives back her first engagement ring and informs the donor that she never wants to see him

To lives dark and dreary

The way-worn and weary,
Looking out and beyond for release ;

To all who are willing,

His promise fulfilling,
He comes with this heavenly peace.

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COURT OF HOTEL DEL CORONADO, SAN DIEGO, CAL.-Slocum, Phot. From the unrest around us,

again. That experience had come to Myra From chains that have bound us

that afternoon. So long in the service of sin ;

It had all been ridiculously foolish. Tom From the fever and fretting,

had scoffed at her for having joined the The striving and getting, We may turn to this heaven within. Browning club, declaring Browning to be

a prize puzzler and not a poet. She had When comforts are flying

taken offense, and they had their first And friendships are dying,

quarrel. She had given back his ring and And the false overshadows the true; he had gone off in dadgeon, leaving her In the midst of thy praying

with the afternoon on her hands. They The Master is saying,

had planned to skate to Riverdale, five "My peace I give unto you."

miles up the river; have supper there

and skate back by moonlight. Now it When youth with its vigor

was all spoiled and she must skate alone. Is gone, and the rigor of winter seems bitter and cold,

She was fond of the ice, and the swift Thy heart may be glowing

motion and the bracing air soon put her With lise ever flowing

in a more pleasant frame of mind. PerFrom fountains that never grow old. haps she had been hasty in giving back

--J. Holbrook Whitney. the ring, but then it is not every day that one is elected the president of the literary down to the landing and borrow a sled." club, and he might at least have congrat- She grasped his coat in terror. “Don't ulated her upon her victory over Nettie leave me!” she pleaded. "I think I Doran.

would go crazy!” She had been so engrossed with her “It would take only ten minutes or thoughts that it was with surprise that so," he argued, but she kept a convulsive she found she had entered the “cut," hold upon his coat. Presently an idea more than two miles from the landing. struck him. Here the river ran between steep bluffs “ Can yon stand on your other foot?” for three-quarters of a mile and she shud. he asked. “Will it bear your weight?" dered a little as she glanced at the cliffs For answer she put out her hands, and on either side. She never had noticed it he helped her to rise. She winced as the before, but now they seemed so black and forbidding.

She was still glancing up as her skate struck a bit of wood frozen into the ice, and with a cry she sank to the glassy surface. She struggled to her feet, but with another little moan she sank to one knee; she had sprained her left ankle.

Several times she essayed to rise, but each time her ankle hurt her more, and finally she desisted and crept on hands and knees to the bank. Perhaps some of the others would take it into their heads to skate up and they would give her help. If no one came she would try to creep back after she had rested.

But after an hour she gave up hope of help coming. She was so numb she could scarcely move. She began to cry softly. If she could not get to the lower end of the cut, where she might attract attention of some one on shore, she might freeze to death.

With infinite labor she crawled a few feet, but she had to give up and sit down again. Perhaps they might miss her at the landing and remember that she had gone up the river. They would send out a searching party for her. It might be an hour or more before she could hope for help, but the idea brought her some comfort, though it did not check the flow of tears.

Then her quick ear caught the welcome sound of the ring of steel on the hard ice and she tried to struggle to her feet.

Around the bend above, Tom Runyon came with powerful strokes. He was

SHE WAVED A SIGNAL. looking straight ahead, and in the dusk he passed her. She waved a signal to at- lame foot struck the ice, but she smiled tract his attention, but before she could bravely. gain the courage to call to him he stopped “I think I can,” she said. suddenly and turned. In a flash he was Tom dropped on one knee and started at her side, kneeling before her.

to unfasten the skate on the injured foot. What's the matter, dear?” he asked. The ankle was so swollen that he had to “Are you hurt?"

cut the strap through, but presently he “I've sprained my ankle,” she sobbed, rose and grasped her hands. "and I'm tired and cold and hungry, and “Now keep the foot up,” he comit hurts an awful lot. I'm so miserable." manded, “and let me tow you.'

“How long have you been here?” he It was a little awkward at first. They asked.

skated together nicely, but now she could “ Hours," she moaned. "It seems like not take a stroke, merely sliding along days, and it's so black and lonesome.' upon a single runner and leaning heavily

“Poor little girl!” he said tenderly. against him for support. Under his “I'll soon have you out of it. I'll skate coaching she soon caught the idea, and presently they were swinging along at a tain. It seemed almost as if a great hand good pace.

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made me stop.” The injured foot ached with the motion “I think it was Fate," she said softly. and weight of the boot, but it was com- “Maybe I sort of half saw you and forting to feel Tom's strong hand clasp was not conscious of it until I had passed and to lean against his shoulder as they you,” he suggested. sped along.

“ I would rather believe it was Fate," Somehow she had never realized what she persisted. a strong man he was until she felt herself “So would I,” he said soberly. “Here's being carried along almost without an the landing." effort. It was less than ten minutes be- The crowd had left the ice and had fore they came in sight of the town as gone home to supper. There were no they turned the last curve.

sleds around, so he slipped off his skates “Looks kind of good, doesn't it?” he and canght her up in his arms. laughed as she gave a cry of delight.

“ It's only a couple of blocks," he said. “I thought I never should it “We'll get home more quickly this way.”

see

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GROUNDS OF O. J. STOUG8, SAN DIEGO, CAL.-Slocum, Phot. again,” she confessed. “I had almost She did not make any comment until given up hope.'

he had carried her into the house and “Lucky thing I had to go to Riverdale,' had bestowed her comfortably upon the he commented. “I had given up the idea, sofa. As he turned to go she spoke his but Johnson took me up in his rig to look name softly. He turned back. at a horse he wants to sell me, and I took “Will you be over after tea?” she my skates along.”

asked. "I'm glad it was you,” she murmured. Surely,” he answered. “I shall

“Are yon?” he asked in surprise. "I want to know how you are getting thought you would have had almost any along one alse rescue you."

“Will you bring the ring?" she whis“I did feel that way for a moment,"

pered. she confessed, “when I first saw it “I have it right here!” he cried out was you. I wonder why you turned eagerly. around.”

For answer she stretched out her hand, Something seemed to stop me," he and he slipped it on. explained. “It was a funny sort of feel. “ This makes me think of the only ing. I just seemed to see you behind me, Browning I know," he laughed. • Reand I had to turn around to make cer- member:

“There's a time in the lives of most women and

men When all would go smooth and even If only the dead knew when

To come back and be forgiven.” I forgave you long before that,” she whispered. “I care more for you than I do for Browning.

bass drum fell on his ears. Above the
din sounded shrill voices, quavering a
hymn. He had never yet attended a
street corner service of the Salvation
Army, and it struck him that this would
be an excellent opportunity to do so. He
quickened his steps and soon came upon
them, men and women alike kneeling on
the dirty pavements, while a raucous
voiced lieutenant offered a prayer. A
flaring gasoline torch on a nearby fruit
stand lighted the scene uncannily and
threw into flickering relief the faces of
varied types crowded about the kneeling
figures.
Mather was country born and bred.

An Angel in the Web.

BY SIDNEY H. COLE.
Copyright, 1905, by P. C. Eastment.
All day long the pitiless heat beat down
on the pavements, and at night when
Mather came home to his little room on

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CAVES AT LA JOLLA, SAN DIEGO, CAL. the second floor he found it a veritable Years of life on the farm had given him a oven. Sleep in that place was out of the big frame and a pair of shoulders that question. He turned out the single gas many an athlete might have envied. It jet and went down to the street. On the was an easy matter for him to elbow his stoop were noisy, chattering groups, wait- way through the crowd to the inner edge ing vainly for a breeze from the water. of the circle, where he stood quietly There was much banter between the watching the little drama before him occupants of neighboring stoops and with mild curiosity and even milder much high pitched laughter. The steps amusement. of his own lodging house, like the rest, The prayer finished, the little band bore its quota, but he felt no inclination arose, and the men replaced their caps. to join them. Instead he walked out to The lieutenant announced a hymn, the the avenue and turned aimlessly down cornet squealed, the trombone brayed, town.

the drum boomed valiantly, and the He had proceeded but a short distance quavering voices rose once more on the when the strident notes of a cornet and hot night air. trombone and the pulsating boom of a At the conclusion of the hymn the lieu

He turned to find Sister Ruth standing beside him.

“Don't hurt him, please don't,” she begged.

Mather smiled grimly. "It's just as you say," said he. “I'll kill him if you say so.

"Let him go, please," she said, and Mather pushed the man away.

"Thank you," she said. Her eyes met his squarely; she blushed and hesitated a moment. “Thank you,” she said again

tenant announced that they would listen to a few words from Sister Ruth. A slight, girlish figure stepped to the center of the circle from somewhere in the shadow. The light of the gasoline torch fell full upon her face-a face of wonder. fal purity and sweetness. There was a beauty in the level brows, the long dark lashes of the eyes and the full, red lips that the bonnet of the corps could not hide, and there was supple grace of fig. ure that the plain blue dress did not whol. ly conceal.

She began to speak in a voice full of earnest appeal. What she was saying Mather did not know, for he paid no heed to her words. He was not an impressionable young man-indeed by his friends he was adjudged unusually hard-headed and abundantly possessed of that quality generally termed "horse sense." But there was something that appealed to him strongly in that face beneath the regulation poke bonnet. He did not take his eyes from her while she was speaking, and when she had finished and stepped back into the shadow he was aware of a strange feeling, half of sadness, half of buoyancy. He elbowed his way out and walked homeward strangely perturbed and strangely elated.

The following night and every nightafter that Mather attended the street corner meetings. If Sister Ruth spoke or prayed or sang he was supremely happy; if others filled her place he was aware of a feeling of disappointment. Being unskilled in the analysis of emotion, he did not recognize the trend of it all. He only knew that he wanted to be near her, to see her face, to listen to her voice.

One night as the women of the corps were passing the tambourines for the col. lection he beheld Sister Ruth coming in his direction through the crowd. She was smiling and nodding gratefully as the nickels and dimes fell jingling into the tambourine. Standing beside Mather were three young fellows evidently the worse for liquor. As Sister Ruth approached them one of the three lifted his foot and kicked the tambourine smartly.

"Little h-higher, Gertie. I c'n kick higher 'n th-that," he hiccoughed familiarly.

Mather's hand fell on the fellow's coat collar with a grip of iron.

“Apologize for that! Hear me? Apologize!” he said in a voice shaking with anger.

"Eh? What?" said the other. He looked up at Mather. Mather towered inches above him. There was, moreover, something very sinister in his eyes.

"I'pologized," began the captive hastily. Mather felt a light touch on his arm.

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DON'T HURT HIM, PLEASE DON'T. and was gone. That night Mather walked home on air.

Mather climbed the dingy stairs to the little hall at the corps barracks. It was Sunday evening. Outside the rain was falling dismally and the gutters ran rivers of mud. He sat down quite alone on one of the rear settees. A handful of people nearer the platform were the only others in the bare, cheerless place.

There were hymns and prayers and testimony quite as usual, and during it all Mather sat back in the shadows feasting his eyes on the outlines of a pretty face beneath a poke bonnet at one side of the platform.

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