Ther we kin hol' our own agin Calaveras, an' asks no odds o' nobody-aint it, boys?"

"Bet your life!" rose in a shifting murmur from the sea of heads, a stern proclamation of reliance in self against the world's worst, their fellow-men.

"All what men needs fer men, fer work, we'se got right hyer in these arms of ourn”—and brawny muscles swelled beneath the clinging flannel-"but it's 'when them nearer waters rolls!'

"Parson, we called Dick Norcott coward, but one day down ther at two-mile bend, a homeless widder's babby toddled inter the san's. 'Twa'n't no uthly use, that babby, but Dick, out perspectin, hearn it cry, an' I hearn Dick yell. When I kim on the jump, yander were Dick a-wallerin' in the quick-san' arter the kid, the little un so light he jus' begin to sink, but Dick knee-deep areddy with his weight.

"I kin see it yet-how he tore the screamin' babby from the san's an' throwed him back like a g'y'nte inter the shaller water an' safe bottom when the mucky, shaky, hungry stuff had sucked him down to the waist. How I tried to find a plank, an' none in miles. How I tried to rope him, an' the lariat were too short,-him quiet an' pale-like ez death, advisin' an' suggestin', an' me the only soul in hearin'. How I fout along the edge to reach him till my boot-tops filled weth san' an' I had to fight outen it again. An' how I screeched for help-an' then cussed an' cried when we both knowed it were too late. An' him a-lookin' back to me weth the las' sun acrost his face an' gal-like hair, jes' like yourn, parson, smilin' that smile, sweeter an' quieter as a babby on its manimy's breas', and 'Tom,' says he, 'drop that. I can't go over the divide to that tune!'

"The san's oozed like under his stretchin' out arms, an' shook and sizzed an' wiggled like a big coil-up snake jes' under the splashin' water."

The strong man covered his face with his hands and shuddered as he lived it all again. The crowd moved,

painfully silent, chewed hard, not one would look into another's face. There was a suspicious dimness in Tom Rickett's eye when his brawny hands went down.

"Then Dick's voice come gentler, like a wind a whisperin': 'Tom,' says he, 'gin my shanty to the widder, gin my washin' claim to Lame Blake, he aint no luck, and tell the boys, Tom, tell the boys that-that I wa'n't afeard!' His voice were clear ez a silver bell, nary a shake, ez two litte swirls showed his shoulders was under.

""O Dick!'-an' I swore, a-fallin' on my face so'st I mightn't see the en'-'fergin us, Dick, fergin us, we didn't a-knowed ye!' 'Tom,' says he, deep and ca'm an' kindly liket, ther aint nothin' to fergin. I never beared ye no gredge-but, Tom, gin every man a fair shake, an' tell 'em I wa'n't afeard, Tom; tell 'em I wa'n't afeard. Good-bye, ole man, good-bye!'

I looked-parson, I sees him now, head throwed back in the sun an' water roun' it, nary fraid in them boy's blue eyes o' his'n, an' him a smilin' up at the sky-1 seed no more. I couldn't look--but I hearn him sing out all to oncet like an angel in heaven. Parson, I'm tough, but my heart hurts yit, an' them's the words what he sung:

Jesus, lover o' my soul,
Lemme to thy bosom fly,

When them nearer waters rolls -"

The great hoarse voice shook as it stumbled through the lines.

"When them nearer waters rolls!' How his voice rung ther-then so still. I hearn myself a-breathin'. I couldn't look, nor think on it, nor listen fer cryin'. I could 'a' died right thar on the san's. When I durst see, them lyin', shiny, laughin', waters was splashin' along in the sun, an' up in the hills I seem to hearn them words a-cryin' 'When them nearer waters rolls, lemme to thy bosom fly!'

When the days an' the nights an' the work an' the fightin's jes' all, men on Kehoe's Bar don't need no sech, but it's 'when them nearer waters rolls'-that's what we

wants. Boys, words what Dick Norcott could die to 'll do fer men to live to! Here's fer a church at Kehoe's! Parson, sing them words agin!”

Into his huge sombrero chinked his sack of dust, and as the words rang out again in the growing dusk, a wordless shout, a cry of all that was good in the hearts of these men, welcoming "words that men could die to," rose like a cheer. Almost scrambling over one another, into the wide hat dropped the golden offerings, until, heavy with its load, "big Tom" Rickett laid it at the singer's feet.

And so the church was built at Kehoe's bar.

THE MOUNTED KNIGHT.

Beside a window sits the maid, a harp within her hand;
In robes of golden silk arrayed, she looks out on the land,
And sings a song of a mounted knight, who crossed the dis-
tant plain-

Ting-a-tang--ting-a-tang--ting-a-tang--ting-a-tang--and ne'er

returned again.

Ten years pass on, and yet the maid sits by the window there;

Another fashion is the style in which she wears her hair, And loudly on her harp she plays that weird, familiar strain Of the mounted knight who went him forth and ne'er returned again.

Another ten years fleet go by; the maid is in her place; Her silken robes have faded, and the rose has left her face, And yet her voice keeps, as of old, the never-changed refrain

Of the knight who left his native land and ne'er returned again.

Still one more decade; yet the maid the old, old story sings While age-bent fingers try to creep across the few left strings;

And the reason why she sang this song her weary lifetime through,

Ting-a-tang--ting-a-tang--ting-a-tang--ting-a-tang,--'twas the only one she knew.

MY NEIGHBOR'S CALL.-GEORGIA A. PECK.

I don't want to compel you

To let your baking go,

But I came in to tell you

Some things you ought to know!

It wont take long: no doubt you
Will think it can't be so,

But folks all talk about you!
I've come to let you know.

Now there's your next door neighbor-
Don't say, I told you, though!

She says it's no great labor

To find out all you know!

You see you're too confiding;

You don't know friend from foe.

I'll set you right, providing

You think you ought to know.

You've heard of Mrs. Grundy?
She thinks it looks quite low
For you to drive out Sunday.
I'm sure you ought to know.

Your class don't like their teacher.
I knew it long ago!

They all prefer Miss Preacher-
Thought you might like to know.

You must change your dressmaker;
You make a sorry show
Primmed up like some old Quaker!
I s'pose you didn't know.

But then I've heard it hinted

You don't pay what you owe;
I s'pose your means are stinted.
Of course you ought to know.

Though you may not concede it,
Your baby doesn't grow!
They say you don't half feed it-

But then you ought to know.

I saw your husband last night
With Mrs. So and So;

Of course it may be all right,
But I should want to know.

I think this bread will sour,
You don't half mix your dough,
I mould mine just an hour-
It's strange you shouldn't know!

You need me to propel you!

This clock's a little slow-
I'll drop in soon and tell you

More things you ought to know!

AN UNSEEN ANGEL.--NANCY PATTON MCLEAN.

Soft fell the tender shades of eve, the coming night foretelling;

Afar and near rose sweet and clear the organ's song upswell

ing;

To other ears a wordless hymn; to mine, attuned to sadness, Each note was full and running o'er with loving praise and

gladness.

With weary heart and tired feet I crossed the sacred portal, Weary of sin and tired of toil, the common lot of mortal. Down through the aisles the music rolled, from out the organ ringing,

The angel met me at the door, a joyous message bringing: "Give thanks, the Lord our God is good, His mercy faileth

never,

Be glad, O heaven, and sing, O earth, our God is God forever!"

"I am too tired to sing," I said, "I have no thanks to render. Life's path is cold and hard to tread, my feet are sore and tender.

Where friendship's torch should constant burn, it shows but fitful flashes;

The gold I grasp to rust will turn, the fruit is only ashes. They have the less of care to bear whose life is soonest en

ded."

Sweet with the organ's solemn roll the angel's answer blend

ed:

"Envy thou not the quiet dead, nor covet thou their sleep

ing.

Bear bravely thy appointed lot, thy faith and honor keep

ing.