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A FLAG RAISING

X By JAMES BUCKHAM

Copyright, 1901, by James Buchham

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The little -\\hile house of the Par­tridge "girls" lay basking in the sum­mer sunshine. It seemed the very em­bodiment of orderly thrift and domes­tic peace. The bit of green yard was as clean and tidy as if it had been swept and then every separate grass blade dusted and set in orderly array. The two glistening paths that'Jed one up to the front door and the other

< iilong the side of the house to the "kitchen stoop" Mere inclosed by slen­der round posK through which ran a single strand of wire. The posts and their connecting wire were painted a fresh, lu&trous green. There Avere also SOY green posts along the sidewalk in front of the house, strung together by n green wire, and at each corner of the two paths stood a large white­washed stone, so dazzling white that it made the eyes ache like new fallen *.now. The entire premises had a look of immaculate neatness that made them seem sacred, like some fane or little temple, and indeed they were sacred to the Partridge sisters, who had descended from a long line of old fashioned New England worshipers at the shnne of home.

Inside the place was as neat as out­side. Nobody ever found the Partridge "girls" in a muss. Even whe^ they cleaned house they did it so stealthily and with such amazing rapidity and precision that no one room was sut­ler ed to be out of apple pie order for more than ten consecutive minutes.

It was a marvelous little home this <>f the Partridge sisters. The minister «mce said that it was a composite of Puritan conscience and New England sentiment, and that there was only one thing more impressive than its sever­ity, and that was its sweetness.

In such a home as this, it would seem, one might retire and be at rest from all the cares and strifes and trou­bles of the uneasy world. There were not a few who envied the Partridge Msters their little patrimony and their little home, the one just equal to tho other, with an exactness beautiful to •contemplate in this world of exasper­ating misfits.

Yet there is no corner of old earth, however remote and peaceful, where florae trouble does not find its way. The skeleton in this quiet closet was -chronic difference of opinion between the sisters, a trouble that is almost sure to rise between two persons of the same blood and sex who are com­pelled to spend most of their time in one another's company. With the Par­tridge sisters thib mental divergence s e e m e d t o h a v e no root in d i v e r g e n c e of principle. It made practically no •difference what the opinion was. So long as it was held strongly by either sister the other felt bound to disagree with it. Jane and Ellen could be of <»ne mind on but one matter, and that was purely congenital—the passion for neatness.

The June sunshine rested like a ben­ediction on the Partridge cottage. The roses in the front yard and the sweet peas in the back yard were in bloom. A golden robin was singing in an elm across the street, and the Partridge listers' canary was Aying with him from his cage in the open window. Jane and Ellen were out in the yard weeding their flower beds and roam­ing hither and thither after the man­ner of hens to pick up infinitesimal bits of litter between the grass blade*,. •Suddenly Miss Ellen straightened up and gazed curiously' a t something that was coming down the village street. I t wag an ordinary lumber wagon, with the box removed, and far in the rear an extra axle and pair of wheels. Something long and white and taper­ing was stretched from the forward axle of the wagon to the extra axle and wheels trailing behind.

"What in the world can that be com­ing?" asked Miss Ellen.

"I presume it's our new flagpole," re­plied Miss Jane, the elder spinster.

"Our new flagpole?" cried her sister shrilly. "What do you mean, Jane Partridge? Who said we were going to have a flagpole?"

"I said so," answered Jane. "I or­dered it, and it's coming. I didn't say anything to you about it because I knew you would object beforehand, and I thought you might as well do your objecting afterward; 'twould save time. I wanted to have the pole here in time for the Fourth of July. I've been thinking for some time that we ought to be more patriotic than we are, and I couldn't think of any better

. (way for two lone women to show their patriotism than by owning a flag and flagpole. We can't go to war, we can't vote, we can't speak in town meeting and we can't fire a gun on Independ­ence day, but a woman has just as much right to fly the stars and stripes as a man, and you and I are going to do it, and we are going to do it for the first time on next Fourth of July."

Miss Ellen Partridge listened to this long explanation from her sister with a set face. "Old maids have no call to be patriotic!" she snapped when Miss Jane concluded. "It ain't their prov­ince; it's no woman's province. I won't have a flagpole in this yard, Jane Par­tridge, and you may as well under­stand that first as last. They shan't bring that thing in here if I have to fight 'em with a broom and scalding (water. A flagpole's a dangerous thing to have around a house to begin with. The first big wind it may snap off and smash the roof in, just as the college flagpole broke off and smashed the fountain over to Chester. It's more

• dangerous than a big tree, because it hasn't any roots. Patriotism! Hulx'

I guess we show patriotism enough, considering our privileges, by paying our taxes!"

By this time the long flagpole, at­tended by a crowd of bo\ s and \ lllage loafers, had arrived opposite the little cottage, and the four men who wore perched on its trunk dismounted and proceeded to unfasten the chains that bound it to the wagon. Miss Ellen strode out to them. "You are not to bring that thing iu here," she said firmly. -.

The man in charge of the flagpole turned with a grin; but. seeing the ex­pression of Miss Ellen's face, his grin died away in a look of astonished per­plexity.

"What in tunket am I to do with it, then?" he demanded. "I was told to bring it here."

"I don't care what you do with it," retorted Miss Ellen. "All I know is it isn't coming in here "

"It's paid for," protested the man as a final shot.

At this juncture Miss Jane Partridge came stalking majestically down the little side path. She had borne with

' her sister's petulance—even as she used j to when they were children—just'long enough to be assured that it was of the inflexible sort. It was now time for the elder sister to act. She brushed Miss Ellen aside and laid her hand on the pole.

' 1 ordered it," she said. "I paid for it, and I paid for its settin' up. You may bring it in and set it where I show you."

Miss Ellen turned abruptly and went into the house. She climbed to the gar­ret and got the large brown satchel that her father had owned. Then she gathered together a few articles of clothing and the dearest of her own special treasures and keepsakes and put ttieui into the bag. This clone, she marched out of the front door, satchel in hand, and started tor the village depot. Miss Jane was in tho back 3*ard superintending the erection of the flagpole and did not notice her sister's departure.

Miss Ellen reached the depot and sat down in the -vacant ladies' waiting room. She had not the slightest idea where she was going. There was no relative tb whom she could flee from her sister's tyranny. She thought that she would take the first train in either direction and travel until evening. Then she would stop at some hotel and spend the night. After a night's sleep perhaps she would know what to do.

I t was late in the forenoon when Miss Ellen reached the depot. The sta­tion agent had gone to dinner, and his office was locked up. Noon came, then half past 12, and still no train and no station agent. Miss Ellen fastened her distracted mind upon the situation and presently remembered that no train stopped at Lyndonville between 31 o'clock a. m. and half past 5 p. m. What wrould the station agent think when he came back and found her there?

She went to the window and looked back up the hill toward the village. Between Putnam's blacksmith shop and the store she could just see on the other side of the village street the low­ly roof of the cottage where she and her sister had dwelt for forty years. Something white and slender was just wavering up behind it. It rose higher and higher and finally stood firm and straight, and Miss Ellen saw that it was the top of the new flagpole. Jane, then, was still busy with her triumph. She had not discovered her sister's de­parture, or perhaps she did not care.

Miss Ellen went back to her seat with tears in her eyes. From where she sat she could look into the ticket office through the locked glass window, and on the wall facing her she saw a steel engraving of Abraham Lincoln. How vividly it brought up the days of the civil war, when her younger broth­er had marched away with the first regiment of Vermont volunteers! The tears rained faster down her cheeks as the flood of memory swept her far­ther and farther away from her own petty grievance. She remembered the crushing news fiom the front; the bringing home of her brother's dear, torn body, the picture of Abraham Lincoln which they found hidden in his bosom; the funeral in the village church, with the picture of Lincoln, wreathed in flowers, lying on the dead soldier's breast, and around him and the martyr president were wrapped the folds of the stars and stripes!

Again Miss Ellen rose and went to the window A cheer swept faintly down the lull. There was a flag flying from the new flagpole over the cot­tage. Patriotism—-had she none of it in her loyal heart, and she the sister of such a patriot as the soldier boy who slept under the faded Memorial day flag in the village cemetery?

With a sob Miss Ellen caught up her satchel and breasted the hill. "Jane was right," she whispered. "I am glad she got the flagpole and the flag. Dear Robert! It was my flag raising too. If heart's feeling counts for anything, it was my flag raising too!"

E n g l i s h I n J a v a .

A book published in Java, called *The West Java Travelers' Guide," says of a certain sanitarium: "At the establishment is a physician. The sick may invike the physician for daily treatment, with use of medicaments. Children below ten years pay for lodges half of the price."

Under "Addresses and Announce­ments" is politely recommended "the hotel prigin, with occasion for warm baths, where till now all reconvales-cents, as well as Mrs. Thysicians and particulars and officials, have found back their health. Cures malaria, com­plains in the chest and other fatnesses, green sickness, cutaneous disease," etc., and we are assured that "this healthy abode for reconvalescents has also occasion to many delightful idylic excursions to which saddle horse and tandees are stationed when before tUnfile ordered " - ~ -

: MAN HUNTING i By Walter H. Farleigh

Copyno/H. looi, by A. S. RvcMrdsnn

«•«•••••••••••••••••••••*••• +

The English government had been appealed to by Russia to make Eng­land too hot to hold the nihilists who wrere hatching plots against the life of the czar, and Deteclne Frazer had been employed to take the preliminary stops. He was to locate the "center" and spot the individuals comprising it, and when all was ready he would call for assistance and draw a full net.

Frazer was the right man in the right place. He was a human bloodhound by instinct. He was without mercy or pity for a criminal. He was ambi­tious, zealous and untiring. If any public officer in London could locate the bloodthirsty theorists who were catising the czar so much anxiety, it was Frazer. He wae. a man of won­derful intuition, and he was trained In the art of running down shadows till he found them, flesh and blood.

The government did not let it be­come publicly known that it was mak­ing n move against the refugee con­spirators, and Frazer took care that no one should know of his mission. He wont on a still hunt for three months, and during that time he covered every district in London and became famil­iar with every suburb. Luck and in­tuition guided him aright. One nignt he called in the aid of the police and made a descent on a house, bag^ng eight of the men he wanted. The pa­pers did not call them nihilists, but counterfeiters, for the papers were not told of the bombs, infernal machines and treasonable literature captured with them.

There were ten nihilists in the group, and Frazer had secured but eight of them The eight were given up to Russia to become Siberian exiles, but the other two were left behind to avenge them. That they would seek his death Frazer fully realized and prepared himself for the struggle. If they had to do with a crafty, aggres­sive man who knew no fear, he had to do with two cunning, vindictive men who had sworn to take his life and would dare everything to accomplish their object. Their identity was un­known to him, as they had been out of the country while he was working up his case, while it was more than probable that they knew him by sight. They also had the advantage of hav­ing friends among the criminal classes who would aid them in various ways.

Having concluded his labors for the English government, the English gov­ernment wanted nothing more of De­tective Frazer. Were it known that he had received orders from the cabinet there was no telling what public build­ing might be blown up in revenge. An infernal machine in the house of par­liament or a bomb thrown through a window of Somerset House would awaken all England in an hour, and questions might be asked that the gov­ernment would find it embarrassing to answer.

While England and Russia have long been on the most friendly terms, there are plenty of Englishmen, and many of them people of influence, who sym­pathize with the struggle for freedom in Russia and argue that the czar's ob­stinacy has driven his subjects to adopt extreme measures. The govern­ment would have been glad to hear that Frazer was going off to Australia or America for a long vacation, and it so hinted, but he refused to go. He knew he had been marked down by the two nihilists, and pride prevented him from running away. While they hunt­ed for him he would hunt for them. It should be a battle to the death.

He made an immediate move, and perhaps it was with a feeling of ex­ultation that he discovered that the enemy was just as prompt. He was in a low dancehouse in disguise when the point of a knife thrust at his heart was buried in the momorandum book in his pocket, and the would be assas­sin got away. Frazer was not injured, but his nerves were a bit shaken. In leaving the street behind him a brick, dropped from a third story window, missed his head by an inch. The next day he called other officers to his aid and raided a house of doubtful charac­ter, but of all the persons pulled in none was detained beyond a day.

From that day on, for months and months, Frazer was hunting over Lon­don. He was never Frazer as his com­rades knew him. He had a dozen dif­ferent disguises, and if he was a "toft" one day he was a costermonger the next. Here and there he picked up a clew until it came to pass that he knew the lodgings of his foes and would have recognized their faces on the street. Then they suddenly dis­appeared, and within a week they had taken a leaf out of his book and adopt­ed disguises. A seeming mendicant ac­costed him one day and sought to stab him in the back. As he walked the streets one night a bullet whizzed by his head. A box was left at his lodg­ings which proved to be an infernal machine, and in the crowd at the en­trance of a theater an attempt was made to assassinate him.

It was a game of life and death well played, but though the detective realized that the odds were against him he would not give up. He shifted his lodgings, had the press announce that he had left England and went into the slums as an evangelist. After two weeks he spotted one of his men, but before he could make a move he was assaulted and laid up for a fortnight. He was traced to his new lodgings, and a bomb was used to blow out the front of the house

He was determined to give the nihil­

ists no rest until he had them in limbo, and on the other hand a new "center" appeared and solemn oaths were taken to run Frazer to hi«s death befoie car­rying out any other work. He was warned by anonymous letteis of what was being done and what wa,s inevita­ble unless he drew off, but each new ilevelopment only made him the more determined. He felt now that it was a losing game on his side, but he would continue to play it to the end.

In four months Frazer shifted his lodgings seven times. Duriny the same time he shot and wounded two men who had sought to corner him, and he arrested eight or ten suspicious char­acters. A man who had entered his lodgings at midnight was almost killed by a blow from a club, and another, who was surprised in the act of throw­ing a bomb through the window, was flung into the gutter and had his leg broken. At his last shift of lodgings Frazer moved clear across London and assumed the disguise of a tramp. For a week he heard nothing from his foes, but if they had dropped him he had not done with them. He had subordi­nates who were picking up threads for him as he rested. One afternoon, as he sat in a small park after having so­licited alms in his disguise, a middle aged man of the dress and bearing of a clergyman turned in from the street and sat down beside him. At first the detective rose up in an excited way, as if to flee; then he sat down and seemed perfectly helpless. His face grew pale, his eyes dilated, and, though he made an effort to speak, his words stuck in his throat.

All this was witnessed by two other strollers in the vicinity. A nursegirl who was wheeling a child up and down the walk said that his lips were blue and his chin quivering. She heard the supposed clergyman address him several times, but there was no an­swer. The sun was shining, the peo­ple about him were laughing, and it was a summer's day, but the disguised detective shook and shuddered. It could only be said afterward that the chill of death was upon him and that his nervous system had been suddenly upset by the unexpected appearance of one of his foes.

By and by the clergyman went away and left Frazer sitting there bolt up­right, his hands clasped and his eyes staring into vacancy. It was ten min­utes before a policeman came along and had his attention attracted by the pallor of the man's face. He laid his hand on the tramp's shoulder and asked him if he were ill, and the body toppled over sideways on the bench. The disguised Frazer had been stab­bed to the heart by a small dagger in the hands of the clergyman, and the man who had been marked down had been removed at last. What was called "the park mystery" created a good deal of talk and wonder, and it was announced that the best talent of Scot­land Yard had been put on the ease. No arrests were ever made, however, and to this day it is a mystery to the English public why the murder should have been committed.

He flust Confess. Dear sit:—I used the White Wine of

T a r Syrup you spnt me, and must confess I derived more benefit t o my lungs from it t han from any remedy I have ever tried, and cheerfully re­commended i t t o everyone having: any kind of limps trouble.

Truly yours, A. M. HUMPHEY,

Minister of Bapt is t Church. Trilla, Coles Co., 111.

At Johnson Drug Co

Old Time Songs Free! Every family wants the songs of long ago—

the fireside classics which will live while time lasts. They are published in an artistic book­let, words and music at SO cents, but we have decided for a short time only, to give these ong books away FREE. Among the old favor­ite songs the book contains are: America. . Annie Laurie Auld Lang Syne Battle Hymn of the Republic ... . Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean Comin' Through the Rye Dixie's Land Far Away . . . .Flag of the Free Flee as a Bird Home, Sweet Home . . . In the Gloaming .... Lead Kindly Light . . .Long, long Ago .. . .My Old Kentucky Home Yankee Doodle .. Robin Adair... Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep . . ..Star Spangled Banner Swa-nee River Sweet and Low Swing Low Sweet Chariot .. The Last Rose of Summer . . The Blue Bells of Scotland ...The Ohi Oaken Bucket When the Swallows Homeward Fly, etc.

The Literary Euterpean is a valuable dollar magazine devoted to Literature, Music, Poetry and Painting—supplementing the work of the great Euterpean culture movement. It is in-valuaple to teachers and instructors and a ne­cessity in every home where polite learning and improvement is desired. For the purpose of quickly introducing the magazine every­where, we propose to send i t to any address for 25c in silver or 1 and 2c stamps, and send a copy of ''Old Time Songs" as above, absolutely FREE. Send quick before this offer is with­drawn, to the Euterpean, Gales burg, 111.

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O F F I C I A L D I R E C T O R Y .

County Officers.

A l i t o r A.B.Nelson Treasure E.Dagoberg Register of Deeds L. M. OKon Clerk of Court T Morck Sheriff. . . . William Forsberg County Attorney Giwloy E. Carr Judffe of Probate P. H. Holm Surveyor j , g f Wood Superintendent of Schools P. G. Bennett Court Commissioner S Cooke Coroner Br. T. Bratrud

Board of Co. Commissioners.

First District Second " Third " Fourth " Fifth "

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T o w n C l e r k s a n d T r e a s u r e r s of M a r s h a l l C o u n t y ,

Minn . , e l e c t e d i n

1 9 0 2 . (The names of Clerks or Recorders come first,

Treasurers second.)

CITY AND VILLAGES.

City of "Warren

Village of Argyle

Village of Stephen

Towa of:

Alma

Augsburg

Big Woods

Bloomer

Boxyille

Cedar

Comstoek

Conio

Donnelly

Eagle Point

East Park

East Valley

EckvoU

Excel

Foldahl

Fork

Grand Plain

Holt

Hunter

Lincoln

Marsh Grove >>

McCrea if

Middle Eiver

Moylaa

Nelson Park

New Foldea

New Solam

New Maine

Oak Park

Parker

Rollis

Roosevelt

Sinnott

Spruce Valley

Tamarac

Thief Lake

Valley

Vega

Viking

Wanger

Warren ton i i

West Valley

Wright

W. N. Powell W. A. Knapp

T. K. Onstad Chas. G. Moline

John Hughes Eoswell A. Whitney

TOWNS.

Name:

John S. Bjorgaard Thor Jorgenson

O. B. Syverson Louis J.Smith

Hans A. Larson Nels Malm

P. T. Sinkler James Dundaes

J. T. Hunter P. J. Kurs

Clark Bradford H. H. Breese

John Holm P. J. Turnlund

Clir. Larraoe L W. Ish

Frank 0. Heulin Fred Besancon

August Low Peter P. Granskog

Warren

Argyle

Stephen

P.O.

Argyle

Augsburg Stephen

Big Woods Argyle

Argyle

Warren

Breese II

Warren Juvik

Breese

Stephen

Drayton, N. D.

Nels Nystrom Fir Anton Snndberg Park, Kittson Co

Anton Johnson John Hanson

Charles Gerber N. K. Nelson

Herman Berndt E. W.Copp

Otto S. Haug Martin O. Hang

J. P. Lein J. T. Brosdahl

John Olson Ole Overum

Halfdan Hanson Einar Engebretoon

K. O. Jevne Erik E. Wold

Lars C. Nilson P. E. Sihlberg

Sam Gophn Peder J.Bakke

Christ. Johnson Christ. Olson

William Meisch Gaepard Ethier

0 . A. Tryttea

F. G. Stromgrea Nils Nilson

S. Tunheim Gust Ekman

Knute Nelson G. J. Vigea

Knute Knutaoa Sam Swenson

J. H. Wang Mathias Peterson

Geo. L. Parker Alfred uabine

A. E. Forder J. D. Abbott

Ringbo

Liner

Manor Expel

Foldahl

Fork

German town

Holt Sandridge

Jevne Strandqoist

Fir Lund

Ellerth Fodvang

Warren

Argyle

England

ELIep Newfolden

Hellem Llewellyn

Opdahl

Eckvoll Vega

Stephen Argyle

Rollis

Halfdan Pettersoa N. Grasdal

Henry Hoper Soren P. Jensen

D. D. Johnson Lennart Johnson

John Hughes John R. Walters

Eugene Webster T. O. Moe

Chas B Soil and Torkel Olson

Axel J. Lundqulst Anton Hill

G. A. Sustad Matte Anderson

Charles Wilea Frank Cicklinski

John L DahlquiBt John Westman Ole Thompson

Halvor Amundsoa John Gratsek

Peter Backstrom

Gatzke Rollis

Stephen

Ingalls

Stephen

Ware

Liner

Gotland Vega

Vikmg

Argyle

Warren

West Valley

Stephen , Argyle

T H E

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