Stories from Everybodys Magazine, 1910 | Page 9

moment only. "I didn't tell you
everything," she said mysteriously. "Your mother is not alone in the
bed. She is holding something in her arms. She is saying--" she paused
to give her climax its full effect-- "`Oh, why doesn't Jennie come home
to see her little sister?'"
"Her little--?--Dorothea!"
It behooves the villain to be without conscience. No slightest shame
visited the brazen one's heart at the sight of Jennie's instant joy and
excitement. Modestly she accepted the tribute to her uncanny power;
obligingly she assisted her friend to pack; martyr-like she acquiesced in
Jennie's decision that the first train after breakfast would be none too
early to bear her to that long-coveted delight--a baby sister. Moreover,
she cannily advised her friend as to the mode of proceeding. "If you tell
them downstairs why you are going, they may not let you. They don't
know about visions. Just tell them that you're going home and
NOTHING ELSE."
This advice, followed to the letter, produced no little agitation at the
breakfast table. Jennie simply announced her intention of immediate
departure; all questions as to her health, happiness, and possible

reasons were met only with a parrot-like repetition of the fact. Upon
closer pressing she gave way to hysterical tears, Dorothea the while
assisting the scene with round, innocent eyes and the bewildered air of
one suddenly made aware of an impending event.
The solution was presently found by a sympathetic and consoling
circle--the child was homesick; she wanted her mother. Assuredly that
explained everything. The lure of sails and picnics having failed,
Dorothea's mother came to a decision with sympathetic tears in her
eyes and a glance toward her own innocent. "She shall take the first
train home if she wants to. The child sha'n't be miserable. No, don't
urge her, Bob. I was homesick myself once, and I understand
perfectly."
Dorothea reposed in the shade of the bulkhead, sand on her person and
a great peace in her heart, upon which the Monster, departing, had left
no scar. Under her head was the Godey's Lady's Book, in which, over
the picture of a brocaded pelisse, she had recently finished a poem in
which "lover" rhymed-- with "forever." Amiel, cross-legged on the
sand beside her, was whistling gently as he industriously whittled at a
bit of driftwood, little suspecting that at the moment he was taking tea
in a bower with Lady Ursula.
Presently he drew a letter from his pocket and flipped it over to
Dorothea. "Your mother asked me to give you this," he said. "She
thought it might be from that pretty little friend of yours."
Dorothea opened the letter with some trepidation. Presently a bland
smile over- spread her countenance. The day of reckoning that she
expected to dawn upon her next meeting with her victim melted
cloud-like as she read:
Dear Dorothea:
I arrived home safely. It's just as well I did, because my aunt was
waiting to take me to Lake George, but you made a mistake in the
vision. It wasn't my mother. It was Mrs. Gray across the street and hers
is a boy, but I think that was very near.

I think the vision was perfectly wonderful, but I am glad I don't have
them. My mother says I can come again later if your mother wants me.
I didn't tell her why I came home, because she doesn't believe in them
either.
She presented her love to several people and added in a postscript, "Let
me know at Lake George if you have another."
Dorothea tore the letter into minute scraps and gave them over to the
sea breeze.
"Well," queried Amiel idly, "what does she say?"
"She says she arrived safely," said Dorothea.

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******** Vol. XXIII No.1 JULY 1910
{pages 44-55} THE GOLD BRICK AND THE GOLD MINE
Fake Mining Schemes that Steal the People's Savings
By EMERSON HOUGH
Author of "The Mississippi Bubble," "54-40 or Fight," etc.
EDITOR'S NOTE.--It is time vigorous efforts were made to stop the
cruel frauds perpetrated on the name of one of the world's greatest
industries. Mining is a legitimate and honorable enterprise. It
contributes immensely to the national wealth. It has been the source of
some of our great fortunes. Because there is something magical in the
suggestion of gold or coal or copper taken out of the ground, sharpers
have made mining an instrument of successful deception. They have
tricked people into investing their savings in worthless or even
non-existent mines. Perhaps you who read this have bitten at an
advertisement in a reputable publication, which pretended to place the
wealth of some western El Dorado at your feet for a few hundred

dollars. Doubtless your money has disappeared. It is for the purpose of
giving you the protection of a knowledge both