you want to go over there with her an' wreath sent out white spikes. Weepingshow her the Mason monument?"

Francis arose promptly.

"I guess I'd rather not," Lois said, hurriedly.

"Oh, you run right along!" cried Mrs. Maxwell. "You'll want to see the flowers on Mis' Perry's grave, too. I never saw such handsome flowers as they had, an' they carried them all to the grave. Get your hat, and run right along, it 'll do you good."

"You'd better," said the young man, smiling pleasantly down at Lois.

She got up and left the room, and presently returned with her hat on.

"Don't sit down on the damp ground," Mrs. Field said as the two went out. And her voice sounded more like herself than it had done since she left Green River.

Lois walked gravely down the street beside Francis Arms. She had never had any masculine attention. This was the first time she had ever walked alone with a young man. She was full of that shy consciousness which comes to a young girl who has had more dreams than lovers, but her steady sober face quite concealed it.

Francis kept glancing down at her, trying to think of something to say. She never looked at him, and kept her shabby little shoes pointed straight ahead on the extreme inside of the walk, as intently as if she were walking on a line. Nobody would have dreamed how her heart, in spite of the terrible exigency in which she was placed, was panting insensibly with the sweet rhythm of youth. In the midst of all this trouble and bewilderment, she had not been able to help a strange feeling when she first looked into this young man's face. It was as if she were suddenly thrust off her old familiar places, like a young bird from its nest into space, and had to use a strange new motion of her soul to keep herself from falling.

But Francis guessed nothing of this. "It's a pleasant day," he remarked as they walked along.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

The graveyard gates had been left open after the funeral. They entered, and passed up the driveway along the wheel ruts of the funeral procession. Pink garlands of flowering almond arched over the old graves, and bushes of bridal

willows swept over them in lines of goldgreen light, and evergreen trees stood among them as they had stood all winIn many of these were sunken vases and bottles of spring flowers, lilacs, and violets.

ter.

Lois and Francis Arms went on to the Mason monument.

"This is the one Aunt Jane was speaking about," he said, in a deferential tone. Lois looked up at the four white marble women grouped around the central shaft, their Greek faces outlined against the New England sky.

"It was made by a famous sculptor," said Francis; "and it cost a great deal of money."

Lois nodded.

"They box it up in the winter, so it won't be injured by the weather," said Francis.

Lois nodded again. Presently they turned away, and went on to a new grave, covered with wreaths and floral devices. The fragrance of tuberoses and carnations came in their faces.

"This is the grave Aunt Jane wanted you to see," said Francis.

"Yes, sir," returned Lois.

They stood staring silently at the long mound covered with flowers. Francis turned.

"Suppose we go over this way," said he. Lois followed him as he strode along the little grassy paths between the burial lots. On the farther side of the cemetery the ground sloped abruptly to a field of new grass. Francis stooped and felt of the short grass on the bank.

"It's dry," said he. "I don't think your aunt would mind. Suppose we sit down here and rest a few minutes?"

Lois looked at him hesitatingly. "Oh, sit down just a few minutes," he said, with a pleasant laugh.

They both seated themselves on the bank, and looked down into the field. "It's pleasant here, isn't it?" said Francis.

Francis still looked at her. Her little face bent, faintly rosy, under her hat. There was a grave pitifulness, like an old woman's, about her mouth, but her shoulders looked very young and slen

der.

66

'Suppose you take off your hat," said he, "and let the air come on your forehead. I've got mine off; it's more comfortable. You won't catch cold. It's warm as summer."

Lois took off her hat.

"That's better," said Francis, approvingly. "You're going to live right along here in Elliot with your aunt, aren't you?"

hadn't been very well. Why don't you take a little vacation ?"

"I can't," returned Lois, in a desperate tone. "I've got to do something."

"Why, won't your aunt-" He stopped short. The conviction that the stern old woman who had inherited the Maxwell property was too hard and close to support her little delicate orphan niece seized upon him. Lois's next words strengthened it.

Her father is school

"I lost my school," she went on, still keeping her face turned towards the meadow and speaking fast. "Ida Starr got it away from me. committee-man, and he said he didn't think I was able to teach, just because he brought me home in his buggy one day when I was a little faint. I had a note from him that morning mother-that morning she came down here. I was just going to school, and I was a good deal better, Lois bent over and hid her face; her when Mr. Starr's boy brought it. back heaved with sobs.

Lois looked up at him suddenly. She was very pale, and her eyes were full of terror.

'Why, what is the matter? What have I said?" he cried out, in bewilder

ment.

Francis stared at her. "Why, what is the matter?" he cried again. "Have I done anything?" He hesitated. Then he put his hand on her little moist curly head. Lois's hair was not thick, but it curled softly. "Why, you poor little girl!" said he; "don't cry so;" and his voice was full of embarrassed tender

ness.

Lois sobbed harder.

"Now see here," said Francis. "I haven't known you more than an hour, and I don't know what the matter is, and I don't know but you'll think I'm officious, but I'll do anything in the world to help you, if you'll only tell me."

Lois shook off his hand and sat up. "It isn't anything," said she, catching her breath, and setting her tear-stained face defiantly ahead.

"Don't you feel well?"

Lois nodded vaguely, keeping her quivering mouth firmly set. They were both silent for a moment, then Lois spoke without looking at him.

He

said he thought it was better for me to take a little vacation. I knew what that meant. I knew Ida had wanted the school right along. I told Amanda I was coming down here. She tried to stop me, but I had money enough. Mr. Starr sent me what was owing to me, and I came. I thought I might just as well. I thought mother- Amanda was dreadfully scared, but I told her I was going to come. I can't go back to Green River; I haven't got money enough." Lois's voice broke; she hid her face again.

"Oh, don't feel so," cried Francis. "You don't want to go back to Green River."

'Do you know if there's any school think you'd better tell me; it won't go here that I could get?" said she.

"A school?"

any further-isn't your aunt good to you? Doesn't she treat you well?"

Lois shook her head vaguely. "I can't go back anyway," she moaned. "Ida's got my school. I haven't got anything to do there. Don't you think I can get a school here?"

“I am afraid you can't,” said Francis. 'You see, the schools have all begun

hat.

"Well, I should like to sit here an hour longer, but maybe your aunt will think it's growing damp for you to be out-of-doors," said Francis, standing up. As they went between the graves, he caught her hand again, and led her softly along. When they reached the gate, he dropped it with a kindly pressure.

"Now remember, you are going to cheer up," he said, "and you're going to have real nice times here in Elliot."

now. But you mustn't feel so bad. were blushing softly as she put on her Don't." He touched her shoulder gently. "Poor little girl!" said he. "Perhaps I ought not to speak so to you, but you make me so sorry for you I can't help it. Now you must cheer up; you'll get along all right. You won't be homesick a bit after a little while; you'll like it here. There are some nice girls about your age. My cousin Flora will come and see you. She's older than you, but she's a real nice girl. She's feeling rather upset over something now too. Now come, let's get up and go and see some more of the monuments. You don't want a school. Your aunt can look out for you. I should laugh if she couldn't. She's a rich woman, and you're all she's got in the world. Now come, let's cheer up, and go look at some more gravestones." Ain't it handsome? An' wasn't the "I guess I'd rather go home," said flowers on Mis' Perry's grave elegant? Lois, faintly. Good-night.

"Too tired? Well, let's sit here a little while longer, then. You mustn't go home with your eyes red, your aunt will think I've been scolding you."

Francis looked down at her with smiling gentleness. He was a handsome young man with a pale straight profile, his face was very steady and grave when he was not animated, and his smile occasioned a certain pleasant surprise. He was tall, and there was a boyish clumsiness about his shoulders in his gray coat. He reached out with a sudden impulse, and took Lois's little thin hand in his own with a warm clasp.

"Now cheer up," said he. "See how pleasant it looks down in the field!"

They sat looking out over the field; the horizon sky stretched out infinitely in straight blue lines; one could imagine he saw it melt into the sea which lay beyond; the field itself, with its smooth level of young grass, was like a waveless green sea. A white road lay on the left, and a man was walking on it with a weary, halting gait; he carried a tin dinner pail, which dipped and caught the western sunlight at every step. A cow lowed, and a pair of white horns tossed over some bars at the right of the field; a boy crossed it with long loping strides and preliminary swishes of a birch stick. Then a whistle blew with a hoarse musical note, and a bell struck six times.

Lois freed her hand and got up. "I guess I must go," said she. Her cheeks

When they reached the Maxwell house, his aunt was coming down the walk.

"Oh, there you are!" she called out. "I was jest goin' home. Well, what did you think of the Mason monument, Lois ?"

แ

"It's real handsome."

I'm goin' to have you an'

your aunt come over an' take tea to-morrow, an' then you can get acquainted with Flora."

"Good-night," said Francis, smiling, and the aunt and nephew went on down the road. She carried something bulky under her shawl, and she walked with a curious sidewise motion, keeping the side next her nephew well forward.

"Don't you want me to carry your bundle, Aunt Jane?" Lois heard him say as they walked off.

"No," the old woman replied, hastily and peremptorily. "It ain't anything.'

When Lois went into the house, her mother gave her a curious look of stern defiance and anxiety. She saw that her eyes were red, as if she had been crying, but she said nothing, and went about getting tea.

After tea the minister and his wife called. Green River was a conservative little New England village; it had always been the custom there when the minister called to invite him to offer a prayer. Mrs. Field felt it incumbent upon her now; if she had any reluctance, she did not yield to it. Just before the callers left she said, with the conventional solemn drop of the voice, "Mr. Wheeler, won't you offer a prayer before you go?"

The minister was an elderly man with a dull benignity of manner; he had not said much; his wife, who was portly and full of gracious volubility, had done most of the talking. Now she immediately

sank down upon her knees with a wide flare of her skirts, and her husband then twisted himself out of his chair, clearing his throat impressively. Mrs. Field stood up, and got down on her stiff knees with an effort. Lois slid down from the sofa and went out of the room. She stole through her mother's into her own bedroom, and locked herself in as usual, then she lay down on her bed. She could hear the low rumble of the minister's voice for some time; then it ceased. She heard the chairs pushed back; then the minister's wife's voice in the gracious crescendo of parting; then the closing of

the front door. Shortly afterwards she
heard a door open, and another voice,
which she recognized as Mrs. Maxwell's.
The voice talked on and on; once in a
while she heard her mother's in brief
reply. It grew dark; presently she heard
heavy shuffling steps on the stairs, some-
thing knocked violently against the wall,
the side door, which was near her room,
was opened. Lois got up and peered out
of the window, her mother and Mrs. Max-
well went slowly and painfully down the
driveway, carrying a bureau between
them.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE SALZBURGER EXILES IN GEORGIA.
BY THE REV. JOHN F. HURST, D.D.

HE colonial currents to the American Spanish and Portuguese were ostentatious in the extreme. The English settlers, dividing between the Plymouth and the James River colonies, cared but little what the great world said about them or saw of them. They were intent on a permanent home, among new and more roomy conditions. The French colonists aspired for possession of the territory. But the missionaries who accompanied them were occupied solely in introducing the gospel among the native races. The Dutch, all aglow with their new independence at home and with their maritime successes on the Eastern seas, labored to open new lines of commerce by a firm occupation along the Atlantic coast of the Western hemisphere.

But apart from all these prominent colonial settlements in the newly discovered America, there were smaller deposits which attracted no general European notice. The general edict of Pedro Moya, of Contreras, dated Mexico, November 3, 1571, issued on the establishment of the Holy Inquisition in Mexico, condemns the Jews, the followers of Mohammed, and the sect of Martin Luther. We have, therefore, the remarkable fact that in the very body of the original Spanish conquerors there were those three classes of heretics. President Stiles, of Yale, in his sermon before the General Assembly of Connecticut in 1783, declares that there is a "Greek Church brought from Smyrna." But his statement is not definite as to its habitat. He says, "I think it falls

below these States"-that is, south of the Middle States and Georgia. There was an important colony of Jews in the new province of Georgia. They came over directly from London. Governor Oglethorpe was importuned to protest against their welcome. But that wise and liberal founder of the province inquired into their character and purposes, and being satisfied, gave them a cordial welcome. These Jews justified his confidence, and became an important and valuable factor in the new population.

That

Among these minor colonial groups, whose purpose was simply a safe home for conscience and person, must be reckoned the Salzburger exiles. Their whole history had been a thrilling romance. Their real ancestors had been the Waldenses of the Piedmontese Alps. little body of independent believers, whose history had been marked by ten persecutions, and whom the Dukes of Savoy had failed to repress, suffered an occasional thinning of its ranks. But whenever a scion was lopped off, it was only a transference of faith and stubborn existence. So, when one of these small bodies emigrated eastward, and settled in the quiet. little Tyrolese nook of Tieffereck, a valley of the Salzburg principality, they thought. that at last they were safe from the lash of persecution. But they no sooner became thrifty, and developed in numbers, and their Protestant principles became public, than they were summoned beforethe reigning bishop, and were ordered to. renounce their Lutheran sentiments.

This they refused to do. A universal