REAPING, #4 -! *A . ‘•V *\ i ,•> ' ? y'+tf-* S4V; How full T forsot the coo t You bfoupht mo in the past. And dwell upon tho tirelesn sr>f t You wrought mo at tho last? How Is It I forgot how kind You vore for yearn and smart, , And only think how »t. the You £avo,mo shomo ancl toaraP How is it I forjjot the fault Wan mine--my very own, An l murmur In my aleoples i ffrict That It was yours ulono * This Is my ptini>hmont. Lovos rot® j II.is fallen by the way: But na Its t.ioru, that still remains, My heart bleeds night and day. i SCARLET FORTUNE. 1»Y 11. HKKMA.Y. CHAPTER 11—Ci>NTixt?ED. Tito, pale, hazy light of tho young moon hail swathed tho mountains, and tho hut was lost in tho blank shade of tho giant rock that shel tered it Among the cedars beyond, tho night seemed so dense us to be come nearly palpable, whilst just ono or two furtive gleams shot through tho pitchy gloom whore tho more open space permitted tho light to penetrate. Ashland and Chuunccy wore still pulling away at their pipes, talking of old times at home, of those cheery times in tho old country when they both would have thought ono half the hardships they now endured a tribulation. Yet thoy both foil hap pier in being thus freod from the trammels ol nineteenth century civ ilization, its shams, and its hypocrl cics. •mu leu you wnat wo’ii do, Mr. Herbert,” Ashland said, at last, when they had lockod the rough cabin door, and, with rifles slung across their shoulders, and bolts gar nished with knifo and pistol, woro preparing themselves for tliolr moun tain journey. ••I’ll have a look along the trail down hill, first of all. I shouldn’t bo at all surprised to find Freckled George and that lanky I)uvo crawling around theor sotnewhoor. You abide horo awhilo. and keop your weather eyo to the top of that rock at the bock theor. If you see anything moving- there, man or beast, blaze away at it, and mind you hit it, too. Thoor ain't nobody nor nothin' that’s got any business thcer this time o’ tho night, nor that’s ' tlieer for any good to oithor of us." With that he cocked his rifle to tho full and strode, with body bont forward and head down, towards the cedars below. His wary figure could be seen moving stealthily across the moonlit open, and then vanishod in the black night beyond. Tho cracking of broken branches, as ho now and then unguardodly stepped upon them, marked, his progress to Herbert’s aooustomed oar;beyond that all was silence—that wavy, breezy, musical silence of a beautiful sum mer night in a mountain wilderness when the things of tho air and the creatures of earth aro quiet in sleep and when only the soft wind makes melody at its play upon tho leaflet. . Herbert stood thoro. quietly rest ing his arras upon his rifle, and eagerly scanning tho uneven top lino of tbo rook that stood black as coal against tho hazy, transparent, dark bins green of the distant moon bathed mountains. As ho strained his eyos, he thought that some of - tho unevenness of that rocky line . was not stationary. He sank down upon his knees so as to be totally hidden in the dense shadow, ami carefully examined the top of tho rqek. No, he must have boon mis taken, ho thought. Ho quickened his hearing, and listened with hushod heart-beat for an-; sound that might roach him from the high level. No, there was nothing; ho felt suro of . that. He rose, rather annoyed, if anything, at having allowed himself to be thus deceived. Butovon as ho looked again, ho fancied that tho phenomenon of the moving rock was repeated, only to.call himself afoot for thinking so tho moment after wards. He cooked his rifle, nevertheless, and romained kneeling there for a minute or two, with his eyes glued upon tho rock above. It was only when Ashland’s mutlled footfall fell' on his oar as tho pioneer returned, that he rose and went to meet his friend. -•‘Thcer ain’t nobody within miles . of us," said the yeoman, quietly. “Everything's as quiet as mice. Lot’s I he words were upon Herbert’s Ups by which to apprise Ashland of his suspicion that somebody or some -. thing was alive at the top of that rock at the back, but he was inter rupted by Dick’s cheery, “We can light our pipes now, Mr. Herbert, apd do it leisurely.”’ He imitated his friend’s example by tilling his big wild cherry-root bowl, and the moment afterwards the two sot out mouct&iuward, much after the man ner of a couplo of poachers who arc going out for a midnight raid in a i neighborhood where the koepors are known to be aged aud unwary. The road was rough, and. less than 603 yards from the hut, they deserted the narrow path altogether, and struct across brokeu ground, where the giant pines rose Hk*o hundreds of huge masts from the turf anl moss covered earth, with their crowns stretching out like miriads of jagged yard-arms, from which as many tempest-torn, ragged bits of sails were drooping, between the forest monsters the underbrush — briar, bramble, wild currant, and wild vino —intermingled in snarling confusion, and made progress difficult and now and then painful. They were climbing up hill fast then. The vegetation was becom ing scarcer and more stunted, the , rpeks bigger and more smooth-, fe W'qd,. The moon stood at its bright ost. llhd where its s'lvery light did not penetrate tha shadow was black as inlc. 1 ' i - ; ‘ V, • Onco or twice they halted anu listened with suporstitious enrs for the sound of pursuing- footsteps, but, although they both had from tlmo to timo imagined thnt unwarranted noises hud reached thoir ears, on consultation they agreod that they were mistaken. Dick once imagined that he saw a shapeless figure, he could not tell whether man or boast, crawling about tho rocks somo 21)0 yards from them. The road lay straight up hill now, along a jagged mountain face whore they had to climb now and then like cats.' In live minutes or more they had reached tho summit, and there they stood In a smooth and sparsely wooded table-land, about half a milo in length, and somo four or five hun dred yards broad. They walked across it with rillos trailed, and came to tho edgo of tho gulch not moro than flvo-and-twonty or thirty feet deep, through which a mountain tor rent was rushing in melodious tur moil. Dick stopped and pointod with out stretched forefinger to the bottom. •■Theor's wheat' it lies, thick as peas,” lie said. “Any amount of it. I’d never dreamt of coming hore, only 1 shot a buck, and that was the place wheer 1 had to got him from. Now you know it as well as I do." After a moment's pause they made their way down. At tho bottom, among the young pinos, tho moon light dripped in silvery flocks and blotehos onto a moss and fern strewn rocky ground. Tho fretting waters had in winter time overrun the whole bed of tho gulch, and smooth flints, varying from the size of a man’s fist to tho smallest of pebbles, gleamed and glittered in tho pale sheen.’ Dick took up ono unevenly rounded frag ment and advanced with it to the water's edge, where the light fell clear and bright on his fqco. “Look at this," ho said, pointing to a yellowish shining spot on tho dull croamy stone; “That’s gold. I might a’ taken bushels from hore if I hadn’t been afraid o' somebody prying about my place and finding it while I was away.. You see, while I was alone,* I had nobody to take care of the place, and thoso fellows are mean enough for anything.” Ho turned the glittoring auriferous stone in his hand ovor anil over again. Both his flguro and Horbert Chaun cey’s wore standing out, dark and sharp against tho hazy moonlit fur ther side of the ravine. Crack! Crack! Two shots rang through the air in quick succession, and Hick Ashland, with an unearthly cry, jumped full three feet in tho air, and, dropping rifle and flint from his outstretched hands, tell face foremost with his head towards the stream. Herbert Chaunoey felt a sharp sting below his shoulder, and the rifle droppod from his useless right arm. He looked around in vague amazoment, and noticed that the blood trickled over his buckskin hunting shirt. A suffocating faint ness came ovor him, and ho sank down on tho ground. Tho noise of footsteps attracted his attention, and as ho looked up, he saw ut tho top, whore ho and Dick had descended two 111011, rifle in hand, who wore peering down, shading thoir eyes with their hands against tho moon light, and evidently preparing to de scend. CHAPTER 1IL Tho two mon were George and Dave Maolano. Herbert saw thorn oome down tho inclino, pcoring warily and reloading their rifles as they wont. He could hear the dull thuds of tho wooden ramrods, and tho clicks of tho cocks oif tho weapons as tho murderers brushed off tho ex ploded caps His rifle was lying about three paces from him and he tried to drag himself towards it, but tho pain of his shoulder was intense, and he seemed powerless to move so far. With an effort of despair he raised himself on his uninjured arm, and at tho samo time pulled his doublo-barrelod pistol from his bolt. He cocked the weapon and laid it down on tho ground by his side, within reach of his hand. In tho same manner he drew his knife from its sheath and placed it within easy distance, keeping his eyes upon the Muclancs all the while. “Cowards 1” ho muttered betwoon his teeth. "Cut throats! I wish I had tho use of my arm to defend my self.” The two Marianos had reached the bottom, tho tailor, older man, creep ing along with bonded knees and stooping shouldors. head foremost, stealthily, like an Arapahoe savage. Herbert lay without moving; his eyes furiously devouring the two ruffians. "I reckon I hit him squaro," George said. "Ho ain't only jest skeared, that he ain’t. Ho won’t want no more gold this side o’ Jordan. Let’s make no punkius about it Dead men tell no tales, and we’ll jest make cock-sure of it.” Dick Ashland was lying some six or eight paces nearer to them than Chauneey. Tho two men strode up to the fallen yeoman, and George, dropping his riHo, knelt down, and, with both arms, turned the body on its back. The impulse of his move ment made it roll a little further down the incline on which it lay, with a nearly grotesque motion, as if at each turn a new swing had been giv en to it. It rolled until its feet were stopped by a little boulder of rock, and then it lay still with ghastly eyes turned skyward and with the hands clenched as if in agony. Dave had pulled his big butcher’s knife from its sheath, and in the greenish white light of the big moon, i Herbert could see him drawing it, with a swift downward motion,across Dick •shlacd’s throat. He could see the hot blood spurting all over the murderer's hands, face and breast, and hardly knowing what he did. the nervously twitching lingers of his loft hand gripped the pistol and lying as he was, he directed his weapon and lived. A yell of pain answered the rovorberaiion of the shot, and George Muclane, who had been standing an approving witness of his nephew’s murderous act, with an avalanche of oaths and curses, drew out his pocket handkerchief and hastily pushed it underneath his hunting shirt “He’s shot me!” he cried. “Kill the swine! Kill him!” The younger man had risen and crept toward’s Cnauncey, knife In hand. A second shot startled the mid night silence, and Dave , Maciane's glittoring weapon flew into a dozen fragments and out of his grasp. One of the pieces, glancing against the young ruffian's wrist, made a deep cut, from which the blood flowed frooly. With a savage whoop, more liko u beast’s than a human being’s, the assassin throw himself upon the prostrate man, and wrenched the pistol from his grasp. A blind fury Boeraod to possess him. He clutched Chaunoey by the threat, digging his long iron nails into his llesh, and rained blow after blow of the heavy i weapon upon f.'haur. coy’s head. The young Englishman felt crash upon I crash against his skull; he felt the grating of the injured bone as the blows rained more fiercely. The blood started to his eyes, and every thing seemed to Income black to him. In that awful moment just one (lush, one thought of home, crossed his mind, and vanished, as the blows suddenly ceased, and he heard a bright female voice shouting “Stop! stop!” One look, the result of an ef fort of despair, and he could see Lucy spoeding down the gulch side beck oning to those below to desist Then all became confused. The blood which streamed over his face and forehead blinded him; a choking sensation grippod him by the throat Ho could barely hear Lucy’s voice still crying “Stop! stop!” Then all was dead and dark. “What the damnation brings you hero?” yelled George Maclane. “This jest tops it all, I reckon.” Dave Maclane was on his feet again, and still holding the pistol by the barrel. His glances were as furious as those of his uncle, and he gnashed his teeth in a hot rage. “Yew’ve killed him! Yew’vo killed him?” the girl cried. “What has he done to you?” “I ain’t quite done it yet,” replied Dave, grasping the knife which his undo held out to him; “but I mean to.” Lucy drew herself up to her full height, # with her head set back " like a de fied empress. She stretched out a warning hand. •‘Dad!” she exclaimed. “Dave! If yew touch him again I’ll tell on yew.” The two men stood aghast, as if struck speechless by that threat “Yow’l tell on us?” George Ma elano hissed between his teeth. “Yew’ll toll on us? Don’t yew take no notice of her, Dave,” he con tinued. Give him one, two, between the ribs—that’s what yew’ve got to da" “Dad!” Lucy cried, as solemnly as before, “as sure as there is a God above us, if yew touch him again I’ll tell on yew. ” A furious yell sounded in reply. Tho guilty father for a second stood abashed before his accusing and threatening child. “What do you mean?” he shouted at lust. “I moan what I’ve said. Dad,” Lucy answered, quietly, “an’ I mean it true. If yew lay another finger on him I’ll tell on yew both. I’ll raise the plains agin yew.” George Mnclane gnashed his teeth, and his eyes flashed in silent fury. His face, already disfigured by the deep scar, became demoniac. [TO BE CONTINUED.] The Evolution of the Plano. No one can tell exactly who made the first piano lor the reason that it has gradually ‘•evolved” from an instrument as much unlike itself as one could well imagine. In the twelfth contury it appears to have been a gigantic dulcimer, which was merely an oblong box holding a series of strings arranged in triangu lar form across its center. In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the ••clavichord” another musical monstrosity, had developed from it and was used well up in the eighteenth century. About 1711 Christofali of Padua invented a real piano, but it is gaid to remind one of a coal box when compared with the elegant and perfect toned instrument of to-day. * Origin or the Fork. In the middle ages, the fork ap peared only as a curiosity, and the use of it was not the same as that to which it is now put It was employed for eating fruit or slices of bread and cheese. We find a few forks fig uring in the treasury of John IL, duke of Burgundy; and Gaveston, a favorite of Edward II. of England, owned, says an historian of the time, sixty-nine silver spoons and three forks for eating pears with. At this epoch they had but two tines, and it is from that circumstance that is de rived their name. _ Soapitone Knlckknaok*. The odd little paper weights, eups, seals, trays, bowls, teapots, animal figures, idols and knickknacks in soapstone of various colors which travelers bring from China aromade, for the most part, from the output of mines near Wenchow. The white, jade color and “frozen” are con sidered the finest and bring high I prices. There are 2,000 miners and carvers at those mlnea FARM AND HOUSEHOLD WINTERING CALVES CHEAPLY AND PROFITABLY. A Steady Growth Mint Be Maintained— Itivetlng Hnruois Straps—shorthorns as Milkers — Sheep Shearings and Household Helps. Wintering CiItm. To make raising cattle for beef profitable on the farm, it is very nec essary to maintain a steady growth from birth to maturity, and the stock must be of a quality of grade that when given good treatment they will make a quick growth and mature early. A steer that must be fed un til ho is between three and four years old before it can,be properly finished for market, cannot, under present conditions of farming, be made a very profitable ani mal if the value of tbo feed is to be considered. As with all other stock it is very important to keep growing, and it is also very easy to stunt during the first winter. A calf once stunted will never fully' recover from the effects. With both cattle and hogs if the best profit is secured the growth must be pushed from the start, using care of course to secure the best gain at the lowest cost. Ho long as there is good pas turage, calves will thrive with very little looking after. If they have plenty of salt, water and grass they will grow right along. But during the winter this cannot be secured, and if they are kept growing it must be upon food that is supplied to them, and while it is necessary to winter economically, it is never a good plan to stint the feed at the expense of the growth of the stock. With calves, as with other stock, writes N. J. Shepherd in the Journal of Agriculture, a matter worthy of consideration in wintering cheaply, is in providing good shelter. With comfortable quarters calves can readily bo kept thrifty with good roughness and very little grain, and this will be found to lessen the cost In fact it' is difficult to secure as rapid a growth as is really necessary for profit if the calves are without shelter. It will save feed if good mangers or racks are provided in which to feed the roughness, and boxes or troughs for the grain. When it can be .secured at a fair price, wheat bran is a first class ma terial to feed calves, in connection with their roughness. Some corn may be usually given with profit The amount of the rations can in nearly all cases be best determined by the condition of the calves, and while there is no advantage in wast ing feed, it is very important, if the growth is to be*pushed, to feed lib erally, giving generally all that they will eat up clean at each meal." It is only by this kind of feeding that a rapid growth is possible. Unless a good growth is secured the food sup plied is in a large measure wasted; an addition to the cost of the animal without a corresponding profit. Calves may be wintered at a straw stack, but will usually weigh less in the spring than in the fall, and un der this treatment will require a year or more of time to grow for mar ket, and this lessens very materially the profit. In fact it is questionable if anything like a fair price is charged for the feed and pasturage if a calf managed in this way will pay its cost. Shorthorn. as Milkers. The Chicago exposition has had one good result in bringing promi nently before the American dairy men the good qualities yet remain ing in the one time pre-eminently excellent shorthorn cows as dairy animals. A century ago they stood easily first in this respect, but by neglect of this quality and by con stant cultivation for beef alone, they i nave degenerated from their high i position as milk and butter cows. | But some of the old tendency of the j blood still remains, as may be dis j coveredjby the example of a cow of ; this breed which recently appeared j at the London, Eng., dairy show, ! and which gave fifty-six pounds of | milk in the twenty-four hours, with a test of 5.39 per cent of fat in the morning milk and 6.06 per cent in . tne evening. The per cent of solids varied from 14.98 to 16.62. 'l'his is a most remarkable instance of the reappearance of ancient char acteristics after many years. This breed of cows were once noted for their high percentage of fat m the milk, and their large yield. The first Duchess, the progenitor of the great family of this name, was a twenty-four-pound-a-week cow. The milk, twenty-eight quarts a day, when skimmed, was sold for two cents a quart. The income of this cow was the pleasant sum of $10.50 a week. And this was on pasture alone. This seems to show that it might well bo worth while to rein state this unexampled breed in its old productiveness, and by attention to this still inchoate and recover able quality make it the most useful of all cows.—Colman’s Rural World. Rlvetinir Humean Straps. Broken straps may bo mended by use of rivets, if one is not provided with the requisites for sewing. To make the work still more reliable, cement may be used in connection with the rivets; however,rivets alone if of the proper size and well put in, make leather work very firm. A gentleman writes: I make and mend all my harness with copper belt rivets. The process is so simple, the work so secure, the time it takes to do it so trifling, and the cost so small, that any owner of a horse ought to provide himself with the requisites. Two rivets are enough for almost any joint in bridles, bug gy harness, lines, etc. The pieces are lapped about an inch; two holes i- ■ i' v ‘‘ • are punched upon a piece of lead, or a hard piece of wood, with the hand or hammer punch,- as the case may be; the rivets are put in from the under side (with the head end always toward the horse, so as not to chafe the skin). The rivets should bo cut right length before in serting. The rivet is now headed down by a few light taps of the brad hammer, and the new head smoothed down with a few light taps of the driving end of the hammer, and the joint is complete, and will never give away till the leather rots; and it is all done before you can make a waxed end, or before you could make the holes with the awl, if you had the end ready. One caution is necessary; a beginner is.very apt to head down too hard, by which means the head end of the rivet is forced through the leather on the under side, and the joint unbuttons, as sometimes called, and is worthless. A little care will obviate this trouble, —Farmers Voice. Marketing: Small Loads. The waste of time in marketing small loads of produce is enormous with some farmers. They often act as if their time had no r.ppreciable value, hitching up a single horse and light wagon to draw to market what sometimes little more than pays their expenses while away from home. It is often common for farm ers who have business in the city or village to put up some kind of pro duce to sell for the purpose of pay ing expenses. This may be a neces sity occasionally, but the tendency is to make the practice of going to market with light loads a habit. It is one that few farmers can afford to acquire. The time spent on the road is wasted as far as farm improvement goes. There is no farmer who can not if he will find profitable employ ment on his farm at nearly all sea sons of the year.—American Culti vator. Sheep She triiijgd. Keep no sheep that is too old to feed well. VVateh the maggots on the sheep. If they are found, smear with tur pentine. Dipping sheep, if the sheep is good, makes the skin more healthy and improves the wool. Good feeding, good breeding and good management mean good wool as well as good mutton. This is a good time for keeping your wool in a dry, dark place. The world will yet need your wool and will be willing to pay for it. The sheep has been compared to a government bond. It carries its coupon right on its back. You can clip it and collect your interest an nually. Sheep are not only valuable on the farm on account of their wool and mutton, but they improve the fertil ity of the land more, probably, than any other kind of stock. The sheep and wool business is at least down to hard pan. All that sheep breeders are hoping for is to make a reasonable profit. They do not expect to get rich at onco. Some writers deny that the Dorset-Horn is dog-proof. But they all admit that the Dorset-Horn had as leave light a dog as to fight any thing else, and that goes a long way toward self protection. When dressing mutton do it quickly. If the entrails are not quickly removed the meat will have a ••woolly taste,” though it is not a woolly taste.at all. The flavor comes from the absorption from the en trails. Household Helps. The sunflower is probably the coarsest and rankest of garden weeds, yet in Russia the oil of its seeds is used on salads, and its stalks are good as fuel. A piece of chamois skin cut to fit the inside of the shoe will not only prove very comfortable in cold weather and to tender feet, but it will save the stockings from wear. Thick woollen rugs are the only ones to bo used in front of a fire, if any should bo used there at all. Ip such rugs, if they are very thick, even a slight flame may be readily smothered, whilo cotton rugs are very inflammable. In continued use of the eyes, in such work as sewing, type-setting, book-keeping, reading and studying, the saving point is looking up from the work at short intervals and look ing around the room. This may be practiced every ten or fifteen min utes. This relieving the muscular tension, rests the eyes and makes the blood supply much better. A fitteen inch square of red cheeqa cloth, with narrow, brier-stitched hem and two strings of worsted braid sewed across one corner, does not sound like anything remarkable, but when one learns it is to wrap up shoes or slippers for bag -or trunk the full value of the notion appears. Shoes are the meanest things to pack or wrap in paper, but the soft cotton wraps them close and the strings keep them in place. The most effectual way to air beds and bed clothing is to throw the clothes over a chair and lift the mattress partly over the footboard in a round, hoop-like fastiion, and if a feather bed is used, pull it off upon a chair. Then open the windows and doorc so that a current of air can pass through the room, and let it remain so for two or three hours, or even longer. Beds thus aired are always healthful and will induce sound sleep in their occupants. Each member of the family should be trained to do this daily, and never allowed to leave the room until it is so arranged. Boys as well as girls can be taught' to do this, and they will reap the benefit of if through their lives and be sure to have their oflldren trained in the same way. HOOD’S Sirufiiiila CURES MUaa Ortencta E. Allen Salem, Mich. Liver and Kidney doctor said he'had not a ?ay ofbo^o’^ recovery. I rallied and commenced tikln* Hood’s Sarsaparilla and from the first felt better. I continued m am now able to assist my mrnherTn her&s oSancrn RAtSTn."6 ‘hOOD’S C^REs’ inS!i°° lyes’ >d’SP|llS cure nansea, siokhesdirtT ition, biliousness. Sold by all dra|S'’ WALTER BAKER & GO. COCOA and CHOCOLATE • Highest Awards ' (Medals and Diplomaa) World’s Columbian Exposition. nfiSel®* foUowta* BREAKFAST COCOA, MEIIII1 So. 1 CHOCOLATE, GERMAN SWEET CHOCOLATE, VANILLA CHOCOLATE, ^ I COCOA UTTER, l9T ,V PuritJ of material.* “excellent flavor,1* and “uw. form even compodtiou." •OLD DY OBOCEW KVERVWHUi. WALTER BAKER 6 CO., DORCHESTER, MASS, DROPSY TREATED FREE. 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