gif ERRANT THOUGHTS. la the gentle, 8tar*lftfht nt/ht: And dreaming oft before, on night4 as fair, My hopes and thoughts have taken flight And gone I know not where. The hopes and thoughts wore youthful dream CW high ideas—of better things to be— Their wings were llko tin* sunset beams v\'i When they took flight from mo. \ jftkKV.-, X would not call thorn bud: n min— I do not know the haven where they rest— Tboy may have .soothed some bitter pain ti x Or brightened some sad breast. For much there Is not understood. Our life is moulded by the little things. Love gives to us n thought thill's good And God may givn it wings 4 V(. —N. V. Journal SCARLET FORTUNE, IIV H. HEHMAN. CHAPTER Vil—Continiikp. Young Clovo loaded hor with kind ly attentions and rnng the boll for tho maid, who escorted tho girl to hor room. Ho had riot breathed a syllabic to Lucy concerning his footings about that letter. “Iam sorry. Mr. Ashland,” ho said, that I have not tho slightest momory about your brother. I suppose you have heard of my misfortune, and ! that will be my explanation to you. But I would bo obliged if you would leave this matter in iny hands, so that I may make further inquiries on the subject. “Ueorgo Maclane, Dick Ashland’s neighbor," he muttered to himself whon the yeoman was gone. “And Diok had found gold and I wa3 to help him got it. And George Mac land has found gold, and Dick Ash land has novor again boon huard of, and I am horo with four desperato wounds on my heal." Ho aroso and walked up and down the room in a slow, measured tramp. “And Lucy.” ho continued in troin J ulous sctf-corumunloatlon, ••has had a desperate quarrel with her father and hor cousin, and will not go noar them, and will havo nothing to do if-, with them. And Lucy Is a good, “ • true, houcst girl—a kindly, noblo girl—who would not loavo her father without ample reason.” y*. Up UUU UUWII U1U [UUIIl became faster, and a dark shadow settled on tho young mail's brow. "I cun soo it all,” ho oontinuod. “Lucy knows somothlng of this, and her futhor and cousin are in I it, only she is too true to thorn oven now, and will say nothing against them. If there’s treachery in it, she’ll never denounce them. And she’s right of course. Right and good as she always Is. She can’t bo ex pected to be a witness against hor on n father. If ever the word ‘brute’ was written in a man's face, it is in George Maclane’s. Dick Ashland!’’ he muttered. “Dick Ashland!” ■ The muscles of his handsomo face contracted as it in pain. “God1.” he exclaimed, “It is hard. Why can’t I remember? Why can’t I Temomber?” Then, on a sudden, ho chookod himself, and a look of stern deter mination took the place of tho an guish that had succedad it. A “I will remember,” ho chlod. “I will remember." IIo stopped in front of his table and rang the bell. “Send at once a raassongoh to Sir William Cutabortson, in Mount street,” ho said to the man who en tered, “and toll him Lord Clove will call on him at twelve o'clock to-day.” That being over, he sot. to work arranging his papers with an air of quiet commonplace whieh proved tho intensity of his desire. > “I'll get at the bottom of this,” he said determinedly to himself. “Sir William shall operate on me as soon as over ho will.” • SK''. &VA t.-iv ' & S : ;H ■ T-:< IU CHAPTER VIII. “Boltons,” South Kensington—gen erally known as “The Boltons"— was, in the year of graco eighteen sixty, one of too fashionable localities of London. The Maclanes, desirous of mixing with fa hionable society in London, had chosen a house in “The Boltons” for their habitation. London fashion and fashiouablos required a yearly renewal of tho supply of lions to their social men agerie. Now, real big lions, were scarce and often very shy; therefore, London fashion and fashionables had sometimes to content themselves with a wretched, starving semblance of the noble beast, and, as long as a pretence was furnished by a lion's Btcin and mane, London fashion and fashiouablos were often compelled to ignore that an ass's body was cov ered by a yellow hide. . It must be confessed that London fashion and fashionables overlooked the defects of the:.r once caught lions with ready alacrity, and in the most amiable wa • threw dust in their own eyes by di covering all sorts of virtues to which their newly-caugut boast could lay but little claim, and b/ accepting upon themerost hearsay as gospel truth, and by heralding to tho world with trumpet blasts, every babbled statement that could possibly bring it credit > i. '.J In the case of the Macianes, the efforts of London fashion and fashionables showed some portion -of reason in their . madness through the fact that both the Machines .were marriageable and wore wealth/.' Now a lion in fashion is a desirable beast A wealthy lion becomes a dream of loveliness. But a marriage able wealthy lion—ye gods and little fishes, where shall I find adjectives and adverbs sufficiently to portray the estimation in whieh he is held by Tyburnia. Belgravia, and Mayfair? Many and various had been the as saults by maidens and matrons upon the single blessedness of George and David Maclaue. High-born ladies . vied with one another to draw the lions into' their nets they were spreading for them. As we have seen, no less a person than the only daughter of the marquis of Gwendale f■ j consented to link her name to that of tho young American, and all went swimmingly for poor Dick Ashland’s assassins until they wero frightened nearly out of thoir senses by their sudden meeting with Lord Clove. Even that dread had long ago van ished. They wero cognizant of tho fact that Herbert had lost all trace of memory, and, tho Drat shock of meeting with their victim being past, they became quickly reassure 1, and, in the privacy of their own homo, laughod at thomselvos for thus allowing: thomselvos to bo frightened oy a harmless bogey. Shortly after that thoy learned, not without trepidation, that Lucy was In London, residing with Lord Clovo. Lucy, they know had kept her word, and had beon as silent as tho grave in which Dick Ashland’s bones were resting. Thoy dobatod with themselves whothor or not they ought to go and soo her, but Unally decided it was best to leave well alono. If Lucy wlshe l to hold communicatiin with them sho would have no difficulty in finding thorn. One day after luncheon, thoy were sittiug over their fifth or sixth bottlo ot champagne, when David Maclane, who between tho whiffs of a huge cigar, was reading “Albert Gate,” suddonly put down his weed and dropped tho papor on tho table in front of him in a breathless per* turbation. “Waal,” exclaimed George, “who’s boon made meat of now? Yew look that sheared, one might think the •Hapahoas wore aftor your top-knot. ” David Maclane for all reply pushed tho papor toward his undo. “I’ll be doggone if I can make yew out!” cried the latter. “I guess yow’ve got to bo such an elegant crit ter as yow cayn’t speak no more, no how. What’s tho sign now?" “Tho sign's bad Injun’, George,” David replied wistfully. "It’s dorna tlon bad Injun’, an its ‘facos blaek enod for war,’ Roal this an’ I guess it’ll give yow yewr stomachful, this day and to-morror, an’ a good while to come. wuurgo uiuciuuo cast a aisuainrui glance at his nophow. He took up the journal and his oyes foil im mediately on tho following para graph: ••Our readers aro probably aware that the young oarl of Clove, whose happy return to England we an nounced some time ago, has boon suf fering from complete loss of memo ry, the result of some ugly wound in the head. Lord Cleve has placed himself undor the care of Sir Wil liam Cuthbortson in tho hope that the groat surgeon might be able to help him In recovering the valuable mental faculty of which he has boon deprived. AH London will bo glad to learn that, about ten days ago. Sir William porformod a most suc cessful operation on his distinguished patient, and that the young earl's power of memory is returning fast. Thero is no doubt whatever teat, be fore a month is over it will be com pletely restored,and as tho young no bleman's careor has boon a most romantio one, though hitherto a closed book, oven to himself, we may oxpoct some interesting recitals of tho thrilling incidents of his lifo in Amorica—the most interesting one being naturally tho account of the murderous conflict in which ho re ceived his terrible wounds.” George Mac lane dropped the paper, as his nophow had done before him, and gave a long, low whistle. “I guess yow’re right, Dave.” ho said. “It’s bal Injun—it’s Injun on the war-path, an’ powdor runnin’ derned short.” “What are yew goin’ to do?” tho younger man asked. “Do!" exclaimed George. “What can we do?” “If that young man remembers a hand stretch about Dick Ashland, an’ himself, an’ us, it will snrve us to a few ya"ds o' ropi apiece. It makes me shiver to think of it.” His face had gone ashen, and brought within discernible distance of man’s justice, coward fear took possession of him. His teeth rattled and his limbs shook. “Ii that young man remembers!” George hissod disdainfully. Ho hit the table with his clenched fist, mak ing the glasses jump and tho de canters rattle. His cruel littlo eyes glittered more ferociously- than over, and his teeth were sot hard in re lentless savagery. “Damnation!" ho cried. “Ho mustn’t remember—ho shan't’ remember! I guess we’re not logs. We’ve got heads, havon’t we? j We’ve got eyes, haven't wo? We’ve i got hands, haven't we? We’ve got money, haven’t wo? An’ if wo’ro to swing fur Dick Ashland, I reckon it j won't ’matter much if wo cut that young fellow's throat in the bargain I to stop his jaw.” j “That ain’t so easy, George.” J David answered tremulously. “Yew , cayn’t get at a man so smack heear ! as out in tho Rocklos. It's just a : trifle bigger job to stop his jaw in { this hole than if wo had him on the Sangro de Christo.” : “D—n it.” viciously exclaimed tho j elder ruffian, “vvo’ve just got to do it, anil the sooner we make up our I minds and set to work about it the better." CHAPTER IX. Tho Macianos had no difficulty in discovering the place whore Sir Wil I liam Cuthbertson had performed his i operation and where his distin | guished patient was slowly recover i ing. It was a pretty little cottage standing in a tiny walled garden on a sparsely-frequented road between Shepperton and Halliford-ou-Thames. A former owner had given it the fanciful name of “The Nest.” The place wai within easy reach of Lon don, and although, at a comparatively j short distance the river teemed with buoyant life and revelry, along the lano. shaded by huge ol ins and wild chestnuts, solitudo was made musloal only by tho feathered songsters of the skies, and the sough of the leaves j quivering with tho summor breeze. Tho nearest habitation, a small I house, usually let furnished during ! the boating season, was about five i and twenty yards away, and occu [ pied ut tho time. Other residences, strewn hero and there along the road, wero hidden deep in park-like grounds, and gavo rise to no disturb in'? noises. The room in which Herbert was lying was situated on the ground floor of the little cottage. it was spacious, and plainly, but extremely comfortably, furnishod. The walls were painted a bluish stone gray, und no pattern of any kind attracted attention. There were no pictures on tho walls, and the doors and win dows wore hung with curtains of a softly, dull-colored material. The two big windows looked .across a small, but beautifully kopt, lawn on to a brick wall smothered with Vir ginia creeper. The sky-line was nearly hidden by giant elms in the full wealth of their leafy green. All was simply harmonious—no violences of taste or shado shocked tho eye. It was homeliness and comfort made solid, and yet placed with such balmy rest as a mountain wilderness could scarcely surpass. Not a soul entered his room but the softly-spoken, gravo-visaged grey headed attendant, who moved with a noiseloss solicitudo, and anticipated his every want, his every wish. The hours seemed eternal, but his deter mination strengthened him and made his temporary loneliness less bitter. All around him solemn silence reigned His attendant moved stealthily like a cat, and no disturb ing footfall reached his ear from any whero. It was only at the rarest in tervals that tho grating of wheels on tho soft clayey road outside be came audiblo, or that a passer-by, more noisy than usual, intrudod upon | his privacy by tho faint sounds of tho snatch of a song. J-'Ucy naa succeeded in obtaining Sir William Cuthbertson’s permission to livo in the cottage with Herbert, upon the express condition that her presence should not be betrayed by sound or sign, that she should re main in the wing of the house op posite to that where young Cleve was stretched on his bod of pain. It can oasily be guessed how gladly she consented to these conditions: she would have consented to any terms to be allowed to remain near the man she loved so well. If there was one person in this world who sinceroly hoped and prayed for Herbert’s cure, that per son was Lucy Maclane; and yet no person in tho world—her father and oousin included, could have more dreaded the fatal day when Herbert would bo cured; when remembrance, lieree and relentless, would assert its sway, and ruthlessly dash away tho curtain which she had woven at such a cost and under such severe trials. Her mind was stretched on tho perpotual rack of tho most ter rible doubt, with but the faintest glimmer of hopo piercing the dark ness that threatened. I [TO BE CONTINUED.] | A Youthful Financier. | He was a small boy, whose head was about onalovel with the grocery counter. He swung a tin pail in one hand and tightly clasped four pen nies in the other. “Pleathe. thir, how much ith a pint of milk?" ••Four cents.” “Then pleatho give me three thent’ worth and a poppermint stick. My mother thaid I could have the change, if there wath any, for candy, and she muth have known there wouldn't bo any. It wathn’t fair.” And tho young financier walked gayly off with a largo striped stick of candy aud a very little milk splashing in the bottom of the pail. —Wisconsin. Not to HU rmte. British husbands, when their din ner parties turn out failures, are apt to grumble at their wives for the cook’s misdemeanors, but they abstain from the practical style of rebuking practiced by the celestials. Kecently the Chinese professor at a university gave a na tional banquet to follow professors and was much put out because the cookery was net to his taste. After a time he got up, bowed solemnly and said, “Go lickee wife,” and de parted, returning presently, smiling as blandly as usual, after having ad ministered judicious chastisement tc his better halt Hard Time.,. “Madam, I—I must apologize. My —my seven children, and—it’s hard times, ycu know—and—” “Poor fellow! Here's a trille for you. And now toll mo how old are j the poor little dears.” |« “Thank ye, mum! Well, Bill ho’s I 32. ’n Mary’s 27 and married. The j other five's dead, mum. ’N Bill ’n Mary says I’m too lazy to livo, mum; they’ro very ungrateful Thank ye. again, mum.” A Premonition of (ire itness. Pater, to son, who had b3cn left to take an orange while his father left the room—Why didn't you take the largest orange, Johnny? Fils—Because I could tell by feel ing them all that the largest one had no juice in it Why He Dined at the Club, “Hullo, old man! How’s it you’re dining at the club? Thought your wife told me she had the Browns and Smiths to dinner this evening.” < “No; that was yesterday. This evening she has the odds and ends." , —Punch. THE FARM AND HOME. LESSENING COST OP PRODUC TION IN DAIRIES. A Successful Woman Tells How She Does It—Guinea Fowls—Keeping; Healthy— Cleaning; a Sick Room—Farm Notes and Home Hints. . A Woman's Dairy. Mrs. E. M. Jones, Brockville, Ont, 5s a very successful dairy woman. In a paper read before the Quebec farmer’s congress, she says: We must increase our products and in crease our profits too. And one great way of making more profit is to follow the teachings of all great dairy schools and colleges. They continually tell us to “lessen the cost of production.” How is this to be done? By starving our cows? Far from it. But by keeping a better class of cows, feeding and caring for them better, and using more skill and care in making our butter. We thus increase our output, and at the same time we lessen the Cost of pro duction. Do not think I advocate too high feeding for this is almost as great an error as starving your cattle. Feed generously and of suitable material, but And out each cow’s capacity, and feed her up to the highest point at which she pays for the feed, and not one bit beyond it. In my herd the usual grain ration for each animal in full milk varies from seven to ten pounds per cow, each day. This is composed of ground oats, ground peas, wheat bran and occasionally a little oil meal. The ration is divided into two feeds, and given night and morn ing, upon the silage. Should the silo be empty, the grain is always fed upon hay that has been cut and moistened. The quantity of silage fed is thirty to forty pounds a day. At neon my cattle get a very small feed of cut carrots or mungels, and any further supply of food required consists of bright, early-cured, long hay put in their mangers. They get all tho salt they need, all the water they want twice a day, and each cow is well curried and brushed over every day. Whenever weather permits, they are turned out for a short time about noon, but are never left out till cold or tired. The barns are thoroughly cleaned out twice a day. With this feed and care, I have two-year old heifers, making from twelve to fourteen pounds of butter a week and mature cows making from sixteen to nineteen pounds a week. To a very uncommon cow, 1 feed a larger ration. My famous old “Massena" is now eating more than the quantity I have just now men tioned; but what is her yield? Be ing in her sixteenth year when I tested her, she gave in eleven months and nino days, 8,200} pounds of milk, which churned 604 pounds of magni ficent butter, and then dropped a fine heifer calf. With her previous owner, when she was younger, she is credited with 900 pounds of butter in a year, and her record is accepted by everyone. Some people say that this large butter yield wears a cow out. Well, it has not worn “Massena” out, for she is hale and hearty, as bright as a dollar, and due to calve in April, when seventeen years old. Now, what we want to do is to get rid of those poor cows that will not respond to feeding. Eat them, bury thorn, but do get rid of them, for they are mortgaging your farm, making slaves of your wives and families, and sinking you deeper into dobt every year they exist Then fill the country with cows that will respond to good feeding, that will pull you out of debt and leave you a good balance in ohe bank. 1 do not extol one breed above another, for circumstances alter cases, and it is folly to disparage one noble breed of cattle just because you happen to prefer another. We have many grand breeds to choose from; so I say to you most earnestly, choose the breed that suits you best, then get the very best individuals of that breed, and give them the very best of food, and you will never regret it Guinea Fowl*. It is strange that so few guineas are kept on the farm. They are pretty fowls, peculiarly interesting in their habits, indefatigable forag ers and really excellent for table use, as their flesh, though somewhat dark in color, is, when properly cooked, delicious, having a flavor much resombling that of wild game. For their egg production alone, guineas are well worth keeping. The hens begin to lav in March, if the season is favorable and continue un til frost, thus bridging over the time when the common fowls are indulg ing in their annual moult. Their eggs are dark brown in color, having remarkably thick shells, and though smaller in size than those of chicken hens, yet their greater richness of flavor more than makes up for their diminution in size. In the market they are said to bring a superior price, being much prized b> house keepers for cooking purposes, espec ially for making a nice cake. During summer and the pleasant weather of spring and fall, guineas prefer to roost out of doors, and to spend their days away from the house, roaming over distant woodland and meadows, where they make their nests in secluded spots on the ground, hollowing out a place in the loose earth beneath low bushes or wide spreading dock leaves. They are monogamous by nature, preferring but one mate and showing great af fection for each other, though should the flock not contain an even num ber of sexes, two or more bens will go with the same male, and all lay in the same nest most harmoniously. The hen does not usually set till late in the season, the time of incubation being four weeks, and though their eggs hatch well, but few chicks are raised, as the little ones are remark ably tender and delicate, so sus ceptible to chill from rain and dew that if a flock aoubles itself in a season, when left to its own devices, it is about as much as one can ex pect. Kaised in this way, the young guineas are wild and shy as part ridges, and when needed for the table have to be hunted down like wild game.—American Cultivator. Keeping Healthy. A thrifty animal full of robust health is more capable of resisting the poison of contagious diseases successfully than an unthrifty animal. With all classes of stock then in order to maintain good health it is essential that all reasonable care be taken for that purpose. Give them clean quarters, dry bedding, whole some, nutritious food, pure water and an opportunity to take abundant exercise when necessary. The breath ing of impure air, the drinking of filthy water, of sleeping in a wot or nasty bed and the eating of unwhole some food are the principle causes of disease. There is something in the breeding, as some animals lack vigor from the start; but even these can often be brought through all right with good care when a little negleot would certainly cause a loss. But it is not only in their ability to resist disease that makes it desirable to keep the stock thrifty. With good health the animals will make a much better gain in proportion to the amount of food consumed and this df itself is no inconsiderable item. With good feeding a vigorous, thrifty animal can readily be kept gaining, while an unthrifty animal is a constant care to keep up.— Journal of Agriculture. Cleaning the Sick Boom. A sick room that needs cleaning can bo made fresh and sweet without sweeping and without dust by wiping everything in it with a cloth wrung out of warm water in which there are a few drops of ammonia. The rugs and draperies, though there should not be any in the room, the doctors tell us, may be put upon the line for a thorough airing and wiped in the same way. The feather duster, which should be banished because it does no real good any . where except to stir up and redis tribute the dust, is especially out of place in the sick room, where there may be, and doubtless often are, germs of disease in the innocent looking dust If a patient is in a nervous state a screen may be placed in front of the bed while the fresh ening goes on. If the room can only be heated by a stove the noise of putting in coal can be deadened by wrapping the coal in a paper be fore putting on the fire. Farm Notes. It requires skill to market small fruit properly. It pays as well to grade poultry before sending to market as it does to grade any other article offered for sale. Ammonia may be prevented from escaping from the manure pile by occasionally applying dry earth to the surface. Success in gardening depends very largely on having a rich, deep, well broken soil. The garden spot should be broken in the fall. Pumpkins can be grown very cheaply, and they are excellent for milk cows and hogs. In fact they are “good for man or beast” Every farmer should raise at least all the fruit his family can consume, and the man who does not is not as good a provider for his family as he might or ought to be. Alfalfa, says Gleanings, is one of the most wonderful honey plants in the world, and bee-keepers in the vicinity of this plant have had more uniform success than elsewhere. ‘ When the farm boy is given a present of a pig or calf, let it be with the distinct understanding that he has to feed and care for it, and is to have all the money it sells for. Home Hints. To beat the white of eggs stiff with ease they should be cold, with a very small pinch of salt added. Cut a piece from the top of old kid shoes and insert it inside the iron holder you are going to make. Add two tablespoonfuls of kero sene to the pail of water with which you wash grained or other varnished furniture. Make boiled starch with a weak soapsuds male of white soap instead of with clear water, and you will have no difficulty with its sticking. Egg shells are somewhat porous, and, like butter and cheese, absorb unpleasant odors. Therefore, eggs should be kept in a sweet, clean, cool place. All floor and whisk brooms should be thoroughly wet in scalding hot brine before using them, it will ef fectually prevent the straw from breaking. Do not wring wool underwear through a wringer. Use the hands, and shake it thoroughly before dry ing. When perfectly dry fold it smoothly, but do not iron. See if the odor is not more agreeable than when a hot sad iron has passed over them. To mend china or broken earthen ware take a very thick solution of gum arabic in water and stir into it plaster of Paris until the mixture becomes of the consistency of cream, apply with a brush to the broken edges of the ware and join together. In three days the artiole cannot be broken in the same place. Th • whiteness of the cement makes it doubly valuable, Hr. H. H. Walla Like a^Miracle Pains in Side and Breast Despaired of Help, but Hood-s Sarsaparilla Cured. "C. I. Hood ft Co., Lowell, Mass.: “ l am glad to state my son's experience with Hood s Sarsaparilla, as it was the means of nr. Ing his life. Last fan he was taken ill with pains In his breast and side. He had Hie best medical attendance possible, and was treated by ths doctors for some time, but did not realize anr relief. He could not lay down day or night, and Hood’s5^ Cures our hopes were fast falling. My aged mother advised a trial of Hood’s Sarsaparilla. Ho con* jnenced taking the medicine, and to our Great Astonishment, one bottle cured him of Ills pains and restored him to perfect health. This case has been looked upon by many In this vicinity as nothing short of a miracle.” H. H. 'Walls, Oswego, Kansas. Hood’s Pills cure liver Ills, constipation biliousness, Jaundice, sick headache, inHip..n^ In the Early Days of cod-hver oil its use ^ was limited “2 to easing^ those far advanced in consumption. Science soon discovered in it the prevention and cure of consumption. Scott's Emulsion of cod-liver oil with Hypo phosphites of lime and soda has rendered the oil more effective, easy of digestion and pleasant to the taste. Prepared by Scott * fiowne, N. Y. 411Iroggiata Ely's Dream Balm Cleanses the Nasal Passages, Allays Pain and Inflammation, Restores the Sense of Taste and Smell. Heals the Sores. Apply Balm Into each nostril. LY BROS.. 66 Warren St., N.Y. The 2-ton Aermotor Steel Truck weighs 175 pounds, has 10 inch wheels with 2-inch face. When three of the wheels are on the floor, the other end one is about 1H inches from the nwr, tnos enabling it to swivel easily. The body is 28 inches wide byW inches long. A bottom board is eauily put in to make the bot tom tight. If stakes are required, narrow boards can be putrn slanting over the outer rail and under the in net one; or, ii *noe boards .re tu*d. they will prac-ti^ily make *1 miking those aUket long enough and putting m ena on the same way bulky material may be handled. — We are making this offer to show a cample of ®a^ „*.*]«■ want to ahow how nice a thing we can make, ana^ we are in the matter of price*. Tins Steel Truck is f •3.80 cash (2 cent* per poundl, and 2 cop.es of‘^vV0J‘4e£“^ No. 4, aa per conditiona named in No. 4. This is adr. _ . W. Id. I>OUGIdAS <3 SHOB [equals custom work, costing 1 $4 to $6, best value lor the money in the world. Name an^JV^ istamped on the bottom, wag ^ ->air warranted. Take no sub * lute. See local papers for [uH description of our co,"PI';e u "ncs for ladies and gen tlemen or send tor /i 1 ustrated Catalog** giving in structions JITElTITrU*.- h°.Kt0h^ derby mail. Postage free. You can get c bargains of dealers who push our shoes. — Sent out to b« sproutea