INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. i BY PERMISSION OF HAND. MSNALLY & COL. CHAPTER VIII. 3-ARNAC and the count, after attend ing Madame de Montaut to her car . rlage with polite r Inquiries and con dolence, went each his own way, and the other three drove back to Bed ford Square. Dick was relieved tn can hnw nillt'klv i the open air restored the color to Ca milla’s cheeiis: she was herself again by the time they reached home, and seemed to have recovered even the gaiety which had been conspicuously absent from Iter manner all the morn ing. He stayed an hour or two. and was Induced to tell many stories of the sea. The colonel listened for some time, and then excused himself on the plea of hav ing letters to write. "But l hope you will dine with us,” he added. "Thank you," said DleU. ruefully: “I wish I could; but my lawyer Is coming to sec me on business at 4 o'clock: he is an old family friend, and I asked him to stay to dinner.” And. In fact, ho tore himself away soon afterward. When he had seen him out of the house the colonel came back to the drawing room smiling and rubbing his hands to gether with an appearance of great good humor. "Well, Camilla,” he said, "and when will It be convenient to you to pay me?" "Pay you what?” “Have you forgotten? You wagered your fortune that Eatcourt would not help tin." She started to her feet; terror. In credulity, anger, and terror again, flashed In her glance and shook her voice. “Well," she cried," “what then; what then?" "Why, then, of course, you have lost." “You are lying," she cried, fiercely. “That would be useless here." he said: “one can not deceive oneself. But surely,” he expostulated, "you can't pretend to have misunderstood him all this time?" "What time?” she asked. In faint de spair. "This morning.” he replied. “I changed my mind again, and decided In favor of writing. At 10:30 I sent him that If he kept our appointment for 11 o’clock at Great Bussell atreet 1 should understand him to have accepted our proposal. He kept the appointment, as you know; you saw the friendliness with which he met his new confeder ates, Carnac ana nabodsr.ges; and 1 mm surprised,” he continued, “that ho did not hint to you his acceptance of your cause and your guidance.” “You have ruined a man’s honor," she cried, "and a woman's happiness; but you shall not have youi^ way with both of us; If he goes with you, I stay behind." And she left the room before he could find an answer. Dick, in the meantime, stepped with m swinging pace along the streets, look ing exultantly back upon the brightest day In his memory, and forward to a yet brighter one tomorrow. He sprang up the stairs to hts room, and burst gaily in. His glance traveled to the mantel-piece, where his letters were usually placed; today there were two, and he hummed a tune as he took them In hi* hand. They were both from known correspondents, and quite un interesting: but a third. lying near them, was directed In a handwriting that he had never seen before. Ha was surprised to find, on turning ft oven, e had been ex pecting. agray-halred. sharp-eyed, pre cise-looking man of 6S or more, with hta hat la one band and a bag In the other.- ' ;' • 1 ' ' 1 ■ “Good day, air." he said. And then, with* a-quick glance from Dick’s trou bled ‘face to the paper In his hand, he added: “Anything wrong? No bad news, I hope?" Dick Jumped to bis feet, took the hat bag from his visitor, and drew a chair up to the fire for him. “Ton must excuse me, Mr. Wicker by,” he said; “I’m In a regular mase over this extraordinary note.” “Let me pee,” said the lawyer. Dick mechanically handed it over to him. and tried to put hla own ideas in order while the other read In silence. ; "Dear me!” said Mr. Wlckerby, look tug up at last, “this Is a cool fellow, upon my word! He pretends to be a friend of yours. Do you recognise the writing?" I “No." replied Dick, “I never saw it In my life; but—" •' “But you can guess the author, eh? Hm—ra. so much the worse! if you will excups., uty . freedom. , Captain Est couyt—’* “itopr cited Dick. *1 must warn you that these are Intimate friends ol mine,” and he blushed crimson. Mr. Wiekerby looked at him curtous Jy. -“They must be," ho said, “very in timate,, I should say. to venture upon •uch a proposal aa this. cried Itr cried Dick, "you don’t 4 * S* Hi , V „ » . » r '' : **#■***.'£;g< „ * f • " r;_i .• BY HENRY S/E.WBOLT suppose he meant It seriously? It's a Joke, of course." The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “Not In very good taste as a Joke,” he said; "but after all It doesn't matter; the letter contains Its own answer, and there’s an end of It.” “What do you mean?” asked Dick. “.How does It contain Its own answer?" “Silence, In tills case, was to give Re fusal; consent was only to be Inferred from a particular act.” Dick was thunderstruck at this, and lost his head. “But I went," he stammered. "Went where?” naked the other, sharply. “To Great Bussell street.” “You went to Great Bussell street? And what, In the name of goodness, did you do that for? Do you know, Captain Kstcourt,” he continued, severely, “what we lawyers call this kind of thing? “Adhering to the sovereign's en emies’; ’levying war against our lord the king’—that's what we call It, sir. An overt act of treason, and you and your friends make a Joke of It!” "But that was not why I went,” said Dick, In confusion. “I hadn't had the note then. The man himself had al ready asked me to go for quite a differ ent purpose.” Here the maid entered to lay the cloth, and both were silent. "I’ll explain It all to you after dinner,” said Dick. “In the meantime let us settle the business you came about.” This was done, and occupied them for somewhat less than half an hour, at the end of which time they set down to table. Dick was preoccupied, and the con versation dragged. His guest eyed him doubtfully from time to time, and he was uneasily conscious of the fact. Presently he got up and went to the bell. “I quite forgot,” he said, as he pulled the cord, "I never asked about that note being open.” “I don’t understand," said Mr. Wlck erby. “The seal was broken when I found it.” The lawyer looker puzzled. “Sure?” he asked. “Certain," Dick replied. "The letter had been opened, beyond a doubt." “That’s awkward. I’m afraid any one who may have read it would think you kept queer company.” * The maid appeared in answer to the bell. "Jane.” said Dick, holding up the let ter, “who brought this?” "The gentleman wrote it here, sir.” “Excuse me,” said Mr. Wlclcerby, In terrupting. “but I should like to ask her a question or two; I’m used to this kind of thing, you know." “All right,” said Dick; “you’ll do It better than I should.” The lawyer turned to cross-examine Jane, who was beginning to be alarmed. "What gentleman?" he asked. “I don't know his name, sir.” “Did yoli know him by sight?” “Yes, sir; he came here once, a week ago, with Captain Estcourt.” “What time was it when he wrote the letter?” “About 10:30 In the morning, sir, as near as I could say.” “Did you see him fasten it up?” “Yea, sir; I brought him the wax and held the taper myself.” “What did he do with It then?” “He gave It to me, sir, and I put It on the chimney-piece.” “You are sure the seal was unbroken then?” “Yes, sir; quite sure.” “And who has been In here during the day?” “No one, sir, but me and Captain Eat court,” "Tnen," said the lawyer, with sever ity, “It was you who broke the seal; coroe now, tell the truth.” “No, sir; Indeed, It was not,” said the girl, In great distress. "Who was It. then?" “Captain Estcourt, I suppose, sir,” she replied, almost In tears. "But he was out." “1 thought he must have coroe back, sir, and gone out again. I remember noticing that the letter had been opened when I came In to see to the Are, and I said to myself. ‘Then he must have been home again.’" “What time was that?" “That would be about 11, sir.” “You’re certain no one else oame in?” “They couldn’t have done, sir, without ringing. Captain Estcourt, he has’ a latchkey, but others must ring.” Mr. Wlckerby «aw that she was not likely to be shaken from this theory. Whether It was true or not. It was her onlv possible method'of clearing her self from the charge of having opened the tatter. “fihtnk you,” he said; "I daresay you are Wuht. Captain Estcourt must have forgotten. That will do, Jane, and you needfc’t trouble yourself about It.” ' The girl fled with alacrity, and Mr. Wiektrby turned to Dick, who was fumtnv with Impatience. “Well," he asked, “what do you say to that?” “What confounded nonsense all this Is!” cried Pick; “as If I didn't know that I never set eyes on the thing till this afternoon, just two minutes before you came in! I shall think no more of It.” “That Is all very well,” replied his companion, “but the question- Is, will all these other people think no more of it, too?" “What other people?’’ “Well, there la first the gentleman who sent the Invitation, and no doubt supposes you to have accepted It with your eyes open; secondly, these French men he mentions—did you meet them, too?” “Oh, hang them, yes!” groaned Dick. "Thirdly, the person or persons, un known, who opened and read this let ter; and fourthly—let me see—oh, yes —the lady spoken of as ‘my sister-In law.* ” Dick turned crimson, and his compan ion fixed a penetrating glance upon him. *•» • ■.W r "Do you know," he said, "I think, my dear Estcourt, it might be better for you If you made a clean breast of it. I’m an old confidential friend of your people, and you know I will keep your counsel.” “I give you my word,” cried Dick, “there's nothing more to tell than thl3: I know Colonel de Montaut—the man who wrote this letter, you know—pretty well: nml as for Marlamc de Montaut—” “Yes?” inquired Mr. Wickerby.’“And as for Madame—?” “Oh, you understand,” said Dick, with despprate embarrassment, “she's the only woman In the world; but no one could ever think r.ie capable of dis loyalty, and she least of all.” “Hm—m,” said the lawyer, ”1 couldn't, perhaps; but women have a high estimate of their own power, and some of them love to exercise it, too.” “Some of them!” Dick burst out, in* dignantly; “she’s not ‘some of them.’ She wouldn’t accept the help of a trait or, much less ask for it.” He was becoming Irritated beyond his self-control, and Mr. Wickerby hast ened to leuve this part of the subject. "The question now is,” he remarked, "what you are to do.” “Do!” cried Dick. “I shall write to Colonel de Montaut at once, and call to morrow morning to explain the mis take.” Stop a moment," said the lawyer. "I’m not quite sure that that’s your wisest plan, though, of course, It Is the natural one to think of first. Let me Just put the case before you as It looks to an outsider—not to me, mind you, but to an impartial stranger; to a Judge or Jury, for instance." Dick looked nervous and sulky, but said nothing, and Mr. Wickerby went on in a clear, precise tone, marking off the points on the fingers of his left hand as he proceeded: “An English officer,” he began, “makes friends with a Frenchman—a strong Bonapartist—and falls In love with a relative of this gentleman, much attached to the same cause. He goes often to their house, and Is frequently seen In their society. "On Saturday, March 24, 1821, he leaves home at 10:30 In the morning. Im mediately afterward a letter from his Imperialist friend arrives, referring to previous conversations, arid asking him to Join in a treasonable plot. A refusal Is to be easly Implied by mere silence, but the consent, which Is plainly ex pected, Is to be evidenced by attendance at It o’clock at a certain place for the purpose of meeting two fellow-conspira tors. “By 11 o’clock this letter has been opened and read. No one has entered the house since our friend left it, unles, Indeed, he returned himself. The maid who received the note, with seal Intact, Is positive on this point; and to save herself would probably, under pres sure, swear that she heard him come In again. "At 11 o'clock he Is at the place named —for quite a different purpose, he says, but admittedly at thfc Invitation of these same Bonapartlsts. The other conspi rators are there too, and a cordial in troduction takes place. His conduct does not appear to .have aroused any doubt In their minds as to his accept ance of their overtures. "Confronted with this array of facts, our friend proposes to put himself right by explaining matters to the Bonapart lsts and even to commit the Imprudence of expressing his regrets on paper. ‘Liters scripts manet.’ My dear Est court, no prudent man ever writes a let ter when ho can avoid It. Tour disap pointed friends would have you in a trap here. You'd much better run away quietly, and take a holiday somewhere, without leaving your address. When they’ve come to grief and got hanged for their pains—” “What the devil do you mean?” shouted Dick, In exasperation. “Then you can come back In safety,” continued Mr. Wickerby. “But if you write, they’ll have undeniable evidence that you received their proposal, and you’ll have to choose between keeping the secret—which is a felony known by the unpleasant name of ‘misprison of treason’—and giving them up to Justice, which, I take it, you are even less like ly to prefer.” His ironical tone and incontrovertible logic infuriated Dick. "Damnation!" he roared: "why can’t you let me go my own way? I know my friends better than you do, I should hope!" “I hope so, too,” replied the lawyer, offended In his turn. "I will leave you to your own way, as you desire, and hoiie to hear no more of this business. I beg you to notice that I do not know where your friends live; I did not even catch their names; and I understand that the whole affair is a practical J Jke. I wish you may live long to laugh at it." He took up his hat and bag and left the room. Dick heard the front door twing heavily behind him, then made a quick gesture of defiance, and sat down at his desk to write to Colonel de Mon taut. (TO HI CONTINCBD.) Dourgot Praises Yankee Women. What, then, has M. Bourget to say ot the American woman? To begin with, he seems bewildered with her com plexity, for he calls her In turn an Idol, an enigma, an orchid, an exotic, while she typifies. In a country as yet with out an Ideal, the yankee’s devotion to sheer force of will. She Is not made to be loved. She does not want to be loved. It Is neither voluptuousness nor tenderness that she symbolises; she Is a palpitating objet d’art, at once sumpt uous; alert, intelligent, and audacious, and as such the pride and luxury of a new and somewhat defiant civilisation. In fine, M. Bourget’s language on the subject is so magnificent that we should write him down a romanticist pure and simple were it not that, In the the course of his analysis, he shows us another side of the picture. The pur ity of the American girl, the author of “Le Disciple” tells us, is not to, be ques tioned. She is coquettish as' well as calculating, and as frankly mercenary on occasion as she is naively self-cen tered. Clearly, it is the individualism of the American woman that surprises the critics of the Batin race, for north erners have little difficulty in under stand!" g a nature which seeks Its Inter est as much in globe trotting and self culture—or shall we call It self-ad vancement?—as In mere ebullitions of passion or sentiment. By actual experiment It has been as certained that the explosive power of a sphere of water only one inch in di ameter is sufficient to burst a brass vessel having a resisting power of SV 000 pounds. > -j£fi DAIRY AND POULTRY. INTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR OUR RURAL READERS. Bow Successful Farmer* Operate This Department of the Farm—A Few Hints us to the Care of Lire Stock and Fonltrjr. i AKE a building that will hold 59 cows, say 28 feet wide by 108 feet long and 14 feet high. The first story should be 10 feet for tho cows, with a 4 foot loft for meal and cut lit i • ter. a ouuaiug ui this width and size tan be built of light tim bers, say 2 by 4 inch studding, balloon frame. 4s the roof is narrow the rafters can be light and need no purlins. Board it with neat siding and line it or plaster inside! With well ar ranged windows and air ducts you have light and ventilation as thoroughly un der your control as in the living room of your house. Such a building as this can be put up for one-third the cost of a 56 by 60 foot bank barn and be infinite ly better as a place to house cows. Two objections will probably be urged against this single purpose barn—first, that you will need a large barn anyhow, for the storage of hay and grain, and, secondly, that it will be inconvenient to get the coarse provender from the stor age barn to the cow barn. In answer to the first objection I can say if new buildings are to be put up, build them long and narrow, as in the case of the cow barn before described, for the same saving in the cost of the smaller sized lumber can be made. Lumber of what we call yard sizes costs $12 to$15 per thousand. Sawed sizes cost $18 to $20, and quite large sticks, which have to be of good pine, may cost $30. Such a building as above indicated can be built of yard sizes and would not cost over half as much as a square bank barn of the Chester county pattern of the same capacity. If your old barn is good, take our your basement stables, drop your bays and so Increase the storage ca pacity. As to the second objection, every farmer with land enough to put on 40 or 50 cows to 100 acres will surely have a silo and cut his fodder and his hay, and with well arranged hanging tracks can take his cut feed across his barn yard into his cow barn with more satis faction than in the old way of taking forkfuls of hay and sheaves of fodder through the dark and narrow entries. An extension of this idea of single purpose barns would suggest a horse barn also, which in many ways would be preferable to stabling them in the basements of bank barns. We used to imagine that great straw sheds were needed for the storage of litter, the shel ter of the stock and the protection of the manure. Now we haul our manure directly to the fields, our cows are not let ottt when they require shelter, and the straw should be cut into inch lengths at the time of thrashing, in which case it can be housed in one-third the usual space, and actually costs less than to store it away uncut.—Phila delphia Ledger. Western Pastures* One of the foremost considerations with the dairyman is the matter of cheap and effective food. In the West here, even at this comparatively early day, the cry is for more pasture room. As a matter of fact the absence of good pasturage for the cows at about this time of the year, as a rule, is com plained about a good deal more in this section than it is further East where they have learned to depend upon something better. It is now conceded by dairymen who have studied all sides of the question that the corn field will furnish more of the right kind of food for the dairy cow than will the pasture. That is to say, turn the pastures into cord fields and clover and alfalfa meadows, then prepare the food for the cows for every month the year around, and it will be discovered that milk and butter are produced at a lessened cost. This manner of feeding necessarily brings into requisition the silo. By this means several advantages are had. It is possible to feed through a long drouth just the same as though the pastures were green and without any increase of cost. It is also possible to feed through the long winter on a milk producing ration that is grown on the farm and is as cheap as grass .itself. With the right kind of ration for win ter feeding it encourages more of win ter dairying, and consequently greater profits to the butter maker. This branch of conducting the dairy is but one branch of what is known as in tensive farming. It is found to be in keeping with the idea of cutting down the acreage of the farm, and of putting more of both brain and brawn labor into those acres. This system is work ing well in practice further east, and it is but a matter of time when it will be found more thoroughly engrafted into our Western ways.—Nebraska Farmer. Amateur Tests.—We once knew of a man that bought a good many cows every year for his city dairy. It was before the advent of the Babcock test, and for that reason he was very ex cusable In using a more primitive mode. He would get the .milk of the cow offered for sale and set It over night in a goblet If It showed a good thick cream In the morning, he bought the cow, provided her milking capacity was fairly good. This might do for cows to be used in a milk dairy, but It would be very unreliable for cows to be used In a creamery or for the pri vate dairy. This, for two reasons: First, Btyne cream is much more com pact than others, and a cow whose cream was five-sixteenths of an inch thick might really contain less butter fat than one four-sixteenths inches thick. Second, the cream in some milk rises very much slower than in other lots, due largely to the size of the but ter globule. Uncertainty of Scores. A writer in Ohio Poultry Journal says: There is no doubt but that the A. P. A. can recommend certain per sons as judges, and require them, be fore that is done to be examined as to their qualifications for such position, but in that event will all societies and associations employ them? If they did not,would it not lead to another rebel lion, in comparison to which the score card affair would be a pigmy? Would it not furnish a pabulum for poultry writers to ventilate their literary at tainments pro and con for a long time? The judge, to suit all, must be espe cially endowed with certain qualities, among which might be mentioned well versed in the business, which means tact and experience; he must be quisle, agreeable, absolutely accurate, unvary ing in judgment, have a retentive mem ory, possessed of patience, and to be. able to measure up defeated exhibitors he must be a phrenologist, a physiog nomist, and a psychologist or hypnotlzer. In fact, such a man cannot be found, and therefore, re sort must be had to those possessing fewer virtues. If a judge is required to nse a score card he will have between twenty and twenty-five subdivisions of a fowl to examine, each of which may be defective in from one to six or more places, and all such defects will vary in from one-fourth to five or more points in valuation, and in a class of twenty fowls his mind or attention, it is possi ble, will be or may be brought into di rect operation over 7,000 times, and what is expected is that he shall go over and over the same specimens time and time again and have the results exactly alike; or if after a week has elapsed a tew of the specimens included in the twenty named meet him elsewhere, he is expected to place them in the same notches again as a test of his expert skill, ability and honesty, no matter what changes may have been made in the circumstances and conditions sur rounding them—a thing impossible, and its like or analogy is not found in all nature, a thing which cannot be done whatever system of scoring he uses, or whatever committees or asso ciations recommend him; and it is safe ! to say that it is Impossible for a judge to score fowls in any considerable num bers, or at different times and places, and make the scores exactly alike when J done twice or more, but with a few ex tra or fine fowls he may Bcore suffi ciently close to have the results ap proximately alike. Greater Poultry Profits. Years ago, says E. H. Davis in The Poultry Monthly, the poultry business was not as lucrative as It Is at the ! present time. During the winter j months, although our poultry was well j sheltered and fed and great care used j to keep the buildings clean, giving j plenty of fresh water, etc., we found at the opening of the spring we had no remuneration for our labor, as cost of grain, scraps, potatoes, etc., far ex ceeded the income of eggs. We have now a better way of feeding, and most excellent results have fol lowed. We feed cut green bones in fair quantity every other day, and some of the time every day. They are inex- j pensive, and with a good bone cutter they make when cut fresh every day so nice a food that we can only liken it to a nice rare steak to a hungry man. The fowls love it. They thrive, and the chickens grow rapidly when fed on it. The mineral part of this food gives chickens material for their growing bones, and for the laying hens the shells, while the meat, gristle and ! juices in these green bones give ma terial for the flesh to the growing chickens and interior of the egg in abundance. So now our fowls, instead of being overfat in winter, are giving us eggs. Instead of being a sorry looking, de jected, unprofitable lot during the molt ing period, they are wide awake and strong, and many of them go so far as to give us eggs regularly at this time. The grain bill being largely re duced, the egg yield being increased amd no loss from sickness, ail aid in making our winter and spring record very encouraging, and no one could in duce us to neglect the feeding of green bone freshly cut at all seasons of the S'.lkea. Manly Miles has this to say of the above named breed: This breed, some times called Silky, or Negro fowls, have a very peculiar appearance; their plumage being so unlike that of other fowls, as to be scarcely recognized as feathers; while the skin of the fowl is a deep violet color, almost black, the* surface bones being of the same hue also, which gives it a rather unin viting look when prepared for the table. The flesh, however, is very deli cate and white, and superior to that of many breeds. The plumage has a soft, flossy appearance, the filaments being separate or single, and has been repre sented by ancient naturalists as re sembling wool. In 'describing this pe culiar breed of fowls some say, “They were covered with wool instead of feathers”; others say, they were cov ered with “hair like cats.” These fowls are supposed to be na tives of India, though some say they originated In China. They are bred in England to some extent. The cocks weigh about four pounds, and the hen about two and one-half pounds. Scavenger Sheep.—The too common opinion in regard to sheep is that they are but scavengers, and fitted only to consume the weeds and other wastes on the farm; but out of nothing comes nothing. If there is no proper food, care and shelter provided, we must expect ovr sheep to pine away and per ish.—Ex. j f Saved bv Her Corset, l New York Press: Edward ICerapton, a young' man employed for the last year [ year in this city, called at the home of ■ Miss Laura Johocott to bid her good I bye before leaving to accept a position | in Brooklyn While taking his leave 1 | he pulled a revolver from his pocket and fired at the girl's heart, .but the bullet struck a corset steel, glanced and did no harm. He immediately raised j the revolver and shot himself through ' the temple, dying a half hour later : without regaining consciousness. It is \ thought he was deranged. I -‘ ! A wrong desire overcome is a tempta tion resisted. Scrofula from Infancy Troubled my daughter. At times her head would be covered with scabs and' running sores. We were afraid she would 1 oecome blind. We had to keep her in a dark room. We began to give her Hood’s Sarsa parilla and soon _ we saw that she was better in every re spect. The sores have now all healed. I had a severe attack of the grip, was left in bad condition with muscular rheumatism and lumbago. Since taking Hood’s Sarsaparilla I am all right and can, walk around out doors without the aid of crutches.” W. H. Arehart, Albion, Indiana. Hood’S Pills core all liver ills. 25c. I Jjyjobb’s Sgsj eyPills cure all Kidney Troubles, caused by overwork, worry, excesses, etc., and all Blood Troubles (Rheumatism, Gout, Anaemia, Skin Dis eases, etc.), caused by sick Kidneys. A few doses will re lieve. A few boxes will cure. Sold by all drug gists, or by mail pre paid for 50c. a box. Write for pamphlet. HOBB'S MEDICINE CO., Chicago. 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