INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. CHAPTER V. r V. HE public 'vagon ctte In which Mar jorie was to jour ney home ran dally between Dumfries and Annanmouth, a small seaside vil lage much frequent ed in summer for its sea-bathing, and ‘ passed within half a mile of Mr. Lor raine's abode, which was just six Scotch miles away from Dumfries itself. Tlie starting place was the Bonny Jean Commercial Inn an establishment said to have been much patronised l»y the poet Burns during his residence in the south of Scotland; and hither Marjorie, after leaving her tutor, proceeded with out delay. The wagonette was about to start; and Marjorie hastened to take her .place. The vehicle was drawn by two powerful horses, and could accommo date a dozen passengers inside and one more on the seat of the driver; but today there were only a few going— three farmers and their wives, a sailor on his way home from sea, and a couple of female farm servants who had come in to the spring “hiring.” All these had taken their seats; but John Suth erland stood by the trap waiting to hand Marjorie In. She stepped in and took her place and the young man found a seat at her side, when the driver took the reins and mounted to his seat, and with waves and smiles from the Misses Dalrymple, who kept the Bonny Jean Inn, and a cheer from •a very small boy on the pavement away they went. At last the vehicle reached the cross-roads where John and Marjorie were to alight. They leapt out, and pursued their way on foot, the young man carrying a small hand-valise, Marjorie still holding her school books underneath her arm. Presently they came to a two-arched bridge which spanned the Annan. They paused just above the keystone. The young man rested his valise on the mossy wall, and both looked thought fully down at the flowing stream. "It’s many a long year, Marjorie, since we first stood here. I was a bare footed callant, you were a wean scarce able to run; and now I’m a man, and you’re almost a woman. Yet here’s the Annan beneath us, the same as ever, and it will be the same when we’re both old—always the same.” Marjorie turned her head away, and her .eyes were dim with tears. “Come away,” she said; “I cannot bear to look at it! Whenever I watch the Annan I seem to see my mother’s drowned face looking up at me out of the quiet water.” The young man drew closer to her, and gently touched her hand. vjjon’t greft, Marjorie!” he mur mured softly: “your poor mother’s at peacd with Ood.” . “Yes, Johnnie, I ken that,” answered the girl In a broken voice; “but it’s sad, sad, to have neither kith nor kin, and to remember the way my mother died—ay, and not even to be able to guess her name! Whiles I feel very lonesome, when I think it all o'er.” “And no wonder! But you have those that love you dearly, for all that. There’s not a lady in the country more thought of than yourself, and wherever your bonny face has come it has brought comfort.” As he spoke he took her hand in his own, and looked at her very fondly; but her own gaze was far away, fol lowing her wistful thoughts. “You’re all very good to me,” she said presently, “Mr..Lorraine, and Solo mon, and all my friends; but, for all that, I miss my own kith and kin.” He bent his face close to hers, as he returned: “Some day, Marjorie, you’ll have a house and kin of your own,'and then He paused, blushing, for her clear, steadfast eyes were suddenly turned full upon his face. “What do you mean, Johnnie?” “I mean that you’ll marry,'and-” Brightness broke through the cloud, and Marjorie smiled. “Marry? Is it me? It’s early in the day to think of that, at seventeen!” “Other young lasses think of it, Mar jorie, and so must you. Our Agnes married last Martinmas, and she was only a year older than yourself.” Marjorie shook her head, then her face grew sad again as her eyes fell upon Annan water. “I’m naebody’s bairn,” she cried, "and shall be naebody’s wife, John nie.” “Don’t say that. Marjorie,” an swered Sutherland, still holding her hand and pressing it fondly. “Thero’s one that loves you dearer than any thing else in all the world.” She looked at him steadfastly, while his face flushed scarlet. “I know you love me, Johnnie, a3 if you were my own brother.” “More than that, Marjorie—more, a thousand times!” the young man con tinued passionately. “Ah! it lias been on my mind a thousand times to tell you how much. Ever since we were little lass and lad you’ve been the one thought, and dream of my life; and If L . b "• | I’ve striven hard and hoped to heroine j a painter, it has ail been for love of >'oti. I know my folk are poor, and that in other respects I’m not a match for you. who have been brought up as a lady, but there will be neither peace nor happiness for me In this world un less you consent to become iny wife." As he continued to speak she had become more and more surprised and more surprised and startled. The sudden revelation of what so many people knew, bnt which she herself had never suspected, came upon her as a shock of sharp pain; so that when lie ceased, trembling and con fused by the vehemence of his own confession, she was quite pale, and oil the light seemed to have gone out of her beautiful eyes as she replied: “Don’t talk like that! You’re not serious! Your wife: I shall be ‘nae body’s wife,' as 1 said, but surely, sure ly not yours.” “Why not mine, Marjorie?" he cried, growing pale In turn. “I’ll work day and night; I'll neither rest nor sleep until I have a home fit for you! You shall be a lady—O! Marjorie, tell mo you care for me, and will make me happy!” “I do care for you, Johnnie; I care for you so much that I can’t bear to hear yon talk as you have done. You have been like my own brother,, and .now-” “And now I want to be something nearer and dearer. Marjorie, speak to me; at least tell me you’re not angry!" “Angry with you, Johnnie?” she re plied, smiling again, and giving him both hands. “As if I could be! But you must be very good, and not speak of it again." She disengaged herself and moved slowly across the bridge. He lifted his valise and followed her anxiously. "I know what It is," he said sadly, as they went on side by side together. “You think I’m too poor, and you would be ashamed of my folk.” She turned her head and gazed at him in mild reproach. “Oh, how can you think so hardly of me? I love your mother and father as if they were my own; and as for your being poor, I shouldn’t like you at all if you were rich. But,” she added gent ly, “I like you as my brother best.” “If I could be always even that I should not mind; but no, Marjorie, you’re too bonny to bide alone, and if any other man came and took you from me, it would break my heart.” “What nonsense you talk!” she ex claimed, smiling again. “As if any oth er man would care. If I were twenty, it would be time enough to talk like that; but at seventeen—oh, Johnnie, you almost make me laugh!" “Tell me one thing,” he persisted; “tell me you don’t like any one better than you like me.” “I don’t like any one half so well, except, except—Mr. Lorraine.” ‘Won are sure, Marjorie?" “Quite sure.” “Then I’ll bide my time and wait.” By this time the village was In sight, and they were soon walking along the main street, which was as sleepy and deserted as usual. Even at the tavern door not a soul was to be seen; but the landlord’s face looked out from behind the window-pane with a grim nod of greeting. A few houses beyond the inn, Sutherland paused close to a small, one-storied cottage, in front of which was a tiny garden laid out in pansy beds. “Will you come in, Marjorie?” he asked doubtfully. Marjorie nodded and smiled, and without another word he opened the garden gate, crossed the walk, and led the way into the cottage. CHAPTER VI. S they entered the door a loud hum ming sound came upon their ears, mingled with the sound of voices. Turning t o the right, they found themselves on the threshold of a room, half pp ior, half kitchen, i one end of which was a large loom, waere an elderly man, of grave and some what careworn aspect, was busily weav ing. Seated on a chair close to him was a girl of about fourteen, dressed in the ordinary petticoat and short gown, and reading aloud from a book. At the other end of the room, where there was an open ingle and a lire, an elderly matron was cooking. Suddenly there was an exclamation from the latter, who was the first to perceive the entrance of the newcom ers. “Johnnie!” she cried, holding out her arms; and in another moment she had folded her son in her embrace, and was kissing him fondly. The young girl rose, smiling, book in hand; the man ceased his weaving, but remained quite still in his chair. "Yes, here I am, mother; and I’ve brought company, as you see!” “Hoo’s a’ wi’ ye, Marjorie?” cried the matron, holding out her hand. "It's a treat to see your bonny face. Sit ye down by the fire!" "Is that my son?” said the weaver. iii a deep, musical voice, but witlioat turninK his head. HU inflrmit]r whs now apparent—be was stone blind. John Sutherland walked across the room, gave his sister a passing kiss, and . placed his hand affectionately on the old man’s shoulder. "It’s yoursel’, my lad: 1 ken you noo. I feel your breath about me! What way did ye no write to tell us you were on the road hame?” “1 was- not sure until the last mo ment that 1 could start so soon, but I jumped Into the train last night, and down I came." "Who’s alang wi’ you?" asked the weaver, smiling. “I'll wager it’s Mar jorie Annan!" “Yes. Mr. Sutherland." answered' Marjorie, crossing the room and Join ing the little group. “I met Johnnie in Dumfries, and we came home together.” The weaver nodded his head gently, and the smile on his face lightened into loving sweetness. “Stand close, side by side," he said, “while I tak’ a long look at baith o' ye." "While you look at us!" echoed Mar jorie in surprise. "Ay, and what for no? Diana think, because my bodily een are blind, that I canna see weel wi’ the een o’ my soul! Ay, there you stand, lass and lad—my boy John and Marjorie Annan; baith fair, baith wi’ blue een; John prood and glad, and Marjorie blushing by his side; and I see what you canna see—a light all roond and ahune ye, coming oot o’ the golden gates o’ Heaven! Stand still a wee and hark! Do ye hear nothing? Ay, but I can hear! A sound like kirk-bells ringing far awaV As he spoke he sat with shining face, as if he Indeed gased on the sweet vis ion he was describing. Marjorie grew red as Are, and cast down her eyes; for she was only too conscious of the old man’s meaning, and, remembering what had taken place that day, she felt constrained and almost annoyed. John Sutherland shared her uneasiness, and to divert, the conversation into another channel, he spoke to his young sl3ter, who stood smiling close by. Marjorie, uneasy lest the old man’s dreamy talk should again take an‘awk ward turn, was determined to make her escape. "Good-bye now, Mr. Sutherland," she said, taking his hand in hers, "I must run home; Mr. Lorraine will he expecting me.” And before any one could say a word to detain her, she was crossing the threshold of the cottage. Young Suth erland followed her as far as the gar den gate. “Marjorie.” he said, “I hope you’re not angry?” "No, no,” she replied; “but I wish your father would "not talk as if we were courting, Johnnie. It makes me feel so awkward, and you know it is not true." . “Old folk will talk,” said John Suth erland, “and father only speaks out of the fullness of his heart. He is very fond of you, Marjorie!” "I know that, and I of him—that is why it troubles me to hear him talk like that.” There was a moment’s pause; then Sutherland sadly held out his hand. “Well, good-bye, just now. I’ll be looking ye up at the manse!" “Good-bye!” she answered. “Come soon! Mr. Lorraine will be so glad to see you.” So she hastened away, while Suther land, with a sigh, stood looking after her. He had loved her so long and so silently, and now for the first time In his life he began to dread that she might not love him in return. To him, just then, It seemed as if all the world was darkened, the blue sky clouded, all the sweet spring weather touchd with a wintry sense of fear. (TO BE CONTINUED.) ORANGES WITH HORNS. Some Strange Varieties of the trait Grown by the Chinese. The Chinese are very fond of mon strous forms of fruit and flowers, and any departure from the normal form is usually cherished and highly valued. In their gardens they have numerous forms of monstrous oranges—some will produce fruit with points like firgers, and are known as the Hand Orange. Another form, says Meehan's Monthly, has a long horn projecting from the apex, and they are known as the Horn Orange. Another variety, which botanists have known by the name of Citrus aurantium distortum, bears a fruit in the resemblance of. a cluster of sea shells. To one ignorant of the laws of vegetable jnorpfiology, these spells of wandering from the normal type are very mysterious, but when it is understood that all parts of the orange, as well as other fruits, are made up of what would have been leaves or branches changed so as to constitute the various parts of the seed and seed vessels, and that a very little difference in the degree of life energy will change them into various different parts that come to make up the fruit, the mystery In a great meas ure Is solved. There are few branches of botany which give the lover of fruits and flowers so much pleasure as the study of morphology. A Good Idea. "1 see from the war news,” remarked Mrs. Snaggs, ‘'that several magazines have been captured.” “Yes,” replied Mr. Snaggs. “I sup pose the object is to prevent the ed itors from Ailing their pages with war articles for the next twcnty-Ave years.'' —Pittsburg Chronicle-Telegraph. The countries relatively richest In horses and horned catle are Argentina and Uruguay. Australia has the most sheep; Servia has the greatest number, of pigs to the population. DAISY AND POULTRY. INTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR OUR RURAL READERS. Mow Somnulnt Fanners Operate Till* | Department or tlie form Few Hints ns to the Care oC Live Stork nod Poultry. Ituttrr Colors and Health. The attempt to imitate bright yel low coloring, natur al in some milk, has led to many obnoxious prepara tions, so that to day a beautiful yel ULLKTIN 21, State of Michigan Dairy a:ul Food Commis sion.— low butter or cheese or occasionally milk must be looked upon with some suspicion, as this coloring is no sign whatever of the quality of the product, and in many cases is a mask for inferior rather than superior products of the dairy. Anuat to, tui'merlc, saffron, carrots and the yellow coal tar products (anilines) are among the fa'vorltes used in these col orings. Annatto is a coloring matter obtained from the seeds of an evergreen plant of the Blxlnea family, and is a native of South America, and the West and Bast Indies, where it is used for flavoring and coloring soups and other dishes. Spanish saffron or crocus Is a powerful stimulant and narcotic em menagogue and may lead in delicate persons to very serious results, espe cially in cases of expected confinement. Not only this; Us effects upon hyBterla and other nervous affections has led in careless dosing to serious cases of nervous prostration. In the hands of inexperienced persons this is a risky coloring to say the least. In the use of some of the coal tar colors lies the greatest risk to the health of consum ers, although the majority of these colors are, from a sanitary standpoint, I comparatively harmless substances, a few of them are decidedly poisonous. There are seven coal tar colors posses sing marked poisonous properties; of these five are yellow or orange and two are green. Tho names of the poison ous colors are: 1st. Martin's yellow, naphthalene yellow or Manchester yel low. 2. Saffron substitute or dinitro cresol.’ 3d. Picric acid. 4th. Metanil or gohlen yellow. 5th. Orange No. 2, Beta iiapbthalene orange, and aurantia or golden yellow are classed as bus*. picious. Greens, 1; resorcinol, 2; naphthol green, “B.” These coal tar colors taken Into the stomach In large quantities produce serious disturbances, such as nausea, vomiting, headache, etc. It seems to be fairly well established that the quantity one would consume as used in butter at an ordinary meal would not produce any especially harmful results, yet with three meals per day and the continued use of these poisonous col ors there is an open question whether its continued use even In minute quan tities Is free from serious objections as an article in food. Most of the butter colors, used are in liquid form held in solution or division in oil or glyce rine. Some of the favorite formula consisted of: (1) Annatto, Turmeric, Olive oil, Saf fron. (2) Annatto, Saltpetre, Fish oil. (3) Saffron, Turmeric, Cotton seed oil, Columbia butter color, Hansen’s con tained coal tar colors. Improved butter color, Wells, Rich ardson & Co., coal tar color. , Concentrated butter color, Perry’s coal tar color. Annattome .Annatto Spanish Dairy Color...Annatto Thatcher’s Orange.Annatto Two of the above coal tar colors gave toning, dressing and sorting, as well as in packing them as the trade de mands, much better prices would be re ceived. Beginners who have succeeded fairly well in raising a flock are often at sea when it comes to preparing them for market. Rhode Island turkeys are famous for their quality. In the best markets in New York city, Pfovideuce, Newport and Boston they lead those from other sections. In the same mar kets they often bring ten or twelve cents more than those from all other states except Connecticut. About New Years a leading New York paper quot ed R. I. turkeys at twenty-eight cents, and everything else In the Jurkey line at less than seventeen cents. Many growers are interested to know the rea son. It Is not their fame In the past, or because they are scarce, that they sell for the most; It is on account of their superior quality. Much of this high quality is due to the plump com pact breeding stock used, and to the way R Is managed; also to the care taken in growing and fattening the young turkeys. The pains taken in dressing and preparing them for ship ment, however, probably does more than all to give them their high stand ing. Of course you can not dress a thin, flat bodied, long-legged bird so It will sell with the best; but the plumpest, best shaped and most attrac tive bird In every way, previous to killing, may be so dressed that it must be classed with that which Is interior. Again, the handsomest young turkeys that are perfectly dressed If packod along with ill-dressed ones, or with tough old tome and hens, must be classed with the latter, and go for less than they are worth. Too many send nothing but "fair to poor” stock to market. In many cases It la simply because they do not know how to pre pare It so it will bring all that can be got for It. Ttae Kn lndutrjr. Ask any thrifty housewife regarding the value of the quantity of poultry and eggs used In her family, then multiply that amount by the 14,000,000 families In-the United States alone, and you will be astonished at the magnitude and value of the great poultry Industry. While some families may nse but a small amount, many others use a very large amount of poultry and fresh eggs, says Oklahoma Farmer. Their use is a question of advanced civilization and knowledge of the hygienic value of foods, as shown by the much greater usfe of poultry products In large cities and towns by the most enlightened peo ple of the world. Notwithstanding the enormous quantities of eggs raised In the United States, the amount Is not large enough for the consumers of them. Id the past three years nearly 8.000. 000 dozen eggs have been Import ed, paying a duty of 8 to 5 cents a dozen for entry. The foregoing fact, and the more important one that the price* for choice poultry and eggs are higher now than ten years ago, shows that the business la not overdone. The value of the poultry products Increased from 8118.000. 000 In 1880 to $148,000,000 In 1895. The demand for fresh eggs and choice poultry Increases faster than the supply. In European countries where larger proportions of egga and poultry are used than with us, the supply is furnished, not by large farms, but by the multitude of people who live near cities and towns. There are thousands of suburban families In the United States who may learn a lesson from this. Enough strictly fqpsh eggs ought to be raised by them for home use. Those having a suburban home with some land can.easily raise a good ly niftnber of eggs to Bell in town each year '4nd thus add to their income. i -—-. Tlie Wolf and t!»«> Lamb. The wolf is the most wary of dll wild animals. Traps, poison, every de vice by which other beasts of prey are inveigled to their destruction, he can always steer clear of, says Nor’west Farmer. Ten years ago he would not fee live. In Scotland, to scare tit* crows, farmers put up what Is there called a potato “bogle”—a suit of old clothes eo stuck up In the potato field as to make the crows believe there is a man inside them. Thus far Jimmy ■ lias outwitted the thieves, and ho now keeps two or three of these watchmen! In the field with entire satisfaction aai A to results. A little sulphur dusted | into the old duds might he useful, a* the smell of it would perhaps add to > the effect Should the wolves get to recognize the difference between the sham man and a real one, there is still another resource open to the shepherds He can take the place of the scarecrow for a