JHE WILD GEESEj dCTiw Stanley J.Weynan.^ (Copyright. 1009. by Stanley J. Weyman.) CHAPTER III.—Continued. Colunel John had risen. He watched her go with deep feeling; he turned to his seat again with a sigh. Ho was a shade paler than before, and the eyes which he bent on the board were dark with thought. Ho was unconscious of all that passed round him, and, if aware, he was heedless of the strength of the passions which she had un bridled—until a hand fell on his arm. He glanced up then and saw that all the men had risen and were looking at him—even Ulick Sullivan—with dark faces. , A passion of anger clouded their gaze. Without a word spoken (hey were of one mind. The hand that touched him trembled, the voice that broke the silence shook under the Weight of the speaker's feelings. “You'll be leaving here this day,” the man muttered. "I?" the colonel said, taken by sur prise. "Not at all.” "We wish you no harm, but to see your back.” The colonel, his first wonder sub dued, looked from one to another. "I am sure you wish mo no harm,” he said. "None, but to see your back," the man repeated, while Ills companions looked down at the colonel with a strange fixedness. "Hut I cannot go,” the colonel an swered as gently as before. "And why?" the man returned. The McMurrough was one of the speakers, but stood behind them, glowing at him With a dark face. "Because," the colonel answered, "I am in my duty here, my friends; and (he man who Is In his duty can suffer nothing." “He can die,” the man replied, breathing hard. The men who were on the colonel's side of the table leant more closely about him. But he seemed unmoved. “That," he replied cheerfully, "Is nothing. To die Is but an accident. Who dies In his duty suffers no harm. And were that not enough—and It Is all," ho continued alovvly, "what harm should happen to me, a Sullivan among Sullivans? Be cause I have fared far and seen much, am 1 so changed that, coming back, I shall find no welcome on the hearth of my race and no shelter where my fathers lie?” aiiu tuc nut uur iieuriiiH com over many a league? And the graves-" "Whisht!" a voice broke in sternly, aB Uncle Ulick thrust his way through the group. “The man says well!" he continued. "He's a Sullivan-" “He’s a Protestant!" "He is a Sullivan, I say!” Uncle Ulick retorted, "were he the blackest heretic on the sod! And you, would you do the foul deed for a woman’s wet eye? Are the hearts of Kerry turned as hard as its rocks? Make an end of this prating and foolishness! And you, James, McMurrough, these are young men and this is your house. Will you be telling them at once that you will be standing between him and harm, be he a heretic 10 times over? For shame, man! Is it for raising tho corp of old Sir Michael from his grave ye are?” but wild talk," he said. "You cannot remember, nor can I, the bad days. But the little that is left, it were mad ness and worse than madness to risk! If you’ve thought of a rising, In God’s name put it from you. Think of your maids and your children! I have seen the fires rise from too many roofs, I have heard the wall of the homeless too often, I have seen too many frozen corpses stand for milestones by the road. I have wakened to the creak of too many gibbets—to face these things in my own land!” Uncle Ulick was looking from the little casement. He turned and showed a face working with agitation. "And you. If you wore no sword, nor dared wear one? If you walked in Tralee a clown among gentlefolk, if you lived a J>ar!ah in a corner of pariahs, if your and were the handmaid of nations, and the vampire crouched upon her breast, what—what would you do then?” "Wait,” Colonel John answered gravely, “until the time comes." Uncle Ulick gripped his arm. “And if it came not in your time?" "Still wait," Colonel John answered with solemnity. “For, believe me, Ul ick Sullivan, there Is no deed that has not its reward. Nor does one thatch go up in smoke that is not paid for a hundred fold." “Ay, but when? When?” “When the time Is ripe?" CHAPTER IV. "STOP THIEF!" • A candid Englishman must own and deplore the fact that Flavia Mrllur rough's tears were due to the wrongs of her country. Broken by three great wars waged by three successive gen erations, defeated in the last of three desperate struggles for liberty, Ireland at this period lay like a woman swoon ing at tho feet of her captors. Nor Were these minded that she should rise again quickly or In her natural force. The mastery which they had won by the sword the English were resolved to keep ,by the law. They were determined that the Irish man of the old faith should cease to exist; or, If he endured, should be nemo, no one. Confined to hell or Connaught, he must not even in the latter possess the ordinary rights. H. must not will his own lands or buy new lands. If his son. more sensible than he, “went over," the father sank Into a mere life tenant, bound to fur nish a handsome allowance and tc leave all to the protestant heir. He might not marry a protestant. he might not keep a school, nor follow the liberal professions. The priest whe confessed him was banished if known and hanged If he returned. In a coun try of sportsmen he might not own a fowling piece, nor a horse worth more than live pounds; and in days y^hen every gentleman eat fled a sword at his side he must not wear one. Finally his country grew bu< one article ol great value—wool; and that he must not make Into cloth, hut he must sell It to England at England's price— Which was one-fifth of the continental price. Was it wonderful that, such being Ireland’s status, every Romar Catholic of spirit sought fortune abroad, that the wild geese, as they were called, went and came unchecked , or that every inlet in ,Galway, Clar< and Kerry swarmed with smugglers who ran in under the mveti ilag wit! brandy and claret, ;Vnd, running ou again with wool, laughpitto scorn Eng land's boast that she .mderl the waves Nor was It surprising* that, spent am helpless as the land lay, some sanguint spirits still clung to visions of a changi uud of revenge; The Sullivans of Mur r is tow a and Skull were of these, a; were some of their neighbors. And Fla via was especially of these. As sin looked from her window a day or tw< after the Colonel s arrival, as she sniff ed the peat reek and plumbed the sof distances beyond the lake, she was loa in such a dream; until her eyes fell 01 a man seated cross-legged under a tre< between herself and the shore. Am she frowned. The man sorted 111 with her dream. It was Bale. Colonel John's servant. He was mending some article taken from his master's wardrobe. His elbow went busily to and fro as he plied the needle, while sprawling on the sod about him half a dqzen gossoons watched him Inquisitively. Perhaps It was the suggestive con trast between his diligence and their Idleness which Irritated Flavia; but she sat down her annoyance to another eause. The man was an Englishman, and therefore an enemy. And what did he there? Had the Colonel left him on guard7 Flavla’s heart swelled at the thought. Here, at least, she and hers were mas ters. Colonel John had arwakened mixed feelngs in her. At times'she ad mixed feelings in her. At times she ad shoutd rue his insolence If he had it in his mind to push his authority or in terfere with her plans. In the meantime she stood watching William Bale, and a desire to know more of the man, and through him of the master, rose within her. The house was quiet. The McMurrough and his following had gone to a cocking match and race meeting at Joyce's Corner. She went down the stairs, took her hood, and crossed the courtyard. Bale did not look up at her approach, but he saw her out of the corner of bis eye, and when she paused before him be laid down his work and made as if he would rise. She looked at him with a supercil iousness not natural to her. "Are all the men tailors where you come from?" she asked. "There, you need not rise." "Where I came from last,” he replied, "we were all trades, my lady." "Have you been a soldier long?" she asked, feeling herself rebuffed. "Twenty-one years, my lady." "And now you have done with it?" "It is as his honor pleases." She frowned. He hud a way of speaking that sounded uncivil to ears attuned to the soft Irish accent and the wheedling tone. Yet the man interested her, and after a moment's silence she llxed her eyes more intently on his work. “Did you lose your fingers in battle?" she asked. Ills right hand was maimed. ‘‘"NJn ” hn nnowarpfl trnwltrimrlv na ht* seemed to answer all her questions, "In prison.” . "In prison!” she replied. "Where?” He east an upward look at his ques tioner. "In the Grand Turk’s land,” he said. "Nearer than that I can't say. I'm no scholar, my lady." "But why?” she asked, puzzled. "I don’t understand.” ‘‘Cut oft," he said, stooping over his work. Flavla turned a shado paler. “Why?” she repeated. “ 'One • God, and Mohammed His prophet’—couldn't swallow it. One linger!” the man answered Jerkily. "Next week—same. Third Wreek”—— "Third week?” she murmured, shud dering. "Exchanged." She lifted her eyes with an effort from his malned hand. "How many were you?” she Inquired. "Thirty-four.” He laughed dryly. "We know one another when we meet,” he said. He drew his waxed thread between his finger and thumb, held it up to the light, then looking askance at the gossoons about him, to whom what he said was gibberish. They knew only Erse. The day was still, the mist lay on the lake, and under it the water gleamed, a smooth, pale mirror. Flavla had seen it so a hundred time and thought naught of It. But today, moved by what she had heard, the prospect spoke of a remoteness from tho moving world which depressed her Hitherto, the quick pulse and the energy of youth had left her no time for melancholy and not much for thought. If at rare Intervals she had felt herself lonely, If she had been tempted to think that the brother In whom were centered her hopes, her affections and her family pride was hard and selfish, rude and overbearing, she had told herself that all men were so, that all men rode roughshod over their women. And that being so, who had a better right to hector it than the last of the McMur rouglis, heir of the Wicklow kings, who in days lar past naa aeuit on equal terms with Richard Plantagenet, and tc whom, by virtuo of that forgoten king ship, the Sullivans and Mahonies, some of the McOarthys and all the O’Beirnes, paid rude homage. With such feelings Sir Michael's strange whim of disin heriting the heir of his race had but drawn her closer to her brother. To her loyalty the act was abhorrent, one that could have only sprung, she was certain, from second childhood, the dotage of a man close on 90, whose early years had been steeped in trouble and who loved her so much that he was ready to do wrong for her sake. Often she differed from her brother. Rut he was a man she told herself, and he must be right-—a man’s life could not be ruled by the laws which a woman observed. For the rest, for herself, if her life seemed solitary she had the free air and the mountains; she had her dear land; above all, she had her dream3. Perhaps when these were realized—and the time seemed very near now—and a new Ireland was created, to her, too, a brighter world would open. She had forgoten Bale's presence, and was only recalled to every-day life by the sound of voices. Four men were approaching the house. Uncle Flick, Colonel John and the French skipper were three of these; at the sight of the fourth Flavin's face fell. Luke Asgill, of Ratterstown, was the nearest Jus tice, and of necessity he was a Protes tant. Rut it was not this fact, nor the certainty that Augustin was pouring iris wrongs into Ills ears, that affected Fiavia. Asgill was distasteful to her, because her brother affected him. For why should her brother have relations with a Protestant? Why should he, a man of the oldest blood, stoop to In timacy with the son of a “middleman.’1 one of those who taking a long lease of a great estate and underletting at rack rents, made at this period huge fortunes? Finally, if he must have re lations with him, why did he not keep him at a distance from his home—and his sister? It was too late or she would have slipped away. Not that Asgill—he was a stout, dark, civil spoken man of 31 or 34—wore a threatening face. Ht greeted Fiavia with an excess of polite ness which she could have spared, ant while Uncle Flick and Colonel Johr looked perturbed and ill at ease ht jested on the matter. “The whole cargo?” he said, with out eye on the Frenchman and one on his companions. "You're not for statins that, sir?” "All the tubs.” Augustin answered ir i a passion of earnestness. “The saints be between us am i i harm:’’ Asgill responded. “Are yot i | hearing this. Miss Fiavia? It’s no less j than felony that you’re accuseti of, ant ; I’m thinking, by rights, I must arres ; | you and carry you to Ratterstown." i I "I do not understand,” she answeret • stiffly. “And the McMurrough is no l I at home.” “Gone out of the way, eh?" Asgill re plied with a deprecatory grin. "And the whole cargo, was it. Captain?" "All the tubs, perfectly!” “You’d paid your dues, of course?" “Dues, mon Dieu! But they take the goods!" “Had you paid your dues?” “Not already, because" “That's unfortunate," Asgill answered in a tone of mock condolence. "Mighty unfortunate!” He winked at Uncle Ulick. “Port dues, you know, Captain, must be paid before the ship slips her moorings.” “But"— “Mighty unfortunate!" "But what are the dues?” poor Au gustin cried, dimly aware that he wag being baited. “Ah, you're talking now," the Magis trate answered glibly. “Unluckily, that's not in my province. I'm made aware that the goods are held under lieu for dues, and I can do nothing. Upon payment, of course” “But how much? Eh, sir? How much? How much?” Duke Asgill, who had two faces, and for once was minded to let both be seen, enjoyed the Frenchman's perpelxity. He wished to stand well with Flavla, and here was a rare opportunity of ex hibiting at once his friendliness and his powers of drollery. He was there fore taken aback when a grave voice cut short his enjoyment. "Still, if Captain Augustin,” the voice interposed, “is willing to pay a reason able sum on account of dues?" The magistrate turned about abrupt ly. Eh?" he said. “Oh, Colonel Sulli van. Is It?” "Then, doubtless, the goods will bo released so that he may perform his duty to his customer. Asgill had only known the Colonel a few' minutes, and, aware that he was one of the family, he did not see how to take It. It was as if treason lifted Its head in the camp. He coughed. x a not do denying it, ne saw. 'tsut until The McMurrough returns” "Such a mutter Is doubtless within Mr. Sullivan's authority," the colonel said, turning from him to Uncle Ulick. Uncle Ulick showed his embarrass ment. "Faith, I don't know that It is,” he said. “If Captain Augustin paid, say 20 per cent on his hills of lading—” "Ala foi, 20 per cent!” the captain ex claimed in astonishment. "Twenty hut, yes, 1 will pay it. I will pay even that. Of what use to throw the handle utter the hatchet?” Luke Asgill thought the colonel very simple. "Well, I’ve nothing to say to this, at all!” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “It s not within my prov ince." Colonel John looked at the girl In a way In which he had not looked at her before, and she found herself speaking before she knew it. "Yes,” she cried Impulsively, "let that be done, and the goods be given up.” "But The AIcMurrough?" Asgill be gan. “1 will answer for him," she said Im pulsively. "Uncle Ulick, go, I beg, and see it done.” "I will go with you,” Colonel Sulli van said. “And doubtless Mr. Asgill will accompany us, to lend the weight of his authority In the event of any difficulty arising.” AsgiU's countenance fell. He was be tween two stools, for he had no mind to displease Flavla or thwart her brother. At length, "No,” he said, “I'll not be doing anything In The AIcMur rough’s absence.” Colonel John • looked In the same strange fashion at Flavla. “I have no legal power to act, sir,” he said, “as I can prove to you in private. And that being so, 1 must certainly ask you to lend me the weight of your authority." "And I will be hanged If I do!” Asgill cried. There was a change in his tone and the reason was not far to seek. "Here’s The McMurrough!” They all turned and looked along the road which ran to the end of the lake. With James McAIurrough, who was still a furlong away, were the two G'Biernes. They came slowly, and something in their bearing, even at that distance awoke anxiety. "They're early from the cocking,” Uncle Ulick muttered doubtfully, "and sober as pigs! What's the meaning of that? There's something amiss, I’m fearing.” A cry from Flavla proved the keen ness of her eyes. “Where is Giralda?” she exclaimed. "Where is the mare?” "Ay, what have they dene with the mare?” Uncle Ulick said in a tone of consternation. "Have they lamed her, I'm wondering? The garron Morty's riding Is none of ours.” "I begged him not to take her!” Flavla cried, anger contending with her grief. Giralda, her gray mare, ascribed In sanguine moments to the strain of the Darley Arabian, and as gentle as she was spirited, was the girl's dearest possession. “I begged him not to tako her!” she repeated, almost in tears. "I knew there was danger.” "James was wrong to take her up country,” Uncle Ulick said sternly. "They've claimed her!” Flavla walled. “I know they have! And I shall never recover her! Oh. I’d far rather she were dead!” Uncle Ulick lifted up his powerful voice. "Where’s the mare?” he shouted. (Continued Next Week.) Convincing Evidence. From the Pittsburg Press. Colonel Plummer, of New York, who hntes the sight of an automobile, bought the other clay, a handsome brown mare to match Barbary Belle. A day or two later he asked his groom what he thought of the new arrival. John replied: “She's certainly a fine lookin' 'oss, sir, but I'm afraid her temper's a bit too touchy.” “What makes you think so?" asked the colonel. “She don't appear to take kindly to nobody, sir; she don't like me to go into the box to feed her." "Oh, she’ll settle down in a day or two. The surroundings are strange you know. I do not think there is anything wrong with iter temper." "1 didn't at first, sir," said John, "but you see site kicked me out o' the box twice, and when you comes to think about it—that's sort o’ convincin'." Why They Didn’t Like It. From the Tatier. A story is told . f a well known ac tor-manager when on tour last year. On tile first night of his stay in a cer tain border town there were cries for a speech, and at last the genial actor stepped before the curtain. He thanked tlie audience for its gratifying demon stration, and let fail in conclusion some pleasant remarks about the beauties ot tlie town, but the speech was received in frozen silence. When he got behind tlie curtain he remarked to the local manager that the good people of - seemed singularly unresponsive. "Yes," replied the manager, "you see, your speech was ail right except ! in one particular. You kept mention ing the name of the town where you | wore playing lust week." Greatness is Normal. Great men are the real men. the mor in whom nature has been fortunate They are not extraordinary--they art in the true order. !t is the littl" met who are not what they oughp to be. [ The estimated population of Kng land and Wales is 35.250,000, as r vales! 31.517.000 10 years ago. r j I (Copyright, 1902, by W. R. Hearst.) "And the angel took the censer and filled it with fire at the altar, and cast it into the earth.” Over the sacred spot ( where a golden censer had rested in the ground arose one of the most magnificent cathedrals In northern Mexico. Though rich in adornment, with priceless altar , treasures and valuable paintings, its most prized possession was the golden censer | discovered by its founder. The blessings : that had enriched the great stone church 1 and the small community were credited to the angel gift. It was carefully guard I ed by an aged priest. Night descended upon the vast, empty I vault of the cathedral. Great patches of , moonlight fell from windows far above [ the ground upon the white marble slabs | of the flooring. In a square of unearthly blue light shone the golden censer. A veil ! of fleecy cloud swept lightly across the face of the moon, and when the blue light ! again rested on the golden and gemmed articles of the altar the censer had disap * peared. j The wildest consternation prevailed when morning light discovered the theft. Only the old priest remained calm and un moved. There was a strange woman in town. She had come in advance of the party of El Toreador. People had noticed her as an unusually tall woman for one of Spanish race, dressed in black and heavily veiled. She was a devout wor shipper, daily polishing with her knees the marble floor of the cathedral from the I great carved door to the golden altar rail. The day of the great loss she did not at tend service, and it was found that she had left town. “You are responsible for the censer. Your punishment shall fit the crime for neglect of duty,” pronounced the judge when the aged priest was arraigned be fore him. The priest tapped his forehead strange ly. Then he spoke slowly. "The thief will surely die. He who fills a holy vessel with a strange fire shall perish by violence.” The wise men listened to the priest pity ingly. Had lie gone mad and hidden the censer? They would keep him under strict surveillance. On his way to the monas tery he asked for Manuel, a pretty choir boy. An hour afterward Manuel left the priest's room. He was immediately ques tioned by priests and persons in authority. “El Padre has found the thief.” “Who is he?” “I do not know, though El Padre says I told him.” “El Padre is himself the guilty one,” remarked the lawyer. The door opened and El Padre ap proached the suddenly silent group, "Come with me tomorrow afternoon. I shall point out the thief.” The priest returned to his stone cell. With his gaze riveted on the damp, dreary wall, he fell into a deep reverie. The wall lost its solidity, becoming a gauzy cur tain between him and a cheerless cham ber. The curtain thickened and became the rising, swaying smoke from the gol den censer, resting on the stone floor. In the midst of a white, curling cloud stood a woman of wonderful beauty of face and form. She was thrusting a long sw’ord at an lmaginery enemy. In the background a gaunt, emaciated man smiled approv ingly. There was a strange resemblance between the cloud-veiled faces, but the ravishment of disease had marred the beauty of the man in the gaudy, striped serape. The cloud thickened, and the dreamy eyes of the priest rested on the white wall. “Manana.” he smiled. “Tomorrow we may expect a surprise.” The town forgot its grief In the arrival of El Toreador, the hero of the arena. It seemed scarcely creditable that this slight j ly built young man possessed sufficient j strength to repel the fierce onslaught ol bulls, maddened by the torture of ban derillas; yet his fame had spread through -V ' Mexico. A bull fight Is the usual Sunday after noon amusement in Mexico. People flocked to the large, stone amphitheater, the are na being open to the sky, but the timers of seats covered. A stone wall five feet high protected the people from a mad rush of el tero. This Sunday an unusual Interest drew the crowd because of El Toreador, with whom none could compare. Some Inferior fighters tried a little bull baiting with meek-spirited bulls. The crowd grew im patient, and a number arose, drowning the ery of the venders of dulces and pulque. The vast amphitheater was ringing with vivas and bravos when the priest and his party arrived. El Toreador was giving exnibitions of throwing the lasso on horse back and on foot. His dress jingled with reals and pesos as he cast the lasso with ! a wrist of steel. ! The crowd grew breathless as the door ! at the side of the arena was flung open, I and a Texas bull, with flaming eyes and hoofs that spurned the ground, rushed in charging upon the toreador. The young man sprang aside, presenting his crimson cloak to the bull. The animal was borne past by the impetus of his charge, but j turned as on a pivot, and made another 1 pass at the calm toreador. Suddenly arose the gaunt priest, known as “El Padre.” “Die, thief of the golden j censer!” he shouted. The attention of El Toreador was disr traded, and the bull Impaled him on his death dealing horns, tossing him high in the air. Matadors swarmed over the bar- j rieade and baited the bull away from his | victim. El Toro was lassoed and dragged j out to be hutched. There lay upon the yellow sand a slight figure with a coil of black hair rippling : from under a jaunty cap. ‘‘A woman!” the crowd shouted. “Silence!” commanded the priest. “The i angel of death hovers near.” Kind hands succored the dying woman { in the arena, while the priest drew Man ' uel and three others into the office. ! El Padre placed Manuel in a chair and made a few passes over his face. “Child, i whore are you?” “I am in a room with a stone floor. A I double door opens on a court. Through j j the gratings in the door, the setting sun j j streams blood red. A man who appears to be ill lies on a bed. His lips move in j 1 prayer. White smoke curls from under ; j the bed where the golden censer stands.” The party, staring with fixed eyeballs I at the hypnotized lad, moved with one ac ; cord. “Go on.” “He sits up. staring wildly. Now he ; falls back, motionless.” “The man is dead,” said the priest. “His ; sister Is also dead.” “Is the woman in the arena the man’s | sister?” inquired the lawyer, as he moved to the door. “She is,” answered the priest, arousing Manuel from his mesmeric sleep. “Yesterday,” continued the priest, “through Manuel's eyes I saw El Tore ador and his twin sister. He was in structing her in the art of bull fighting. El Toreador accepted the challenge to tight the Texas bull. He hoped the wounds from the last encounter would heal In time. His courageous and wcll ! trained sister offered to save his honor and secure the prize. She knew the vir tues of the golden censer—who does not? —and she planned to obtain it, believing a miracle would be worked in her favor. She came here and accomplished her sac rilegious purpose. This morning the twins exchanged clothes and arrived in town. ' The lawer announced, “The woman Is dead.” “The story ends at the hotel,” said El Padre. “O la fonda!” the party shouted. “To the hotel!” j wra kW»m THE YU.UW " 5flND ft HmHTJB!g£__ Twentieth Century Logic. Philadelphia Inquirer: Johnnie had been arguing With his mother and had got rather the worst or the interview, which landed with a sound of "smack, smack.” i "Johnnie,” said his father, “I'm sur prised to hear that you have dared to dispute with your mother." "But she was wrong, pa,” replied Johnnie. “That has nothing to do with it,” said the old man. "You might just as well profit by my experience and learn once for all that when a woman says a thing is so, it is so, whether it is so "" not.” HER MISTAKE. “Mercy on me!" exclaimed the wife. “Raise your head. You will smothet with your mouth hidden in your collar this way." “My mouth ain’t in my collar’’ came in muffled tones. “It is in this pillow.” For the husband, by reason of his baldness and his embonpoint, was one o these comtng-or-going men, as to looks. I __ --===> ^ Misunderstood Sympathy. From the New York Tribune. Paul Morton, at a banquet of insur ance men, said of a rival company: “They had our sympathy in their bad luck, but they took our sympathy in ill part. It was like the widow who called on us the other day. “This widow called to collect a small policy due her on her husband’s death. Our clerk, as he counted out her money, said sympathetically: “ ‘I am very sarry to hear of your sad misfortune, ma’am.’ "‘Well, that’s just like you men." snapped the widow. “You’re all tha same—always sorry when a poor wom an gets a chance at a little money." Why is It that the dreams which we wish might come true are always cut off too short by the ringing of tha breakfast bell. The Water Bite. From the New York Times. He was 6 years old and had never gazed (nto the mystic lens of a microscope. Several slides containing animalcula had been displayed to his astonished vision. He was too amazed to make any comment until he came to one slide that seemed more wriggly than any of the others. It was merely a drop of water. The little fellow gazed at it a long time, with all its nimble particles of apimal life, find finally exclaimed to his mother: “Oh, mamma, now I know what It 1* that bites when you drink soda water!” OPENING OF THE STANDING ROCK AND CHEYENNE RIVER INDIAN RESERVATIONS. The opening of the Standing Rock and Cheyenne River Indian Reserva tions in South Dakota and North Da kota in October will give thousands of people 160 acres of fertile farming lands for a small sum per acre. Aberdeen, South Dakota, on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul Railway, and Mobridge and Lemmon, South Dakota, on the Chicago, Mil waukee & Puget Sound Railway, are points of registration. You can regis ter any day from Oct. 4 to 23. The drawing will take place at Aberdeen on October 26. This land opening will also give you a splendid opportunity to see the coun try via the new line to the Pacifio Coast. Descriptive folder free. F. A. MILLER, general Passenger Agent Chicago, Mil waukee and St. Paul Railway, Chi cago. There is no objection to the revival of the old game of “postofflce” if it will bring back the girl who hid behind the door to escape payment of the forfeit and fought and shrieked and fainted when in the commotion she got kissed on the ear. It is the wild colt that makes a trusty horse. It Is reported from France that it is proposed to manufacture fuel from peat under a new patented process in the peaty district on the borders of the Charente Infericure and Deux Sev res departments. The fuel produced ex perimentally is said to be of good quality. FOR OVER 200 YEARS Haarlem Oil has been a favorite household remedy in millions of homes the world over. Lately, however, many worthless injurious imi tations have sprung up. The Pure Pood and Drug Law is making it difficult for these frauds. It compels their being branded “Imi tation.” The genuine, reliable, trustworthy Haarlem Oil is named Gold Medal Haarlem Oil Ask for it by name It is the most effective, reliable remedy yet discovered for Kidney, Bladder and Liver Troubles. It relieves almost instantly. It cures very quickly. It acts immediately on cases of suppressed or retained urine. Holland Medicine Co., Scranton, Pa. Dear Sirs: I received the samples of Haar lem Oil Capsules, and it gives me great pleas ure to say a word for them, for I am much im proved since I started to take them. They have done me more good than anything I have ever tried, as I have suffered untold agony from bladder trouble, and found them to give me great relief. My home will never be with out them. I will cheerfully recommend them to my friends. Thanking you kindly, I am ^ Very sincerely, MRS. t. M. GERS, 342 52nd St. Brooklyn, N. Y., March 7, 1909. Be sure you get genuine Gold Medal Haarlem Oil, Every drug store sells it. In capsules, 25 and 50 cents. Bot tles, 15 and 35 cents. Remember the namc—GOLD MEDAL HAARLEM OIL. HOLLAND MEDICINE CO., Sole Importers Scranton, Pa. If your Druggist cannot supply you, write us direct. A Skin of Beauty Is a Joy Forever, DR. T. Felix Gouraud's Oriental Cream or logical Beautifier. SSSa ®'S30 S3 52 E^ Sais g-,*S ^5 8 f Removes Tan, Pimple* Freckles, M