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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (July 21, 1910)
TAVERNAY A Tale of the Red Terror BY BURTON E. STEVENSON. Author of "Tho Marathon Mystery,” "The Holiaday Case,” "A Soldier of Virginia," etc. Copyrighted, 1909. by Burton E. Stevenson. _ _ _ ______j CHAPTER IV.—(Continued.) j M. le Comte nodded. ! "She Is right, my dear,” he said, ■•Accept and thank her. No one will look for you there—besides. It Is not for you they are searching, but for sne." ! "And where will you be, mon sieur?” “I shall be In the Bocage," he an swered simply, “fighting the enemies fit France.” i Madame bit her Ups to restrain (their trembling, as she cast upon him ill glance full of love and pride. > "That Is where I would bo, also,” she Said, “If the choice were mine. Madame Ide la Rochejaqueleln accompanies her (husband.” "That Is true.” he assented, "and Is Is sometimes frightfully In the ,y. If you knew that country, my ■e. you would see how Impossible Is for women. Besides, I am not chejaqueleln—and am not a leader, t a follower. I shall fight better— shall be worth more—knowing that i are In safety." Very well, monsieur," she said, ter eyes shining. "As you will. You now best.” | He seized her hand and kissed It. "We shall have many happy days together,” ho said, "when the fight Is •Won.” 1 And as I looked as them, I fancied that happy future already realized. I "You perceive, M. de Tavernay,” he (Smiled, catching my ayes, "thut though Jhavo the honor to be this lady's hus land. I have never ceased to be her over.” L “Indeed, that Is not wonderful, M. le AJonite," I said, with a glance at the Adoring face beside him. "Anything rise Is Inconceivable." "Thnnk you, monsieur!” cried mad *mo. “You have the tongue of a cour tier.” "I assure you, madame," I protested, ("that came from the heart.” i She laughed as she rose to her feet, And held out her hand to me with a ■Quick little pressure of the fingers. "Do not be long,” she said. 'We Women will bo lonely." ' I held back the drapery at the door (for her and watched her as she passed V-the beautiful, fair head, set Imperious ly upon the slender neck; the little ear, .pink tinted; the rounded, perfect arm— I Then another vision passed and eclipsed the first one, though all I [caught of It was a glance from a pair (Of eyes, dancing with mischief. L “M. de Tavernay,” said my host, com ing up behind me and placing his hand .affectionately upon my shoulder, ‘1 [confess to you that I do not wish to pit nodding here over the wine. I had pot seen my wife for nearly a month Until a few hourB ago, after tomorrow, It may be that I shall never see her again. I know you will pardon me when I say that I cannot bear the thought of spending one moment of this night away from her.” ‘T beg of you to say no more,” I J>rotest»d. "I, too, wish to Join the adles.” “Oh. you dol” he laughed; then his face sobered as he looked at me. “Come Hiy friend, I am going to speak to you frankly. It Is a wonderful chance which brought you here to meet Char lotte; I cannot tell you how wonderful — you will learn for yourself some day; but make the most of It. She Is a wom an worth winning—but you have seen ithat. What perhaps you have not seen (—since there are no eyes so blind as a lover’s—Is that she may be won.” I caught a deep breath—a breath as (much of Agony as of Joy. “You think so?" I murmured. "You [think so?” "I am sure of It," he said, and wrung Iny hand. "Good luck to you! Remem ber," ho added, laughingly, "a fortress of that sort Is never to be taken by slogo--lt must be carried by assault!” and he led the way Into the drawing >00111. CHAPTER V. 1 I Make My Confession. i I loo'r.ed blindly about the room with Ol. ‘-e Conite's words ringing In my jj)rp'.:i, vad for a moment I did not see jher. "Hion my eyes found her where ■he atu" i In the embrasure of a win dow, bull-concealed by the draperies. She wi. ‘ ig out across the garden ■at the i i-i . ’nr. and she did not hear imy nth T -i come quite neat-, ■■ .ooked >u‘ at me rrlth a glar cv - 'tig, that my heart leaped wj.i, a h'jddt.. suffocating rapture. "Oh. it is you," she said, and passed her hand hastily before her oyoe. “Ti •was not expecting you so soon.*' "The wine had no attractions for either M. lo Comte or myself," I an swered, a little hoarsely. "I have come to claim your promise." Without replying, she drew aside the curtain and stepped through the window upon a gravelled walk. I fol lowed her with pulse throbbing strangely. Madame had consented, then—I had scarcely dared hope It! But the whole adventure had about It something so strange, so unusual, that I had long since ceased to won der at It or to try to understand It. That madame should consent, al most ns If we were betrothed, as If all this were a family arrangement— and then my heart grew chill at thought of the task that lay before me. For I knew that this was the last time that I should ever walk In this garden, or In any garden with this sweet woman at my side. The yellow moon was Just peeping over the tree tops to the east, and a soft breeze stirred the leaves upon the branches. Somewhere In the dis tance, a thrush was calling to Its mate. The night seemed made for love. Still without speaking, she led the way along the path, past the old tower, to a seat of marble gleaming white amid a setting of evergreens. “Now I am ready to hear you, mon sieur." she said, and sank Into one cor ner of the seat. I took a turn up and down the path to compose myself somewhat, to quiet the painful throbbing of my heart. How I longed to sit there beside her, to whisper in her ear, to tell her "Mademoiselle," I began, finally, pausing before her, "believe me, It is not an easy task which I have set my self. nor one which I would choose to face could It be shirked with honor. But since I must face It—since there Is no other way—I shall try to do so with such courage as I possess." "A most disconcerting preamble,” she commented. "I tremble at what will follow. If It Is so formidable, perhaps, after all, you would better take M. le Comte for your confidant." "It. Ie Comfe has no concern In It” "And I have?" she asked, looking at me oulckly, with a little shrinking of a.'arn. "Indirectly—yes." "Oh." ah* said, with a breath of re lief "Extremely Indirectly, I should say! ” "Besides,” I added "I wish you to advise me—and your advice will be worth much more to me than M. le Comte's or any other's.” "Thank you. Although that sounds somewhat as If It were a continuation of the riddle. Pray continue." "It Is necessary that I should go back a little,” I explained. "Thirty years ago, my father made a pilgrimage to Mont Salnt-MIchel to discharge a vow. As he approached the rock across the sands, he was suddenly conscious that his horse was having difficulty In pro ceeding. In a moment more, the horse had sunk to his belly, and my father perceived that he had blundered Into a quicksand. He flung himself from the saddle, and, abandoning the beast to Its fate—which, Indeed, nothing could have averted—endeavored to moke his way back to solid ground. He sank to his ankles, to his knees, to his waist. Ills struggles to escape served only to entangle him more deeply until, at last, seeing them In vain, he set himself to await the end courageously. He glanced around over the sands to make sure that there was no help In sight, then he set himself with his face toward the cross above the rock and commend ed his soul to God. But the moment he ceased to strug gle, he robbed the quicksand of Its vio lence. He still sank, Indeed, but so slowly that at the end of an hour, the sand had scarcely reached his breast. He reckoned that It would be three hours, at least, before the sand covered nose and mouth, but he knew that the tide would end It before that. Never theless, hope began to revive a little and again ho looked around for aid, but ho had evidently wandered some distance from the direct road to the mount, and the only persons passing were so far away that they did not perceive him nor hear his shouts. So ngaln he resigned himself, and the thought even came to him to renew his struggles In order to bring the end more quickly. But he decided that this would be cowardly, If not sinful, and so walked iiuletly. He was relieved to see thttvtCls horse, struggling to the last, htvV^sunk from sight so that Its Bufferings were ended. “He closed his eyes and even dozed a little, for he had been exhausted by his previous struggles, but he was startled wide awake by a voice shout ing. The sand had reached his arm pits. His arms, extended In front of him, were covered. He turned his head with difficulty and saw a man standing at the edge of the quicksand. He was tearing off his doublet In desperate haste. “ ‘Do not venture Into It I’ my father cried, comprehending his purpose. T am past saving. Do not endanger yourself. Take a message for me—that Is all 1 ask.* "The other did not answer, but spread out his cloak before him and advanced across it. He sank some what, It Is true, but his feet were not entangled In the sand. At the edge of his cloak, he spread his doublet, stepped upon It and drew his cloak after him. But that moment of stand ing still almost proved hts ruin, for ho had sunk nearly to his knees before he got his cloak spread out again. My father watched him with bated breath as he freed himself and orept forward to the edge of It. “ ‘Your hand,' said the stranger, and he stretched out his own. “My father disentangled one of hls arms and grasped the hand extended to him, noting at the same time how firm and strong It was. ‘"Now,* continued the other rap idly, *you must free yourself by one supreme efTort. If we fall the first time It will be useless to try again. Bo we must not fall. Are you ready?' •"Yes,* said my father and with a mighty effort, heaved himself up out of tho sand. Yet he must have failed, must have sunk deeper than ever, but for that strong arm which helped him, drawing him up and forward to the edge of the cloak, which formed, for a Iiiwuiviik, a Hill© !■!© ui HtUoly. "But only for a moment. Already the sand wae pouring over Its edges and It was being rapidly engulfed. " Te must get back without It,’ said the unknown. ‘Come.’ "Of the desperate struggle which followed, my father never told me much—Indeed, I doubt If he remem bered Its details very clearly. They aided each other, encouraged each other, drew eaoh other forward—each determined that the other should be saved—and, at the end, dropped ex hausted side by side on the firm sand beyond. "My father’s rescuer was a young man of Poitiers—the youngest son of a good family—and his name was Louis Mario de Benseval.” I paused. I was. Indeed, somewhat overcome by my own story and more especially by the memories which It evoked. As for Mdlle. de Chambray she sat with her face so In the shad ow that I could scarcely discern her features. She made no comment, only stirred slightly, and I saw her eyes shining up at me. “I fear I have been prolix,” I said "I have wearied you. I will try to has ten-” “Please do not,” she broke In. "You have not wearied me. I wish to hear the whole story. But will you not sit down?” and she made a little Inviting gesture. “No,” I said, resisting It. "I have not yet come to the difficult part. If I should sit there beside you, I fear that my courage would fall me.” "As you will," she murmured, and leaned still farther Into the shadow. "The two became fast friends," I continued. “Indeed, friend Is scarce ly the word with which to describe their affection—It Is not strong enough. They were more than friends. Their attachment had a rare, abiding quality —whether they were apart or together, it was Just the same. They determined to perpetuate It by knitting their two families Into one. They agreed that should one of them have a son and the other a daughter, these two should be considered betrothed from the cradle. And It would seem that nature, Provi dence, God app-oved of this design, for It so fell out. "When I was 10 years old, my father was seised with a fever from which it was soon evident he could not recover. M. de Benseval hastened to him, bring ing with him his daughter, a child of eight. We were betrothed beside my father's bed; It was agreed that on the day that I was 21 I should set out from Beaufort to claim my bride. My father died blessing us and very happy.” Again I paused for my voice was no longer wholly steady. Nor did I relljh the story I had yet to tell. But I nerved myself to do It. "After that. I lived with my mother upon our estate at Beaufort—a small estate, but one which, under my fath ! er's management, had sufficed for our I support. At first, everything went ] well; a woman, however capable, Is not 1 a man, and my mother was more en grossed In her son than in her fields. | So our fortunes dwindled from year to I year, and the revolution struck them the final blow. We were at the end of our resources and, a month ago, my i mother wrote to M. de Benseval, at 1 Poitiers, stating our circumstances frankly and releasing him from his en | gagement. In reply came a tearse note | saying that his engagement was with ; the dead, not with the living, and so was doubly sacred; that on the day that I was 21 he would expect me to set out for Poitiers, where his daugh ter would be awaiting me." "And then?” asked my companion In a vol«e which seemed a little tremul ous. i "Well, mademoiselle, yesterday I was 21." "And you set out as M. de Benseval commanded?” . "Yes, at daybreak.” "Joyfully, no doubt?” "Yes, Joyfully—why attempt to con ceal It? I told myself that I was going to execute my father’s last command, that he was looking down upon me with approving eyes. So I was very happy.” “You have forgotten another reason for that happiness, have you not, mon sieur?” "Another reason?” "You have said nothing of the lady." ' Really, mademoiselle,” I said, In somo confusion, "I fear I scarcely thought of her. I was only a boy. I had never been out Into the world. All women were the same to me.” “You mean that they are no longer so?” she asked, and again I saw her eyes gleaming up at me from the shadow. so little so, mademoiselle,” I an swered, hoarsely, "that I am longing to throw myself Into the war In La Vendee In the hope that a kindly bullet will deliver me from the fate prepared for me. Death, It seems to me, Is preferable to that a thousand times.” "Come, monsieur,” she protested, lightly, “you exaggerate; Indeed, 1 can assure you that, a month from now, you will again And life very tolerable." "Why a month from now?” “Because, In that time you will be married, you will have become accus tomed to your wife, your heart will have opened to her, and you will have forgotten the mood of this evening— or, If you recall It, It will be with a smile of amusement, as at a boyish folly.” "You may think so, perhaps,” I said, bitter that I should be so misunder stood. “You ask for my advice,” she re torted, "and yet you grow angry when I give It. Shall I not say what I be lieve?" "Pardon me,” I begged. “But you do not yet understand. I have told you that I have passed my whole life with my mother—for me, she was the only woman in the world.” “And now?" she asked. I could have sworn that she was luring me on, but for the gross absurdity of such a thought. "Now there Is still only one woman, mademoiselle, but It Is not the same one,” I answered simply. To this, for a moment, she found no reply, but sat gazing out at the river with pensive eyes. The moon had risen above the tree-tops, seeking her; and Andlng her at last, caressed and threw a halo round her. I turned a little giddy at her pure, transcendent beauty, and my heart hungered for her. At last she roused herself. "Well, monsieur," she said, "now that perhaps I understand a little better, do you still desire my advice?” "Yes, mademoiselle; more than X can say." "Not, I hope, as to whether you should prove false to this betrothal?” "Oh, no,” I answered; "there can be no question of that. That Is a matter which concerns not my honor alone, but that of my father, also.” •'Yes,” she assented; "M. de Bense val was right; the engagement Is with the dead, and so Is doubly sacred. So far we are agreed. What Is It. then, that you propose?” “I propose to turn aside from my Journey to Polters and follow M. le Comte back to the Bocage. Can I do this with honor, mademoiselle?” “What will you do In the Bocage?" "I will Beek death,” I answered, and I know that I spoke sincerely. “And It may be that my death will be of Boms service to France.” She sat for a moment looking up at me, a strange light In her eyes. ‘T do not like to advise,” she began, at last, and I fancied that her lips were trembling. "It Is so serious a matter.” ~ “T Vtasr W/MI ** ▼ iiMn/1 IITi _ greatest favor you can do me." “A man Is the best judge of his own duty." "He Bhould be,” I admitted; "but In this case I fear that I cannot see clearly." "But neither may I,” she objected. “Ah, I am sure you will; In fact, mademoiselle, I suspect that you see so clearly that you fear to wound me. But to refuse to help me would be to wound me far more deeply.” "Well, then,” she said, a little hoarse ly, “since you will have It so, 1 must tell you that to my mind your be trothed has the first claim upon you. Not until you have fulfilled your en gagement with her—the engagement for which your father has your word— Is your life your own to cherish or throw away; not even then, for, surely, she will have some claim upon it." (Continued Next Week.) The Wheat Ears. From the Washington Star. Edward H. Crump, mayor of Mem phis, praised. In a recent address, those charities that send slum children to the country lh the hot weather. “The pale, lean urchins of the slums," said Mayor Crump, “show in quaint ways how strange they are to the country and its charms. "Thus a little country weeker, on leaving the train at Green Willows, ran ahead of his companions over the meadows. He soon came running back again, shouting excitedly: 'Here, fellers, come here, quick I Here's a field of shrimps!’ "The field to which he pointed was planted In wheat." MADE HIM SPEND. Doyle—He's naturally stingy. Hoyle—Yes, but his wife doesn't give him a chance to show It. IL A PRESENTATION AT THE VATICAN IN ROME John Kendrick Bangs In Harper'* Weekly. A slight gesture from the master of ceremonies made us all kneel, and the long-awaited figure entered—a sad faced man arayed In a simple white robe, expressionless of feature, but giving a striking Impression of sweet ness and Intense weariness combined. He walked slowly along the line, hold ing out to each pilgrim as he passed a listless hand, on the fourth finger of which was the ring of St. Peter. At first glance he appeared the embodi ment of age and of physical weakness, and It must be confessed that the Im pression was disappointing; but as he came nearer, and one was able to look more closely Into his saddened eyes, one discerned In them not so much of weakness as of loveliness of character, strength of soul, touched by a strange pathos that brought with It the convic tion that the people of his beloved city of Venice, among whom as Giuseppe Sarto he had once dwelt, had loved him for reasons that were good. One longed to be able to rise up and give him a more affectionate and no less reveren tial salute than the cold, formal greet ing to the golden signet prescribed by the etlquet of the ceremony. I pressed his hand with a sincere and earnest feeling of reverence for his office and of respect for the man, and was surprised to find, as a little lump manifested Itself in my throat and a suspicious moisture dimmed my eyes for the moment, that I had awakened rather Into an Intensity of sympathy for the prisoner of the Vatican than of awed reference for the successor of the apostle. There was. Indeed, no lack of the latter quality, but the former was from the heart, and I am glad to feel that that Is truly the American of It. In spite of the splendor of his sur roundings and the loftiness ri his sta tion, one could not escape the convlc tlon that the office carries with It not only responsibilities which are onerous and exacting, but involves as well such sacrifices of life and liberty as would stagger most men, even those rigorously trained for a life of sacrifice as the church trains Its priests. I have sometimes thought it would be pleasant to be the king of England or the emperor of Germany or the presi dent of the United States, but I looked upon Plus X. with no feelings of envy in mv heart. After His Holiness had passed us by we were bidden to rise and follow in ' his train, which we di^; directly In his train, in fact, for upon the return to the Sala Dell’ Conclstoro it so happened that our position In the line gave us the position of honor. In a remarka bly short time he had passed before the whole group of visitors. Many of these, as I have already Intimated, had apparently come merely to gratify their curiosity to see the head of the Roman church, but others were there for pur poses affecting the repose of their own souls, for more than one man and more than one woman, with faces streaming with tears and an anguish of mind 111 concealed. Implored Indulgence, for what I know net, as His Holiness passed along; and In every ease with a kindly gesture, and a glance full of noble benignity at least, solace was granted. It was altogether most af fecting, and when, at the close of the greetings, the Holy Father raised his hand to bless all present, "according to their need and intention,” I went down upon my knees not because the etiquet of the hour required It, but because I wanted to; and when I rose up and went silently back to the noisy city I felt that the blessing asked had been received, for I was happy and the world seemed sweeter and the brighter for the existence of such a man as Pius X. Near Philosophy From the Sioux City Tribune. , In the Interest of a safe and sane i Fourth, why not enjoin the orators also? Hotels, like some newspapers, are not made to please people, but to enter tain them. The kind of weather that parches the ■ crops also helps to solve the weed 1 problem. White dimities at picnics are no longer considered as harbingers of com- ' ing storms. Persistent guessing on the part of the weather man is bound to land a rain sometime. The man who rocks the boat is the one who yells the loudest for help Just before he goes under. The heat record might be even worse ' than it is if the thermometer tube was 1 not closed at the top. What is most wanted is to make the world good enough so that an honest 1 man will not be conspicuous. When a man becomes so engrossed in his work that he forgets how hot it is, he is in no Immediate danger. Fisherman’s luck flourishes on the same lavish scale as formerly; It is only the fish that are limited. The only sadder sight than a man shopping in hot weather is the man who stays away from the ball game. So many lazy men demand a vaca tion that one of the energetic sort is ashamed to take one when it is offered. No sensible man is going to be des perately smitten of a woman who wears her store hair like a bunch of sausage 1 links. A man does not care much for a Job i which he will leave to prevent wilting a collar that can be laundered for 3 cents. One of the economic features of co education is that the girls sometimes i i Give Love Today. When the lean, gray grassea Cover me, bury me deep. No Bea wind that passes Shall break my sleep. When you come my lover, Sorrowful eyed to me. Earth mine ayes will cover; I shall not see. Though with sad words splendid. Praising, you call me dear. It will be all ended; I shall not hear. You may live love's riot Laughingly over my head. But I shall He quiet; With the gray dead. Love, you will not wake me With all your singing carouse. Nor your dancing shake me In my dark house. Though you should go weeping. Sorrowful for my sake, Fain to break my sleeping, I could not wake. Now, ere time destroy us— Shadows beneath and above; Death has no song Joyous, Nor dead men love— Now, while deep-eyed, golden. Love on the mountain sings. Let him be close holden; Fetter his wings. Love, nor Joy nor sorrow Troubles the end of day; Leave the Fates tomorrow; Give love today. —Ethel Talbot. The Absent-Minded Scotchman. From the Success Magazine. The Scotchman could not And his ticket. On the conductor’s second round It was still missing. “What’s that in your mouth?" he asked. Sure enough, there was the missing ticket. The con ductor punched it and went his way. “Ah, we’el,” said Sandy, In reply to his fellow passengers’ banter, ‘Tm nae sae absent-minded as ye wad think. Yon was a vera auld ticket and I was Jlst sucken aff the date.” Wanted:. An Interpreter. From the Philadelphia Record. Dr. Harvey W. Wiley, chief of the bureau of chemistry In the department of agriculture, has Interpreted many laws affecting pure foods and drugs, and has had some of his opinions re versed by the department of Justice and the president. He was discussing this one day when he said: "The matter of Interpreting laws Is much like the story of the little boy who was told by his teacher to read something from a primer. The boy read as follows: " 'This is a warm doughnut. Step on it.’ “ ‘Why, Johnny.’ said the teacher, ret married in their commencement rowns. By ignoring the arguments which vou cannot meet, a safety valve is 'ound for an otherwise unendurable position. Some of the people who are mailing i demand for a safe and sane fourth, irlve an automobile in the most insane nanner. The things which decide the destinies >f men are usually the things which lever happen and are not scheduled to :ake place. The wor r, who advertises the ■leverncss of her husband generally lags him for not living up to her pro essions. Had you ever noticed that most of he cases of heat prostration occur on he streets and not in the places where puslness Is liveliest? Give any man absolute control over ;he weather and it is doubtful if he :ould make a brand that he could live n without "taking cold.” No sane small boy will choose to be lafe and uncomfortable just at the time when patriotism is supposed to reach :he climax of effervescence. There is as much exercise in turn ng the wringer in the basement as in playing 18 holes on the links, but the atter maintains the lead in popular ly. Men who are timid about entering avoidable entanglements are the ones who give the best account of them ielves when they are forced into una voidable ones. The success of a baseball franchise lepends largely upon the ability of the players to draw men out of their shady places of business to swelter in the rrandstand. When a man mortgages his home to puy an automobile he generally finds t necessary to mortgage the furniture o pay for repairs, and the "last end >f that man is worse than the first.” that can’t be right. L»et me see your pook.’ "This is the sentence she found: " 'This is a worm. Do not step on t.’ "That’s very much like the Interpre :ation of the laws of nowadays. You :an interpret the statutes in several ways, according to the angle from which you view them. As for me, I pelieve in construing them always so :hat the masses of the people shall penefit by them.” Smith s Suit. From the Los Angeles Times. Peter McKenzie, the last of the old Hudson bay factors, had always a great hatred and fear of lawsuits. “I dined with Mr. McKenzie tn Mon treal not long ago,” said a mining en gineer of New York, "and he reiterated :iis dread of lawsuits, driving home his point with a story. "He said that a certain Smith won a. case in the lower courts, the higher courts and the supreme court. Smith was thus finally awarded, after seven pears of litigation, $500,009. When Smith heard the glad news, he sped to his lawyers. “ 'Hurray!' he said. 'Gimme my $500, X>0.’ “ 'Yes, $500,090 was the award,' said the lawyer, and at the same time he banded Smith a dollar bill. " ‘But—what's this for?’ Smith gasped. “ 'That’s all that's left, Mr. Smith,’ explained the lawyer, ‘after the deduc tion of my fee. the cost of the various ippeals and other expenses, which will pe duly rendered you in an itemized iccount.’ "Poor Smith studied the bill in his land. “ 'Say, what's the matter with this?’ ie demanded. 'Is it bad?’ ’’ A Freak of Nature. From the Success Magazine. Colonel Dennison had become the lappy father of twins, and his un pounded pride in this two-fold blessed ness found expression on every occa sion. He stood with a friend on the bank steps one day as a young woman passed wheeling a baby carriage containing a pretty girl baby. “Doesn’t a woman look queer," said the colonel loftily, "with only on# child!" _ _ _ Why Boys Are Brave. From the Brooklyn Life. To his teacher's request that he give the class ideas on the subject of "Bravery." little Johnny delivered him self of the following: "Some boys is brave because they al ways plays with little boys, and some boys is brave because their legs is too short to run away, but most boys is brave because somebody s lookin'." A TERRIBLE CASE OP DROPSY. Lebanon, Ind., Man Given Vlvi« Description of His Suffering. John T. Anderson, 613 W. Main St, Lebanon, Ind., says: “I was taken suddenly with agon izing pains through my kidneys, followed by a stoppage of the urine. I was soon in such agony I could not lie in bed and for weeks sat In a chair propped up by pillows. The urine was mostly blood and had to be drawn with a catheter. My limbs were swollen to twice their nor mal size. The doctor finally said he could do no more and my family gave up hope. It was at this time I began using Doan’s Kidney Pills and gradu ally improved until well. I gained twenty-eight pounds and have had no trouble since.” Remember the name—Doan’s. For sale by all dealers. 50 cents a box. Foster-Milburn Co., Buffalo^ N. Y. _ HE LIVED IN THE CITY. Papa—Why can’t we see the moon In the daytime? Jimmie—’Cause they don’t light It up until after dark. She Lives in Blngville. A South Missouri paper is carrying this ad.: “Attractive woman, not a day over thirty, would be pleased to corre spond with eligible man. Not abso lutely necessary that he should be young. Would prefer one with prop erty, but one with a good paying posi tion would be satisfactory. The yeung lady is of medium height, has brown »alr and gray eyes, not fat, although, nost decidedly, she is not skinny. Her friends say she is a fine looking woman. Object matrimony. Reason for this advertisement, the young woman lives in a little dinky town, where the best catches are the boys behind the counters in the dry goods and clothing stores, and every one of them is spoken for by the time ha Is out of his short pants. Address Hazel Eyes, Box 23, Blngville, Mo.’’— Kansas City Star. Didn’t Care for Expenses. They were seated at the breakfast table. "John, dear,” said the young wife, *this is my birthday.” "I’m glad you mentioned it, darling,” rejoined her husband. “I'll buy you a present the first thing when I get downtown.” "Well,” she said, “I hope you wont” get any cheap 98-cent affair.” “Of course I wont,” he replied. “Why, I would be ashamed to present you with anything that cost less than a dollar.” His Claim to Prominence. At a social gathering a certain man, intent on knowing every one, was In troduced to Senator Julius C. Burrow* of Michigan. “The name Burrows Is very famil iar to me,” he said. “I am certain that you are a man of some promi nence.” “Yes,” replied Senator Burrows, "I am the man that ‘died at first’ just before Casey came to bat in that cele brated ball game in Mudvllle.”—Suc cess Magazine. HARD TO PLEASE Regarding the Morning Cup, “Oh how hard it was to part with coffee, but the continued trouble with constipation and belching was such that I finally brought myself to leave It off. “Then the question was, what should we use for the morning drink? Tea was worse for us than coffee; choco late and cocoa were soon tired of; milk was not liked very well, and hot water we could not endure. "About two years ago we struck upon Postum and have never been without It since. “We have seven children. Our baby now eighteen months old would not take milk, so we tried Postum and found she liked it and it agreed with Her perfectly. She is today, and has been, one of the healthiest babies In the State. “I use about two-thirds Postum and one-third milk and a teaspoon of sugar, and put it into her bottle. If you could have seen her eyes sparkle and hear her say "good” today when I gave It to her, you would believe me that she likes it. “If I was matron of an infants’ home, every child would be raised on H Postum. Many of my friends say, ‘You are looking so well!’ I reply, ‘I am well: I drink Postum. I have no more trouble with constipation, and know that I owe my good health tc God and Postum.’ "I am writing this letter because I want to tell you how much good Postum has done us, but If you knew how I shrink from publicity, you would not publish this letter, at least not over my name.” Read the little book, “The Road to Wellville,”ln pkgs. "There’s a Reason.” Ever read the above letter? A lew one appear* from time to time. They are genuine, true, and full of homia interest*