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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (July 16, 1914)
COULD NOT STAND ON FEET Mrs. Baker So Weak—Could Not Do Her Work—Found Relief In Novel Way. Adrian, Mich. — ‘‘I suffered terribly With female weakness and backache and got so weak that 1 could hardly do my work. When I washed my dishes I had to sit down and when I would sweep the floor I would get so weak that 1 would have to get a drink every few minutes, and before I did my dusting I would have to lie down. I got •o poorly that my folks thought I was going into consumption. One day I found a piece of paper blowing around the yard and I picked it up and read it. It said ‘ Saved from the Grave, ’ and told what Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegeta ble Compound has done for women. 1 Showed it to my husband and he said, * Why don’t you try If T ’ So I did, and after 1 had taken two bottles I felt better and I said to my husband, ‘I don’t heed any more,’ and he said ‘You had better take it a little longer anyway. ’ Bo I took it for three months and got Well and strong. ” — Mrs. Azonzo E. Baker, 9 Tecumseh St, Adrian, Mich. Not Well Enough to Work. In these words is hidden the tragedy of many a woman, housekeeper or wage earner who supports herself and is often helping to support a family, on meagre Wages. Whether in house, office, fac tory, shop, store or kitchen, woman Ibould remember that there is one tried knd true remedy for the ills to which all Women are prone, and that is Lydia E. rinkham’s Vegetable Compound. It Jromotes that vigor which makes work easy. The Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine Co., Lynn, Maas. Same Thing. “Didn't you stretch a point to get U1 that news?" “Well, I did rubber some." LADIES CAN WEAR SHOES bn* ell* • mailer after nslng Allen'* Foot-Ha**, the Antiseptic powilor to bo Rhaken Into the ahuca. It kakca tight or new ahoea feel eaay. Just tho thing fcr dancing. Rr/uit lubilttutu. For FKKH trial package, add real Allen 8. Olmited. Lotto/. N V. Up to Date. He—A husband muBt be obeyed. She—Oh. cut out your must-y phlloe aphy! White House Rose Garden. The rose garden that Mrs. Wood Tow Wilson had planted at the White House Is s&ld to be quite equal to others that she planned at Princeton and other places where she has lived. She and her daughters have spent much time, not only in superintending ths work of the rose garden, but In Actually working in it. 8usplcloua. ’“Too bad Jinx an® his wife don't «et along well together.” “Why, I always understood that they were an Ideal couple.” ”8o did I, but they must have had p> dreadful scrap before he started for Work this morning.” “Did he have a black eye?" “No, but he stopped In when we iwere on our way home and bought her a five-pound box of candy.” Not 80 Much to Blame. "I didn’t know you were so accom plished a linguist,” he remarked as he glanced at the paper she was reading. “I don't make any pretentions In *hat direction," she answered. “But that Is a Russian newspaper 7011 have picked up." “Why, so It Is," she answered In sur prise. “I thought it was a dialect ■Story." I Keep Cool and \ Comfortable Don’t spend so much of / your time cooking during hot weather; and your family will be healthier without the heavy cooked foods. Give them Post Toasties They're light and easily digested and yet nourishing and satisfying. No bother in preparation—just pour from the package and add cream and sugar—or they’re mighty good with fresh berries or fruit. "The Memory Lingers” 1 - APPLE GREEN—OR WHITE?' By Olive Roberts Barton. (Copyright, 1913 by the McClure News paper Syndicate.) Jane slowly drew her hand out of the flimsy white silk stocking. She had de cided to take the pair, but changed her mind when she heard a girl who had Just arrived at the same counter ask to be shown some green silk hose. Her back was toward the newcomer, but she recog nized the voice. Her own t^lr-rk pulled down boxes upon boxes of stockings to show Jane, who had never before been so difficult to please, but the lgtter had now ptenty of opportunity to hear what the other girl said. "No—-these are all too dark. Apple green, I want,” she was saying. “See! They must match these satin slippers. Oh, please don’t tell me that you haven’t them. I have been to every single store In town, and I must have them for tonight. My gown Is the same shade. No, white would be Impossible. The whole effect will be spoiled. It Just means to wear an old gown and—What! Have you found them? The only pair and my size, too! Well, I am lucky. ’ Jane decided on a pair at the same time. Her pretty brown eyes were smoldering. ”80 Bhe is getting all fixed up for the dance tonight so she can dazzle Tom some more,” she thought bitterly. “He has scarcely had time to look at me since she came. He says he has to be polite to his sister’s guest, but I guess he can be polite without taking her some place every night for a week. I suppose he would even take her to the Thanksgiving ball tonight If he hadn’t asked me a year ago. Jane looked after the girl Jealously. She herself was as pretty as a picture, her eyes and hair almost as dark as her black velvet suit, arid the red wing in her hat was scarcely brighter than the color In her cheeks. “The girl,” tall and graceful, had red-gold hair. Tom had said It was wonderful. At home, In her own room, she felt better. After all, the girl would soon be gone. Tom had hurried home from col lege to take her to this particular ball for year-*. There were other dances, other parties, but they were not the same as this. It was a sort of anniversary of the first time they had met, and, although there had been no dreadful college to sep arate them this year, Tom’s law prac tice had been almost as bad. “For,” uald he, ”su?c#ss means you. Jane, dear. I cannot ask you to marry a pauper. Jane hummed a happy little tune as she laid her dancing clothes out on the bed. She must look her best tonight. He said he had something to tell her. Her gown, lingerie, cloak, slippers, scarf, gloves—sho thought a moment. Oh, yes— the stockings! She had forgotten to take the little package out of her muff. She tore it open and drew out a pair of shining silken hose. Jane stared. They were a delicate apple green. Shn understood right away that she had i lire n irtVKII u/mrur noolm.,.. - * »l, — I 1 store. Her own stockings did jiot mat ter. She had others she could wear. She ! hesitated an Instant. What need she care i whether the girl got the stockings or not? It was 6 o’clock. But she decided to call a messenger and send them when the i telephone rang. It was Tom. i “Jane, I’m awfully sorry, but something • has happened that will keep Laura home j from the dance unless I take her. She < was to go with Gerald and he telegraphed j Just now that he had missed his train. I Know yon won’t mind and 1 will get Lester i ( olllns to take you, If you will go with , him. I am awfully sorry but it cannot i be helped. You don’t mind, do you?” 1 . Jnno replied Indifferently that it was a i trifling matter not requiring an apology ! at all and that it would delight her to go with Mr. Collins. Tom left the ’phone evidently satisfied, ' but Jutie was raging. She threw herself upon the bed In the midst of the finery i and sobbed. "He won’t take me! He « won take me! He is In love with that girl! Then she remembered the stockings. “I don t cars If she never gets them now. « Let her wear her old dress ” » She could not go to dinner looking as KJ did;J10r1dld sho want any. She told ' her mother In the dim light of her room that Bhe had a headache and would take only a cup of tea. mo'hcr being one of those com peop ? " i10 p8t -vou' «nd stroke i r„h?lr' <’all you "dearie," and do ' 5,5 Qup8‘lona. suggested a walk In the cool air after she had had her tea. I te'I'lnm5ISS<M ber mother and drank her 1 !.?am T,u‘!*1 fesolvinit to "freshen up” go ' SSv.r Ik n°u Rl"’as that her heart broken, she slipped on her storm coat ?^hsn.v.no c "K thl' *'’r<’*n stockings, she tied them up, scribbled a name on the 1 paedtase ami stuck It In her pocket. “What's the difference If she does flx un npw .. 11 8,1 Beema to be over but the shouting. Tom will never know 1 care There—I can hand these thing:* to a maid ut the door. I can pull down my veil and no one will know the difference." : Jane crossed the park to the big house at the corner. No one answered her ring The hall was empty, and one of the doors stood slightly ajar. It was but a step to the table, the package was In her hand ' She would lay It right under the light, name side up, and be out In an Instant rmpulsively she pushed open the door and laid the package on the table, then turned to go, when she heard voices very close to her Inside the drawing room door. Be side her heavy portlers hung over the li brary doors. Quick us thought she hid. No one came Into the hull, but Tom's voice, low and tender, was telling some one how he loved her. Jane felt siek and dizzy. Why—oh. why had she come? To be found there In Tom's house, hiding be hind a curtain, listening to him! She braced herself against the door to keep from falling. Suddenly the door swung In and she with It. She almost fell Into the room. With one swift, horrified glance she de rided that the room was empty. The log lire had burned low and the only light was a green reading lamp which left the great er part of the room In shadow. Then Jane heard a e!gh. She shrank back against the wall. Then the sigh came again nnd someone stirred on the big davenport be side her. W;^s she losing her senses? What did It ail mean? Tom waa lying there fast asleep. Then she turned and fled and (lid not stop until she reached her own room at home. The telephone was ringing. She dropped breathlessly Into a chair and took down the receiver It was Tom—very wide awake now. "Is that you, Jana?" "I’m late calling you up, but I fell asleep In the library after dinner and Just woke up. Had the funniest dream, too I thought you were standing beside me watching me. I woke up immediately, but you were gone.11 "How funny.” "Yes. wasn't It. Well, girlie. Gerald got home In time after all to take Laura tc< the dance and I’m mighty glad She's a fine girl, but I’m getting tired of playing proxy for him and shooing off the other fellows They hadn't quite settled it be fore she came and he thought some one might cut him out. But 1 think they have settled It tonight. Judging from the way Gerald la beaming.” "How nice!” Jane's heart was pound ing. So it was Gerald whose voice was so much like Tom’s "I am going around for you myself. T’ve missed you so all week. I can he over In a Jiffy and 1 want—I have something to tell you—no to ask you—I mean I have something to give you If you’ll have it. dear. But there I can't talk about It over the phone, and I'm losing time. I am dying to see you. May I come early?” ‘‘Yes. do hurry. Tom dear.” The Oath of the Manx Judqes. From the Chicago Tribune. London—The quaintest form of oath In use in the United Kingdom is that taken by the deemsters—the Manx high court judges. “By this book nml the contents thereof, and by the wonderful works that God hath miraculously wrought in the heavens above and the earth beneath In six days and seven nights. T do swear that I will, without respect of favor, or friend ship. loss or gain, consanguinity or affin ity. execute the laws of this isle Justly between party and party as indifferently as the herring back bone does lie in the midst of the fish. So help me, God and the contents of this book.” The island of Juan Fernandex will ho turned into a ml 1 ocean wireless sta tion. WHO SAID ART? By Richard Barker Shelton. {Copyright, 1913. by the McClure News paper Syndicate.) Mrs. Bradford Warren came Into the li brary, where her husband, seeking this quiet moment when his wife’s house party guests had,gone upstairs to bed. was turn ing the pages of his favorite scientific magazine. “Oh, my dear, they are Just made for each other, aren’t they? I’m so glad ws had them here together,” said she. Warren looked up reluctantly. “Who?” he asked succinctly. ''Why, that big sculptor friend of Tours, John Sands, and Irma Crall. Haven*t you noticed ?” “Noticed what?” “That they were Just made for each other,” “If you say so, that’s good enough for m£.“ laughed. She kissed him and went up the wids stairs. Warren prodded the dying firs and went on with his magazine. Meantime above stairs John Sands, his mg frame wrapped in a bathrobe, sat dangling Jils feet out of his window. Ths nooi October breeze cams gratefully to his hot forehead. Sands had to admit he had lost his grip Pthoroughly this evening. won’t do, Johnny,” he told himself, it won’t do at all. She’s a wonderful girl—a simply wonderful girl, but girls nave no place in your scheme of life, Just ixr i* ^a,t till you’re better established, vvait till you're absolutely sure of your then f*ll to thinking of Irma r rail. The thing for him to do wag to get out—at once, in the morning before tie saw her again. He saw a man moving toward the gar wfvlsflod rear °{ Softly hs The man stopped. Sands whistled again, rhe man moved toward him. He saw It jvas George, one of Warren's two chauf feurs. Sands said softly: “Walt a minute.” i non he swung himself into the room and wrote hurriedly on a bit of paper. This ie tossed to the waiting George, together with a coin. ‘‘You go over to the village for the mail *a**ly In the morning, don’t you? r® \,Wee„that 1 *®t this telegram.” in the light streaming out from the II irary windows, Just below he could see h®chauffeur grinning. Sure!” said George. J["a r?om farther down the hall Trma rail sat staring at her reflection in the '7* won't <5o," nhc said to herself. "T'm Oiling my head. This must stop suddenly, ve said 1 d sucreeed, and I know now I tlle voJcej It ta Just a matter of a ow years of absolute application to work -absolute work and no men. Rut I can’t ee him again. I’ll do something foolish ' talks to me as he did before the ire In the hall, when we were alone there ogether tonight Just before dinner. I nust go away-the first thing In the mom wlh,ii/.n,ok r01?1® PaPar *ni envelopes from ,?* Mtt ® d,?k ln th* corner. Hurriedly ihe scribbled away, sealed the letter and Lddressed it to herself. Then she pressed l button ln the wall. Presently there ■ame a tap on the door and she opened t to one of the maids. i ,?,sh.° .?ald’ thrU8t!ng the letter ad a coin Into the maid’s hands. ’’George ,oes over for the mall very early ln the n°!h ^fld0eSn,t Ii.e? We,!’ *ct this over “ th* office somehow, tonight, so he will .et It the first thing in the morning and wing It to me. ’ "Yes, Miss Crall." Then Irma Crall burled her head on the Iressing table. She was astir early next morning. Came i tap on her door, a letter on a tray She rfa,ed and packed her bag. and with It jent to the big hall downstairs, where a Ire was already crackling. Warren always an early riser, was itanding in front of it in his shooting lothes. Not you, too?” he asked. “You're not caving?” “I've Just had a letter, calling me to own, she said. “Where will the house party be with til this?” he chidqd lightly. “Two of you folng on thia early morning train. Sands s blowing out, also.” The girl gasped. She eat down suddenly n one of the big leather chairs. Dimly ihe was aware that Warren was giving >rdere, that a breakfast tray on a little able was set before her. Then the motor whirred up. Sands, a >ag ln his hands, came tumbling down the italrs. “No, can't wait for any breakfast, old nan,” he said to his host. “You’ll have company,” said Warren, dlss Crall Is going on this train, too.” Then they were together ln the car, ipeedlng over the hills to the little village md the railroad station. At last they vere at the station. The car had gone vhlrrlng back. “Well?” Sands questioned, “Why?” “Why what?” she asked almost ir ritably. "Why this sudden flight?” She looked at him squarely. “I have ny music,” she said. “Don’t you under itand?” He nodded. “Now, your explanation,” she demand ed. “Same thing. My work,” said he. “I vaven’t any right to—to—oh, some things -yet.” “I’ll put you ln the Pullman.” said he. is the train came banging into the little itatlon. “Then I’ll—well, get out.” “You want to?” “No, I don’t.” He helped her up the Pullman steps. [-Ie saw her settled. Still he waited. “Oh, hang art, In all Its forms and be ngs," said he. "Goodby." He turned on his heel. He got as far is the vestibule. There he paused. He vasn’t ufraid now of going back. Some vne touched his arm. It was the porter. ”Aixcuse me. suh,” he said contritely, •but the young leddy wot you’ Jes’ went md lef: she’s cryln’ her heart out, suh.” ‘‘You're all right, George,” said Sands, \nd gave the porter a $5 bill. Then he went tearing into the Pullman car. She didn't look up as he stood beside her. Her shoulders moved tip and down, *nd a handkerchief was pressed to her ?yes. She was th© only passenger in the ?ar. “Is art worth It?” he asked abruptly. 11 w* trnrwl amipht Vila arwl plnn<r t u “No, no. no!" she sobbed stormlly. "You bet it isn't," he said. And the grinning porter, peeking in from the ves tibule. saw him kiss her. The house party guests had gone up stairs. Bradford Warren whs engrossed In his magazine. Mrs. Warren, very breathless and very pretty In her tiny kimono, came to him. "Oh, my dear, didn't I tell you they were just made for each other? A mes sage has just come. They got off the train at West ford Junction this morning and were married." We Are Gettinq Better. From the Christian Herald. Morality is always a generation or two ahead of legality. The number of offenses against the moral and legal codes is increasing con stantly. Moral principle never cut so large a figure in the affairs of this American people as it does today. We have 20 moral qualms where our godly ancestors had one. It never occurred to them that a lottery was wrong, or that it was wicked to drink whisky, or to whip a child or a wife, or to enslave the black man or cheat the red man. Nine out of 10 of the little consclent’ous niceties of life are discoveries of the last 00 years. More societies to do all sorts of good and work all kinds of reforms have been created in the last two generations than had been formed or thought of before from the beginning of the world. We are getting better. No doubt about It. But there is still plenty of room for im provement. To protect telegraph poles from rot ting in the ground a new French prac tice is to^ surround their ends with earthenware pipes and fill the pipes with melted resin and san, which so lidities and becomes waterproof. ACemasoe of Extraordin aiy DistindiGii The Marshal 2?yMary Raymond Shipman Andrews Ayror The Perfect Tribute, eta Cotrrri&t, TW BoWa-MerriB Comyary. CHAPTER Xn—(Continued). ”1 like people to admire Francois,” Pietro answered sturdily. "I admire him. too.” Then, hla shyness lost in eagerness to set the case right with Alixe, he went on. "Francois always has a thing done before I think of It. That is not my fault. I believe I should not have been afraid to do that —but—Francois did it.” "It is always so,” said Alixe in deep disgust. "Francois always does it. If you would only prove once that you have—courage.” And at that the stranger broke in, smiling his faint smile. "Mademoiselle Alixe is severe,” he said gently. "No one can doubt the courage of a Marquis Zappi.” He faced with a quick move ment to Francois, and his look changed. One would not have thought that the controlled cold features could so show warmth. “I have to thank you for my life. Monsieur the peasant,” he said, and held out his hand. "Moreover, it is seldom that a prophecy is so quickly fulfilled.” They gazed at him. fascinated by u dignity in him which seemed new. He went on. "You said a few min utes ago that you should one day do a thing worth while for a Bonaparte. You have done it. You have saved my life.” Bewildered, the children stared, re luctant to comprehend something which seemed out of possibility; Francois' hand crept to his cap and he pulled It off and stood bareheaded. "Monsieur, who are you?” he brought out. The strange boy’s vanishing smile brightened his face a second. "I am Louis Bonaparte,” he said quietly. The little court of three stood about <!he young prince, silent. And in a mo ment, in a few sentences, he had told them how, the day before, he had been seized with a hunger for the air of , France, which he had not breathed , since, as a boy of 7, his mother had escaped with him from Paris during ■ the Hundred Days. He told them how \ the desire to stand on French soil had ; possessed him, till at last he had run , away from his tutor and had found the , path from his exiled home, the castle , of Arenenberg, in the canton of Thur- ] govie, in Switzerland, over the moun- . tains into the Jura valley. "It is Imprudent," he finished the tale , calmly. "The government would turn , on all its big engines in an uproar to t catch one schoolboy, if it was known. But I had to do it.” He threw back j his head and filled his lungs with a , great breath. “The air of France," he ; whispered in an ecstasy. The romantic , spirit of this boy always flashed out as ] a surprise from beneath his calm self- ] contained exterior. Then, In his usual | quiet tones “I am fortunate," he said. "I , have fallen into the hands of friends. , Mademoiselle Alixe—the pretty name” , —and he smiled his evanescent smile— ( "is almost of my family because of her ] father; Monsieur the peasant has ; proved his loyalty with his life, and”— j hd^turned to the tall Pietro—"a Bona- , parte is safe with Monsieur the Mar- ■ quis Zappi.” < “I am Pietro,” stated the boy shyly. . The prince looked at him, narrowing i his eyes again. Then “And I am l Louis,” he flashed back. “It is a good i thought. Why not leave out the titles for this afternoon? We are all young ( —it is summer—it is a holiday. We i have an ancient castle and an adven ture to play with; what use have we for I titles? We shall never see one another | again, it is likely. So, shall we not be Alixe and Pietro and Francois and 1 Louis, four children together for this j one day of our friendship?” And the i others laughed and agreed. t For two hours more they told stories and played games through the soft old ^ ruins of the savage old stronghold, as light-heartedly, as carelessly as if there w ere no wars or Intrigues or politics or plots which had been and were to be ' close to the lives of all of them. Till. < as the red round sun went down be- - hind the mountain of the Rose, Fran- I cols’ quick eye caught sight of a figure swinging rapidly down the mountain 1 road where the prince had come. ; “But look, Louis," he called from be- 1 hind the rock where he was preparing, l as a robber baron, to swoop down on ] Prince Louis convoying Alixe as an escaped nun to Pietro's monastery in ( another corner. “Look, Louis! Some ] one is coming whom I do not know. Is ! it a danger for you?” And the boy prince, suddenly grave, ' shaded his eyes with his hand and i gazed up the mountain. Then his hand - fell and he sighed. "The adventure is j over.” he said. "I must go back to the j j prlnoe business. It is Monsieur Lebas." i Monsieur Lebas, the tutor, arrived i shortly in anything but a playful 1 humor. The boy’s mother. Queen Hor- . tense, was m Home, ana ne was re- l sponsible: he had been frightened to 1 the verge of madness by the prince’s escapade. It was, In fact, as serious an ( escapade as one my think, or It might 1 have been. The movements of the Bonapartes were watched at that time ( by the authorities of France and all other countries as well w ith a closeness and a jealousy out of proportion. t Europe having been turned upside down lately by that name, that name ] was hedged out by barriers as if the 1 combination of letters in itself was a : peril to a government. Louis Napoleon i at 16 was twice removed from the i headship of his house; the Duke of : Reichstadt, son of Napoleon I. was still living in Austria, and Louis' own brother, the older son of King Louis : nnd Hortense, was with his father in Rome; so that this runaway lad was not the heir to anything, even to the i pretensions of a dethroned and exiled family. Yet lie was a prince of the 1 Bonapartes, and the magic of the name and of the legend was about him. It ' was a danger to France to have his : footsteps on her soil, so the laws de creed: it would mean for him prison : and perhaps death if he were captured ■ In France. No wonder poor Monsieur Lebas was frightened almost to ex- 1 tinetion. 1 The playmates were separated swift ly. Monsieur Lebas refused with some thing like horror the eager suggestion of the children that he and his charge : should spend the night at the chateau. The prince must be gotten off French ' ground without a moment's delay; Fritz Rickenbaeh, the steward of , Arenenberg, was waiting for them w ith a carriage over the mountain, to race them back to Switzerland; It was through Fritz indeed, and a discussion of the prince with him ns to distances and directions, that the distracted tutor had known how to follow his quarry. So the three hours' friends were mercilessly torn apart and. the children of the chateau came home in the twi light stirred, excited, awed, with a story for the seigneur of a wandarlng ( prince and a crumbling wall; of a mid summer afternoon’s dream; of a fright ened tutor and a quick sharp parting; a story which the seigneur found It hard to believe. He made each one of them tell the tale. Francois finished the last. "And Louis would have come back with us to the chateau, for he wanted to see the general who had been one of his uncle’s family—he said that, Mon sieur the Seigneur. But Monsieur Lebas would not hear of it, and Louis must do as he said, he told us. But at the end Louis took each of our hands —and he kissed Alixe’s hand—and he said that he would never forget us or this afternoon in the old chateau of Vieques. And I believe it. my Seigneur, For there Is something about him which ’ makes one believe he will remember— that Louis.” "Louis, Louis!” the general growled In repetition, staring sternly at the ' slim figure which faced him. "You speak that name very glibly. Do you ; happen to remember, Francois, that the lad whom you call Louis so easily may . me day be emperor of France?" , i CHAPTER XIH. , _ 1 THE PROMISE. “Mon dieut” said the general. i It was six years later. At the new 1 ■hateau not a blade of grass seemed ; ■hanged. The general stood in the j nidst of closs-cropped millions of dades of grass as lie stopped short on , he sloping lawn which led down to ( he white stone steps which led to the , mriken garden. At each side of the , lighest step lifted a carved stone vase, dazing in the September afternoon vith scarlet geraniums, and garlanded v vlth vines. At the foot of the steps ( itood two more vases, and at each side j >f the graveled path, ribboned with a ong flower bed, at even intervals of 30 f eet, another stately pair of them—the - may stiff vases spilling intoxicating , irightness of red flowers. They led he eye down a line till, 100 yards away, , he line broke into a circle where a t lun-dlal set on a fantastic stone tigure >f a satyr marked the center of a ^ mass plot. Massive stone seats held ’ ip by carved crouching griffins faced j iach other across the sun-dial; on one , if these, in the sunny stillness of the j rarden, sat a girl and a young man. . Vlixe, in her riding habit, with a eather in her hat, and gauntleted ; doves on her hands, was so lovely “ is to be startling. She looked at the . mound, half shy, half laughing, and ' teat the grass with her riding whip, i'rancois was leaning toward her and . alklng, and the general, coming slowly lown the lawn, felt a flood of pride , ■ise in him as he looked at this suc essful picture of a boy which he had lone so much to fashion. The two lad been riding together, and Francois ippeared. as most men do, at bis best n his riding clothes. With that, as the jeneral marched slowly down the vel et slope, unseen by them, regarding hem—his girl and his hoy, this happy ' ister and brother—with that the j mother lifted the sister’s hand and, t lending over it, kissed it slowly. In a 0 nanner unmistakably unbrotherly. I y "Mon Dieu!” gasped the general, and ! o urned on his heel and marched back 0 his library. ; c All that afternoon he stayed shut up n the library. At dinner he was taei- p urn. v “Well then, father,” Alixe said at a ast, after the two had tried every sub- p ect in vain to make him talk. "It wiil , n le necessary now to buy all the berries \ a hat are grown for 10 miles around.” t "Berries?” growled the general, be- j n eildered. ' I “Surety.” li “Why berries?" ferociously. ! t Alixe looked up at him innocently, j t Isn’t it berries which big bears live i y ,n ? Or will you eat us. my father. | o Chen you have bitten our heads off and ! li orn us to pieces?” n And She general, when he had been \ a ictrayed into a laugh, sighed deeply | p nd got up from his chair, dinner not 1 j leing over, and stalked hack to his li- | s irary. Never had such a thing hap- I I lened. I a “What is it?" Alixe asked of Fran- p ois. “He is not ill—he told us that.. 0 lave you done something, you wicked j n lnful hoy. to trouble him?” | y Francois shook his head thoughtfully. 1 cannot think of anything,” he said, ind Ills eves met hers truthfully. "But re shall know soon. He Is as frank as child; he cannot keep a grievance rom the people he loves.” | Which was a true judgment, for the lext morning the general sent for * h-anrols to come to him in the library. 1 i _1, keen VvT’roicrVit oTlOrt tllTlf* cl icfore and was lying open on the table d ly his hand, . v "Francois" began the general in his t leep abrupt tones. "I am in trouble, ii Vill you help me?” . r "Yes. my Seigneur," said Francois [uiekly. c "If It means a sacrifice to yourself j, "Yes, my Seigneur,” Francois an- „ yvered. „ ■ )» ■ We shall see." The general s strong 3 ips were set and he said nothing more ,. or a moment, but gazed thoughtfully t t the letter which lay under his big k lUtspread fingers. At length. "You re- » nember Pietro's father, the Marquis Sappi?” he demanded. _ : t "Surely, my Seigneur." a "You remember the story I once told e ou, bow lie saved my life In Russia?" r “I have never forgotten it.” !’ "You realize that be was dearpr to J' lie than any man on earth?" „ "I have always believed It so,’ said v Francois. , „„ 8 "Good." growled the general. You , c vill bear that In mind. I wish to tell I ■ou now of an arrangement—a hope a vhich the Marquis Zappi and I had ormed together. It was to be the F •rown of our friendship and its per- f, letuation; it was to have been our a nippiness together—it would be—it will t >e. if all goes well, the happiest thing 8 vlilch could come to my life, now that h le is gone. Would you break that g Tope and take tliat happiness from no ?** Francois, startled, caught a Quick r ireath. "My Seigneur! You should lot ask. You know I would give my g iwn happiness for yours.” ! r The general glared at him. frowning. ■We shall see,” he said again, and then -suddenly as a shot from a cannon— ^ ■Does Alixe love you. Francois?" t There was no mistaking what he ( neant. and Francois did not evade It. j V flame of scarlet crept In a swift dj igonal across the warm brown of his joylsh cheeks, bu! his clear eyes met ; lie general’s searching look frankly, j ■ie hesitated a moment. I "I—I think not. my seigneur. he [ £ answered In a low voice. The general drew In an enormous sigh of relief. "Thank God," he said devoutly, and then put out his hand and laid hold of Francois’ strong lean fingers. "Mv Francois, you are dear as my own son; you know it. You are next to Alixe—before Pietro—ah, yes, much before Pietro. You will under stand it Is not from nay lack of af fection that I put him before you In this." Francois, high strung, deeply stirred, felt his hand throb suddenly in tbs general’s and the general felt It. too. "I am hurting you," the deep voice said—and only one or two people in the world had heard that voice so full of tenderness. "I am hurting you son. But listen, Francois. It was the dear est wish of Pietro’s father—It has been my dearest wish for years—that Alixe ind Pietro should one day be married. It Is that which would be the crown of a friendship forged in the fires of battle fields, tempered In the freezing, starving snow fields of Russia, finished —I hope never finished In all eternity." The general’s great frame was shaking; a slience cut across his speech. He went on. “Such a marriage would carry on ourselves, our friendship, and keep it i living thing on the earth long after ve had left. That thought la thrilling :o me; it is my greatest wish. Do you see now why I was troubled when msterday I saw you, in the garden, siss Alixe’s hand? I was afraid the •hiid had given her heart to you, and hat my dream, Alessandro’s and ml no" -he spoke this as If to himself—“might •ever be realized." Francois, his head bent, his eyes on he general's hand which held his, answered very quietly. ”1 see,” he said. “I forgot,” the general went on, al nest as if he were alone and were .asking aloud to himself. “I forgot hey were not real brother and sister, t was mad of me. Such a beauty as ny Alixe-—such a wonderful lad as my ■"rancols! Yet I did not dream of the change till yesterday. I have gone hrough much since then, but. thank Jod, thank the good God, It is not too ate. She does not love him. It has .ot gone further than what X saw. rlraneois?” He fired the words at the oung fellow in his natural manner •gain. "You have not put ideas into ter head more than what I saw?” "No, my seigneur.” The voice was rollout inflection; the look was still on he big hand which held his own fast. "You would not take her from Pietro, .ho, I am sure, loves her?" Francois looked up sharply, hut the eneral did not notice. He spoke slow y. “I promised Pietro’s father—*he oy seemed to be out of breath—"to be ’letro’s friend—always.” he said. T he general smiled then and let the tigers go, and turned to the letter on ho table before him. “CJood!” he said. You are always what X wish, Fran ois,” and it was quite evident that the md was off his mind. "I am contented hat no harm has been done to etiher f my children. As for you, however, ou are 20. You are full of amoltton ud soldier-craft and politics and flght ig—there is small place left for love i such a boiling kettle of fish as you. f my girl has touched your heart a it. as it looked yesterday,”—and the eneral chuckled gently—"well, you are G—the wound will heal.” He slapped he letter on the table. "I must now ave a long talk with ydu on an inter sting subject—yourself.” The general was by this in high good umor. A spasm caught the face of he boy and left it pale, but the general, usy at putting on his spectacles, did ot see. When he turned to look at im, FYancols was as usual. CHAPTER NIV. WITXI ALL, MY SOUL* The genera] swung around to the lad. Francois, this letter is about you.” Ho ipped the rustling paper. "It is an pening, I believe, into the sort of life ou have desired, a life of action and f danger,” "It is what I wish,” broke in Fran ois, eagerly. "I know it.” the general spoke ap rovingly. ’’But before we discuss it I ant to tell you, my Francois, that I m not only glad for your sake, but roud for my own sake, to send you. ly adopted son, where you will have n opening for distinction. You know :iat I am satisfied with you—you do ot know how deeply. Ten years ago. rancois, I found you a little peasant id in the village; it did not take long 5 see that you had a character out of te common. If I had left you where ou belonged you would still have been nt of the common; you would1 still have fted yourself. But circumstances would ot have allowed you very full play, nd it seemed to me you deserved full lay. I loved you the more for refus ig to come to me; that showed the tuff in you—loyalty—self-sacrifice. ;ut I have managed to outwit you bout that fairly well, eh, mon pefft? have given you your chance in spite f yourself. And you have taken it— ion Dieu! You have made the most of our chance! (Continued next week.) The Vocational School. Prom the Baltimore American. A startling charge and one which lould attract attention of every educa on board in the United States was made t a convention in Philadelphia the other xy where were gathered advocates of :>c»tionaI schools and of the more el usive introduction of vocational teach ig In the public schools. The charge iferred to, briefly stated, Is that “in the ty of Philadelphia there are 15,00® hildren who left school before they An died the sixth grade and who are un ited for any trade; that there are 1,000 such children In New York and 000,000 such In the United States, ' Yhat to say. there are 3,000,000 children in le United States with some slight nowledge of the three r’s, but without ny training whatever in any useful art ■ handicraft. If this statement is accepted as being ■ue. it is not necessary to argue further 3 to the missing link in our popular iuoational system. The. teaching of lading, writing and arithmetic cannot e dispensed with, but an ability to !n ■rpret printed language or the know 13 how to figure the cost of seven winds of sugar at EH cents per pound ill not greatly aid the one possessing ich knowledge in being of useful ac >unt In a strenuously practical world rimary. secondary and even the higher jademlc education of the colleges is but basis. Upon the basts there must be con ducted the sort of education that fits ir practical service, and no education lould be regarded as finished that turns le child or young man out without soma nowledge of an act, profession, trade - business by which to earn a llveli ood. That is the theory of the vocation hool propagandists. In 1631 Boston had Its first Are, which aused the loss of two houses. As the hlmneys in those days were made of ticks plastered over with clay, and the oofs were made of rushes and reeds, aey were fine fuel for the flame, Hap tly this mode of construction was for Idden after this disaster. In 1630 a uildlng which had required two year* 3 construct was consumed in one-half our. This latter fire occurred at what as then the village of New York. There ts a telephone for every 15.1 ersons In Canada, according to official gurea.