mi mi im ► ( MARY MJDTHORNE BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEC N. Author of “Graustark," “Truxton Klnfr,” eta _Copyright. 1911. By nodi'. Mead & Co. III! 1111 Ull “ to lay It tenderly aga'nst his cheek. ] "You ought to hate me, Joan. I’ve been j a beast to treat you as I have. But I i couldn’t do otherwise. I had to do It I can’t let you go on loving me.” She drew away from him, as if he had struck her in the face. Her eyes grew wide with pain and wonder. “You—you mean, Eric, you don’t want me for your sweetheart any long er?” she said, scarcely above a whis per. That piteous look was more than he could bear. “I love you—Oh. how I love you,” he cried. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. I—I don't know what I am say ing. I do want you. I shall always want you. I shall always want you. Don’t cry, Joan—please don’t! I’ll—I'll get down on my knees and beg you to forgive—” She came up to him swiftly, her eyes gleaming through the tears of van quished shame, her lips tremulous with a smile of perplexity. Her lianas, both of them, were pressed to his lips, cutting short the sentence. “I don't understand you, Eric. How queer you are. Don't you know—don’t you know that I want you to be—to be what what you said you'd be. My sweetheart. Oh, Eric, I’ve been so miserable. Something has happened. You must tell me.” He kissed her fingers hungrily. Then he clasped her slim, yielding body in his strong arms and kissed her lips again and again. Her arm went up about his neck and everything was forgotten. Slowly he came to his senses. He held her away from him, still panting from the fervour of his wild, uncon trolled passion. “Listen, Joan,” he began dully, at a loss for words. “I—I ought not tq hold you to your promise. You don’t know She gave him a ravishing smile. Surely, in all the world, there was no one so lovely as Joan Bright in that wonderful moment. “I don’t see how you can help your self,” she cried. “I shall hold you to yours. How can you say such a thing to me after—after this?” Suddenly her eyes grew dark with doubt and misgiving. Something in his white, drawn face smote out the light in her eves. I A Saving. "I see you’re laying out a tennis i court in your yard. I didn’t know you played the game.” "I don’t, but you see I won’t have to mow that part of the lawn after I take the turf off.” CARE FOR YOUR HAIR By Frequent Shampoos With Cuticura Will Help You. Trial Free. Precede shnmpoos by touches of Cuticura Ointment if needed to spots of dandruff, itching and irritation of the scalp. Nothing better for the com plexion, hair, hands or skin than these fragrant supercreamy emollients. Also as preparations for the toilet. Sample each free by mail with Book. Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept. XY, Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv. Interested. “Your name, please, miss.” “Iona Carr.” ‘‘Oh, you do? What make?” As the sun is to the moon so is the natural blonde to the peroxide. Aberdeen's linen mills are kept busy by war orders. Drink Denison’s Coffee. Always pure and delicious. Russia wants automobiles, motoi trucks and motorcycles. Some Plans. “Made any plans for the summer?” “Yes; I’m going some where with the wife.” No Change. “Was she self-possessed when you proposed?” “Yes; and—er—she still is!”—An swers. MANY AVAR ZONK HOSPITALS Have ordered Allen's Foot-Ease, the antiseptic powder, for use among the convalescent trecp*. Shaken Into the shoes or dissolved in the foot bath, Allen’s Foot-Ease gives refreshing rest and comfort and prevents the feet getting tired or foot-sore. Try it TODAY. Don’t accept any sub stitute. Sold Everywhere, 25c For FREE sam ple. address. Allen S. Olmsted. LeRoy. N. Y.—Adv. The Way of It "Are Bell and Barbara blood rela tions?" "Oh, no. It is purely platonic grouch they have for each other!"—Puck. S MakesHard Work Harder A bad back makes a day’s work twice as hard. Backache usually comes from weak kidneys, and If headaches, dizziness or urinary dis orders are added, don’t wait—get help before the kidney disease takes a grip—before dropsy, gravel or Bright’s disease sets in. Doan’s Kidney Pills have brought new life and new strength to thousands of working men and women. Used and recommended the world over. An Iowa Case J. W. Shively, First Si., Tama, Iowa, Bays: “I was iaid up for days with kidney trou ble and unable to do my work. The pain in my back was awful and mornings I was all worn out. After other medicines failed, Doan’s Kid ney Pills restored me to good health. X haven’t suf fered to any extent slnee.” Get Doan’s at Any Store, SOc a Bex DOAN’S VXiV FOSTER-M1LBURN CO.. BUFFAXjO. N. Y. f CHAPTER XII—(Continued). "Not at all. I think they have weath Iered all that very nicely.” "I am amazed. For years you have—” "It is my opinion, Presbrey, that if they are going to be saved they will i have to do the greater part of the work themselves.” "But surely, with God’s help at their—” "Adam Carr said something to mo once that made a lasting impression. I believe he is right. He said: 'God knows a bad boy as well as anyone else. You don’t have to tell Hint about it morning, noon and night. It isn't gos pel—it’s gossip. It ain't proper to gos sip with the Almighty.' ” “My dear sir, I don't see the relev ancy. Carr Is a scoffer. Surely you are not coming to his way of thinking. It—it is unbelievable.” "Nevertheless, my dear friend, it has occurred to me that if God knows the bad boy, He's equally discerning with respect to the good boy.” “I am quite confident, and always have been, that Eric is a good boy, Mr. Blagden,” said Mr. Presbrey stiffly. Mr. Blagden felt the sting in this sub tle, far off criticism. "Understand me. please, I do not re gret the methods we have pursued in showing him the right path. We’ve done all we could, Presbrey. He will keep to that path if he so desires. If he con cludes to wander away from it, I don’t believe God or man is going to stop him. It’s the thing in here that will keep him straight. God made the strong and he made the weak. They go the way which is easiest. The strong go up, the weak go down. We can't guide them beyond a certain point. They cast us off. The strong don’t need us and the weak despise us.” Mr. Presbrey left In a state of great depression. He had suffered what he was tempted to consider a personal loss. A pillar in his temple was wobbling. It was the most impeccable pillar, at that, if the metaphor may be allowed. If Horace Blagden bent ever so slightly, it was extremely doubtful if he, as God’s artisan, could hope to restore that portion 6f the temple to its for f mer strength and usefulness. If Horace saw fit to bend, the whole of the per fect edifice must needs sag with him. Small pillars always are forced to lean in the direction in which they are pushed by the larger ones, and some times they tumble and disintegrate. That was the trouble with the church, the world over, said Mr. Presbrey. Too many monoliths. 20 have to cram You're Just plain dis agreeable, the t’s all. She has been so nice to me about Miss Sinnox’s—and about everyth lng else. too. Why are you so mean to her?" "I must go up to say goodbye to her," he said, shifting his gaze sud denly. "And what s worse, I don't under stand you. V’e used to go out on Stone Wall every day or two. They were jolly times for me. But now—why, now you won't g> near the dear old place with me. You never get any farther than Uncle Jabe's, and I’m tired of feeding the squirrels, if you must know it. We must get over being children some time, Eric. We can’t always feed squirrels and listen to ghost stories. Now, you’re going away next week, and I shan’t see you till Christmas time. Won’t you Just try to be nice and agreeable for awhile? Be nice to Joan, for my sake.” To her astonishment, he turned abruptly and almost ran away from her. She heard the sob that broke through hlo drawn lips after his back was turned, and she saw the convul sive movement of his shoulders. Then she cried out in wonder and dismay, her dear little heart Instantly filled with love and pity, but he did not turn back. Her warm, adorable face went very pale and the tears sprang to the lovely eyes. The long expected letter from Adam Carr came that same afternoon. Great ly agitated, Eric refrained from open ing it at the house, or in the presence of others, but hurried off to the seclu sion of the woods above the town. Here he had spent many hours during the past few weeks, alone with his med itations. The broad green meadows stretched out below the borders of the forest, sinking gently toward the rock girt coast to the north of Todville on the Point. Here at the edge of the woodland the shade was most inviting on the hot summer days, cooled by the breezes from the sea, and moist with the breath of ferns and the mosses. The blazing sun of midday never pen etrated this sheltered area, nor were its rays intense enough to shrivel the bright green grass that carpeted the sunken meadows. -iviiu, i mil suny lu say, mi. ricn brey felt that he himself had been very much put upon by Mr. Blagden In the matter of the little Midthornes. Some how, he always has suspected himself Df being a sort of catspaw. Now he was quite sure of it. Remorse for their treatment of the children seemed to have seized upon the Blagdens. Unless I he was mistaken in Mr. Blagden, that gentleman, in chastising himself, was now cooly shifting a rather trouble some burden so that it might appear to rest on other shoulders. In so many words, so to speak, Horace had given him to understand that his prayers would be wasted, that they might just as well be dispensed with. It was rath er hard to hear one’s earnest prayers cataloged as gossip. Mr. Presbrey’s heart was sore as he strode up the garden path leading to his own doorway. His wife noted the faint flush In his cheeks as he entered the sitting room. "Have they had any news of Chet wynd?” she asked. “My dear,” said her husbaud, sitting down rather heavily, and quite ignor ing her question, "I have come to the sorrowful conclusion that it is retri oution after all. God can and will pun ish those who make use of His offices to further their own ends." She was startled. "Ratributlon? Ends?" “Mr. Blagden is paying. I firmly be lieve, for his un-Christian like treat ment of his sister’s children. Yes, it is retribution,” said he, staring at the floor. “I’ve always said the time would come,” said she, her lips tightening. Her husband had not said it in so many words, but she was shrewd enough to see that his visit had not been a pleasant one. “They are such dear children. And look at Chetwynd! Goodness me!” That was; as near to blasphemy as she ever ventured. Her husband’s face brightened. "If If we had worked as hard over Chet wynd as we did over Eric and Mary, we—well, who knows?” "We couldn’t have saved that boy with all the prayers in Christendom," she announced flatly. “Oh, my dear! You forget what—” ”1 don’t forget anything. God Him self couldn’t save a Blagden if he didn’t want to be saved.” ri—no, it is worse than sacrilegious. It is profane. I am sorry to hear—” "Do you know what I'd do, Arthur, if I were in your place?” she Interrupt ed ruthlessly. "I'd have a sermon on this very thing. There Ss a moral to be taught, an example to be set. I wouldn't be afraid of Horace Blagden.” “I am not afraid of Mr. Blagden." said her husband testily, “I shall not take unfair advantage of.' him, however. He is in trouble. He neods.my private ministrations, not public contumely. No, my dear, I shall go to him tomor row and tlie day after. Even such as Horace Blagden can 1/8 of contrite heart.” “You might include ftena Blagden," said Mrs. Presbrey. ”Bv the way, what did Horace say to you?” “Sh!” said Mr. Presbiey, with a quick glance in the direction of the dining room. "Don’t speak so loudly. Maggie Is setting the table." “Sho never repeat* anything she hears here, Arthur. Besides, why should we care so long as the Is truthful? I have the utmost confidence In Mag gie Green. I don't behave that woman ever uttered a falsehood In her life. Oh, that reminds me. She saw Chet wynd on the way to the station that very evening, and spoke to him." “Eric,” said Mary, i. few days before he went up to Cambridge, "why are you so hateful to Jo'.n? You tiaven’t been near her in weeks, and you seem to avoid her everywhere we go.” “Has she said anything to you about It?” he asked, uncomfortably. He was very unhappy over J'Xin. The pain that his resolve had brou3iit upon him was almost more than ho could bear. His heart ached for her. The hour of bliss had been so short. :jjd she would not understand why it had ended. There were moments wher he called himself a brute instead of i. martyr. "She is hurt, Eric, terribly hurt. Hon estly, she doesn’t sjem like the same girl of late. Have i‘t you noticed that she doesn't conic i,ere any more?” ”i am so busy csimmlng for my ex ami—" he began laueJy. sick at heart. ’Rubbish!” blazet' Mary. "You dun’t i^-ageriy ne devoured tne news irom his strange adviser and accomplice. Adam wrote from New Orleans, where he had gone, he said, in connection with a matter quite foreign to the Blag den affair. He was writing, however, to the president of the bank to inform him that the defaulter had sailed for a port at present unknown to him, but that "time would tell.” There was a grim, relentless humor In his reference to Chetwynd’s whereabouts. Of course (he went on), Eric had kept himself informed as to the earlier features of the Investigation and the chase. He must have seen in the newspapers that Bunnle De Virine quite readily satis fied the authorities, as well as himself, that she knew absolutely nothing of young Blagden. She was particularly eager to have it known that she had not been “keen about him” at any time. Indeed, she averred, in a lan guage of her own, Chetwynd made her tired and she had chucked him weeks before the smashup. She admitted that he had spent a neat bit of money on her, but that it wasn’t a. marker to what other girls were getting. In fact, it really wasn’t much more than pin money, as the wind was blowing in oth er quarters. Miss He Vlnne, with an asperity that did not go very well with her scornful attitude, gave it as her belief that Chetwynd had taken up with a girl named Blanche Something or other, she couldn’t recall her last name which wasn’t her own, anyway. Adam went on to say that he had made it a point to ferret out Miss Blanche Something or Other. He found her on the road with a big burlesque show, making Philadelphia and Boston as side steps from Broadway. Her con tract, it seems, stipulated that she was to go no farther away from New York than these two cities, and she was to play in no one-night stands. She had a very small salary, but diamond pin money. It was not difficult for her to prove that she knew nothing of young Blagden’s whereabouts. He cer tanly was not "trailing her.” In the concluding paragraph of this unsatisfying letter, Adam very briefly expressed the hope that Eric’s first year in Harvard would be a splendid one. Rather grimly he suggested that the "first year is always the hardest to get through, no matter what you’re undertaking. After that, it’s easy.” Proceeding, he urged him to allow no outside influences to worry him, but to devote all his time and energies to the work ahead. Then he signed himself, “Your staunch friend until death, Ad am Carr,” underlining the words "un til death.” It was Adam s way or convincing his friend that his secret was safe. Eric reread the letter several times, conscious of a primal disappointment that gradually gave way before a sense of security in view of the really subtle wording of the epistle. Adam told him everything, and yet to the casual ob server there was nothing to be seen between the lines. Of one thing Eric could be sure—the man meant to keep up the travesty of hounding Horace Blagden’s son until he tired of the sport, after which it would be a simple matter to end it all by producing evi dence of his quarry's death in some ob scure corner of the world. The young man folded the sheets and was restoring them to the envelope when his attention was attracted by a sound near at hand—a sound of some one stealthily moving in the fern banks beyond the tree against which he leaned his back. He whirled and partially rose to his feet, a vast sense of alarm as sailing him. Not 20 feet away stood Joan Bright, her gaze full upon him. Something in her eyes told him that she had been standing there for some time, shy and uncertain as to whether she should ac cost him or flee the place in confusion. He came to his feet in an Instant, pal ing and flushing by turns. Her serious dark eyes wavered and the lids were lowered for a second; then she met his gaze resolutely. "I saw you from the road, Eric,” she said simply. He was struck by the hurt, appealing look In her eyes. It shamed him. "What have I done, Eric? What has happened to—to—” She flushed piteously and could not go on. He sprang forward, clasping the hands that were raised as if to ward him off. "Oh. Joan," he cried, casting his re solve to the winds, "I haven’t changed, I swear I haven't. I love you 1,000 times more than I ever did. I—I would die for you. It breaks my heart to have you feel as you do—’’ She broke in plaintively: “What hqve I done, Eric?” “You? What have you done?” The tears were swimming in his eyes. She withdrew one of her hands, hut only vvucki. jo 11, xui tv* • xcu me, eii<9 said. He shook his head, dumb with des pair. “Sit down here with me. dear,” she went on. “I don’t care what it is. it can’t change my feeling toward you. Nothing can do that.” They sank to the soft, green turf, his arm about her shoulders, his back against the tree. She waited a long time for him to speak. It seemed to him that she was holding her breath. “You—you said we were sweethearts, Eric," she breathed. “I believed you. Didn’t you mean it?” Unconsciously be gripped her hand so tightly that it must have hurt her, yet she did not appear to feel the pain. He tvas at the point of blurting out the whole devastating truth. His honest soul saw no other way out of it. It was right and just that she should know, that she should understand why ho had behaved so strangely toward her. Then he remembered his compact with Adam Carr. He recalled his friend’s cold, almost soulless admoni tion: “Don’t let this little accident of yours alter a single purpose or hope you may now cherish. ' Go on. just as if it hadn’t happened. It wasn’t the strength of your arm that did it. but the weak ness of that blamed railing.” He was never to forget that speech. Part of it was like Adam Carr, part of it re minded him not a little of Mr. Presbrey incongruous as it may appear. “Of course. I meant it.’ ’he cried, his handsome young face aglow with tho rebound of blood. “I’m never going to give you up. Joan. I'm not afraid any longer. Something happened not long ago—I can’t tell you what it was —that made it look as though I couldn’t go on being the same. It almost killed me. Something that made it appear wrong for me to—to go on, that’s all. But what’s the use going on with any thing, if I can't have you to think of. to look up to. to wait for and to work for? You’re everything, Joan, every thing. and always will be.” She was smoothing his hair with a timid, loving hand. Somehow, the gentle caress was rubbing away the troubles that clogged his brain. Tho world W'as growing brighter. "Was—was it what happened to Chet wynd?” she asked softly. He started guiltily. The look In his eyes passed in a second, however. “It had something to do with it,” he said, with an involuntarily glance toward tho sea. “Why should It make any difference to us?” she asked quickly. "You are not to blame for the awful things he did.” “I know,” he admitted uncomfort ably. “Was it because you thought I—or father, for that matter—would let that alter our opinion of you?” He smiled wearily, stroking her hand. She went on eagerly: “It couldn’t be so, Eric. Father thinks you are tho finest boy he knows. He never ap proved of Chetwynd. You couldn't pos sibly be the—the same as he.” (Continued next week.) Mexicans Call Us Meddlers. Caspar Whitney, In the Outlook. The better class Mexican looks upon us as blundering meddlers who, through In excusable ignorance or his people, have helped ipess his country by dangling the I fetish of self-government before the eyes of the Illiterate, and, by our weakened front before the assaults upon our own nationals have armed and encouraged the lawless among them to sweep over the country drunk with newfound power and the lust for destruction. This man says we ought to take a hand in restoring order to Ins country; so do the native traders, the real workers, and almost every man, indeed, outside the armies and without a chance at looting; but none carries us in his heart. There is not real friendliness for us in any class, despite the smooth Mexican orators who go to Washington, virtuous and ag grieved, to pour their fervid tales of patriotism and constitutionalism into the open ears of state. It is merely fine phrasing; they set the constitution aside in Mexico whenever it is found expedient for personal ends to do so. Little more patriotism exists than affection for or truth about Americans. Mexico has developed patriots—great ones: Hidalgo, Morelos, Guerrero, Juarez, Por firio Diaz; but the breed seems to have dwindled sadly, leaving an orator rem nant that declaims and agitaies and pil fers. There are. of course, still patriots, a number ot them, who fight with Ideals cf the highest ever before them; but they are lost among the great number that see in the present disturbance only personal opportunity for advancement or loot, or revenge. Harvard and Yale. From Everybody’s Magazine. Speaking of Harvard aristocracy and Yale democracy: I come from good old Boston, The home of the bean and the cod. Where the Cabots speak only to Lowells And the Lowells speak only to God— wrote the Rev. Mr. Samuel C. Bushnell, of Boston, and sent the lines on to his friend, can Jones of the academic department of Yale, who replied: Here’s to the town of New Haven, The home of the Truth and the Light, Where God talks to Jones In the very same tones That he uses with Hadley and Dwight. Australia’s population is now esti mated at 5,000,000. Unexpected Chicken. A stranger, arriving in a small town, hailed a passing resident and in quired: “Can you direct me to a place where thew take boarders?” “Hemmandhaws keeps ’em," the man replied. “Is that a pretty good place?” “Fair to middlin’.” “Have chicken very often for din ner?” "Reg’lar and unexpected.” “What do you mean by regular and unexpected?" “They have chicken reg’lar every Sunday—” “I aee—” “And they also have it when an au tomobile unexpectedly kills one in the road.”—Judge. Grand Prize at Panama-Pacific Expo sition Awarded to Walter Baker & Co. Ltd. The Grand Prize for superiority of Co coa and Chocolate preparations has been awarded to Walter Baker & Co. Ltd., Dor chester, Mass. This famous old house has received E5 Highest Awards at the leading expositions in Europe and America. Adv. No, Cordelia, the knife one girl gives another will not cut friendship —and the odds are it won’t even cut melted butter. A really busy man never knows how much he weighs. ftata IS Flnfd Drachma ..... fchmuamnl »s ' ~~ mi* & s|| )P» rl__, b®2^ __^r_ntJ $3 rhgwtes Digestioni.Ctieerfqfp !t« ffcssVihd Re'stCmrfains nitithfr ki MIT 1$ Pfrarut '•3$ y § i*A >•»« t«« '<£{; ApertriEemedyTo rTim»1ijMF< j Itton.Soiir Stomach.Diarrhoea, 1j?5 Worms? Feverishness and i{Q§ lossqF Sweep* I K gvg ggH n industrious American is therefore especially attrac- ‘f, ■ live. She wants fanners to make moneyand happy, * r KM• j j| jgg. I prosperous homes for themselves while helping her e1 "il **1 I to raise immense wheat crops. 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