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.”
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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.
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The Way of It
"Are Bell and Barbara blood rela
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"Oh, no. It is purely platonic grouch
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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
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j Itton.Soiir Stomach.Diarrhoea,
1j?5 Worms? Feverishness and
i{Q§ lossqF Sweep*
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K<D 1yeCtKTAoac<)Mf*Asvp,
!_* l Nlfew VbRKi,
PS rr 1
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Exact Copy of Wrapper
1.■Ml——
^fCanadianWheat^^^
■g/^to Feed ibe World* rfftEffagul
The war’s fearful devastation of European UV|]ykVRL J
crops has cansed an unusual demand for grain *3 llfTlDV la 8
Hr from the American Continent. The people of the j r
^ world must be fed and there is an nnnsnal demand \ HL HrJkKm
m for Canadian wheat. Canada’s invitation to every 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.
I You can get a Homestead of 160 acres FREE and I
I other lands can be bought at remarkably low prices. Think of the money you |
■ can make with wheat at its present high prices, where for ooue time it is lia- i
■ ble to continne. Daring many years Canadian wheat fields have averaged 20 I
■ bushels to the acre—many yields as high as 45 bushels to the acre. Wonderful 1
I crops also of Oats, Barley and Flax.
I Mixed farming is fully as profitable an industry as ^rain raising. The excel- I
| lent grasses, full of nutrition, are the only food required either for beef or dairy I
purposes. Good schools, markets convenient, climate excellent. M
Military aervice is not compolsory in Canada. There is no conscrip- M
tion and no war true on lands.
_ Write for literature and particulars as to reduced railway rates to
Superintendent Immigration, Ottawa, Canada, or
J. M. MacLachlaa, Drawer 197.Watcr
I
ChildrenCry For
. • * ::
What is CASTORIA
Castoria Is a harmless substitute for Castor Oil, Pare
goric, Drops and Soothing Syrups. It is pleasant. It
contains neither Opium, Morphine nor other Narcoth)
substance. Its age is its guarantee. It destroys Worms
and allays Feverishness. For more than thirty years It
has been In constant use for the relief of Constipation,
Flatulency, Wind Colic, all Teething Troubles and
Diarrhoea. It regulates the Stomach and Bowels,
assimilates the Food, giving healthy and natural sleep.
The Children’s Panacea—The Mother’s Friend.
GENUINE CASTORIA ALWAYS
In Use For Over 30 Years
The Kind You Have Always Bought
THE CKNTAUN COMPANY, NEW YORK CITY*
Of Far More Importance.
Pat and a friend were reading an
account of a shipwreck, in which they
were greatly interested.
“Pat,” said his friend, "in case of a
shipwreck, presence of mind is worth
everything else.”
“Prisince of moind,” ye say,” replied
Pat earnestly. “Faith, and I don’t
agree wid ye. In tolme of shipwreck,
abslnce of body is of far more impor
tance than prisince of moind.”—Na
tional Monthly.
YOUR OWN DRUGGIST WIIX TKl.I. YOU
Try Murine Bye Remedy for Red, Weak, Watery
Byes and Granulated Hyelldn; No Smarting—
inst Bye comfort. Write for Book of the Bye
>y mail Free. Murine Bye Remedy Co., Chicago
Talented.
"Wasn’t your wife something of an
elocutionist before she married you?”
asked the man who had just returned
from an extended stay abroad.
“She is yet,” answered the other,
sadly, thinking of her oratorical efforts
on the occasions when he had come
home late from the club.
Vocal Carpenters.
Hazel—What is that scraping noise
out front?
Dawn—Must be the chorus girls fil
ing off the stage.
Many a man has sense enough to
get a good wife, but hasn’t sense
enough to know it.
Time’s Changes.
“You know when 1 was living her*
some years ago," remarked the mu
who had just dropped In. “you had •
little boy about six years old whom
you thought the brightest boy In the
world.”
“Yes, I remember,” was the reply;
“but he’s been through college since
then.”
Development in Morocco has been
generally stopped because of the war
in Europe.
The Army of
Constipation
Is Growing Smaller Every
CARTER’S LITTLE
LIVER PILLS are
responsible — they
not only give relief
— they perma
nently cure Co*
itipatioa.
lions use
them for
Bilionsneta,
Indijeition, Sick Headache, Sallow Side.
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICE
Genuine must bear Signature
A Soluble Antiseptic Powder to
be dissolved in water as needed
For Douches
In the local treatment of woman’s ill*
such as lencorrlioca and inflammation, hot
douches of Faztine are very efficacious.
No woman who has ever used medicated
douches will fail to appreciate the clean and
healthy condition Faztine produces and the
prompt relief from soreness and discomfort
which follows its use.This is because Paxtino
possesses superior cleansing, disinfect*
ing and healing properties.
For ten years the Lydia E.
Pinkham Medicine Co. has rec
ommended Paztine in their
private correspondence with wo
men, which proves its superi
ority." Women who have been
relieved say it is “ worth its
weight in gold.” At druggists.
BOc. large box or by mail. Sample free.
The Paxton Toilet Co., Boston, Mass.
Hog Cholera M
Produced by the old reliable company. The Unto*
Serum Co., Hloox City, low*. U. 8. Veterinary
License No. fcL Write cwualt jiur Ueal Teteriaarlaa,
SIOUX CITY PTG. CO., NO. 28-1915.
