■>» asr* ■ 1 ... .... ... pi was noi crying now; but Was sitting there in a forlorn little heap, her hands, grasping her handkerchief, clasped round bet knees and her tearstained face turned away from him to ward the sunset. And, against his will, Michael Rolf felt a pang of remorse at his heart, and remembered that tahe was very yovpg an<] ^hat the ajneer eircufft,stances of her up ibringing were all against her. £ .Wpuld &0 have been any bet ter, in the same circumstances? lie doubted it, and there was a fentle note in his voice as he vent forward and spoke her tame. Patricia turned with a start jnd sprang to her feet. ' The weary misery of her face changed to a quick flush of anger. , “Who told you I was here? What do you want? How dare yon follow me and spy on me like this?” “I went to the house and one •f the maids told me you were •nt in the grounds, so I came to look for you.” He moved a step nearer. “What is the matter?” he asked. “Nothing,” said Patricia aharply. She stooped and pick ed lip tho letter which had fallen to the grass at her feet. “No thing is tho matter,” she said again defiantly. “I should not havo imagined you were the sort of girl who Would cry for nothing, Michael •aid with a faint smile. She did not answer, and he Went on impulsively. “If it makes you unhappy to leave Clayton Wold, Patricia, why can’t you be honest and tell me so? I hate to feel that you are not happy. Why can’t you be frank with met” Her eyes flashed sombrely. “I’m not crying because I’ve got t® leave here, so you need wot imagine anything so roman tic,” she said hardily. “I don’t eare if I never come back again. I haven’t had much happiness bere, goodness knows I But her voice quivered as she spoke. Dear Clayton Wold! where she bad dreamed so many dreams of m wonderful future. Michael’s face hardened. “In that ease, I am wasting «ny sympathies,” he said laconi cally. There was a little pause. “Has Philips been here?” he asked. “Yes—and I told him just the same as I told you—he was very angry, or, at least, he tried to be. He said—as you did—that be would like to shaku me, only be said it in a nice way, which you didn’t, and he called mo *my dear.’ ” A faint smile flashed through Michael's grey eyes. “I could have called you ‘my dear’ as well if I had known that you liked it,” he said. Patricia bit her lip. “I am going indoors; I have a great deal to do.” She paused, with a fresh sense of humilia tion. A great deal to do, when, after all, she was not going to the Shackles. She thought of ber packed boxes. Was there ktobody in all the world who Wanted her. “I saw your luggage in the ball as -I came through the house,” Michael Rolf said. “Where are you going?” " Patricia laughed mirthlessly. Bbe wondered what ke would aay if she answered him with the ■truth and said?— The swift colour rushed to I Patricia’s face at the mention of that name. She supposed he had spoken it deliberately to wound her. , “So this will be good-bye,” she said. She stopped and, turn ing, looked back for a moment at the wide, sloping garden, with its high trees and velvety lawns, and with sudden impulse she said:■— Did it look just like this— years ago—when you went away?” Michael was faintly surprised at the question. Somehow he had believed her when she said that $he did not mind leaving the old place. “Yes—very much the same, I think,” he answered. Patricia nodded. “It wou]d be nice to think that it will always be the same,” she said, with a note of wistful ness in her voice; “but of course it will not. Some day you will let it or sell it to horrid rich peo ple whagwill cu1 those trees do*T3 and selrthem for timber and cut down that yew hedge and make a pergola.” She laughed to hide the unwonted emotion in her voice. “It’s queer,” she said, “what vandal? some people are.” “I could not sell the place if I wished,” Michael said resent fully. “It’s all entailed, and I am not at all likely to let it either.” “You mean that you will.live here?” she asked, disbelievingly. “Yes—for the present.” She turned away. “I should have thought it would have been too dull alone,” she said. “Oh, but I’m not always go ing to be alone,” Michael ans wered deliberately. “I hope to marry.” His eyes met hers, and Patricia flushed crimson at the memory of her own foolish words to him that day after Peter Rolf’s death. , She went on into the house and Michael followed. “If you can wait,” she said presently, “I will tell the maids to bring coffee and liqueurs.” She paused. “I have had din ner,” she added, “but I dare say there is plenty if you are hun gry-’' “Thank you, but I dined be fore I came—and, anyway, I must be getting back. I came in the car, as usual.” He took up a big coat lyjng on a hall chair and climbed into it. “What time do you go to morrow?” he asked. Patricia winced. “Iam not sure—I have not de cided.” _ “If you would care for me to drive you over to the Shackles —wherever they live!—I shall be delighted.” Patricia refused hastily. “Oh no, thank’ you, and be- j sides . . . they will probably ' send over for me.” Her lips twisted into a wry smile; truly her world was upside down, and she wondered drearily if it would ever again right itself. She shook hands with Michael and went with him to the door. “I shall see you again soon,” he said. “And you say that Mr. Philips knows your address—” “Yes—he knows the Shackles’ address. * ’ “Then its good-bye for the present. I hope you will have a pleasant visit.” “Thank you—” The low, grey-bodied car slipped away in to the dusk. Michael Rolf turn ed in his seat as he reached the bend in the winding drive, and saw Patricia still standing in the doorway where he had left her a solitary, black robed figure. “Poor girl,” he said aloud, and then laughed at himself; she did not need pitying. She was quite able to take care of herself. He turned the car out into the silent road and raced onwards towards Londow. The country all around was very still and deserted, as if it had fallen asleep, and as he had traversed some ten miles and hardly met a soul, it was all the more of a surprise to Michael when, as he swung around a cor ner, someone ran across the road to him, calling to him to stop. He drove the brakes home and brought the car to a standstill. It was beginning to get dark now; the last sunset tints linger ed in the sky palely, and big clouds were sweeping up from the east. ,r Michael turned in his sea4 and looked back at the figure that had called to him—a girl wear ing a long loose coat and a col oured motor veil tied over her hat. Sh$ came running up to him breathless and laughing. "Oh, I was so afraid you wouldn’t stop—and I’ve been here for hours, and not a soul has passed! I aflr so sorry to trouble you.” She spoke in rather a gushing voice. "But my car won’t go! It simply refuses to budge an inch; do you think you could find out what is the mat ter with it? I live miles and miles away, and I simply must get home soon, or they’ll be in a dreadful way about me—” Michael drew in closer to the side of the road, opened the door of his car and got out. The girl was looking at him with interested eyes. "I’m afraid you must be thinl> ing me a perfect pest,” she said with a sigh. "I do hope you are not in a hurry.” ".Not in the least. I shall be delighted to help you if it’s pos sible.” He walked back down the road with her till they reached a small derelict car, enamelled in a deli cate shade of mauve, and Mic hael bent down in a business like way to examine it. The girl stood by, her eyes on his face. She was thinking how good-looking he was, and hoping that he would not too quickly be abl§ to speed her on her way again. Is it anything very bad?” she asked anxiously, after a moment. , Michael looked up and laugh ed. “It’s something which unfor tunately I can’t put right,” lie said. You’ve no petrol, and neith er have I—except what’s in the tank, and that's very little. I meant to have a tin before I started for home, but forgot.” “No petrol! She gave a little scream. “Then what on earth am I to do? There’s no place here we can get any, and I simply must get home—” Michael looked up and down the road for inspiration. “I can run your car into that gate,” he said at last. “It will be safe there till the morning. We’ll ask the people at the cot tage to look after it—” ‘But what about me?” she aaked in dismay. “I can’t stay here all night.” “I was not suggesting that you should,” Michael said with a touch of impatience. “Thert is my ear~l shall be pleased to drive you home.” She looked the delight she felt. “Oh, that is good of you! Whatever should I have done if you had not come along?” “I dare say somebody else would have come, sooner or later,” Michael said laconically. “I don’t know the roads round here very well—you’ll have to direct me.” “I know every inch of them,” she said eagerly. “I’ve lived here all my life, you see—” She paused, looking at him hesita tingly. “We are very well known in the county,” she added, xdth overdone carelessness. “My father owns a great deal of prop erty.” She paused again, but Michael did not seem impressed, and she added with a touch of exasperation, “I am Miss Shac kle.” “Indeed,” said Michael Rolf politely. He was not impressed, but he looked at her with a new in terest. So this girl was Patricia’s friend! He was frankly sur prised ; he should never have im agined her to be the type for whom Patricia would care in the very least. He followed her into the car and drove away. “You don’t live at Clayton, of course,” Miss Shackle said pre sently. She looked up at him with open interest in her eyes. “No—” Michael wondered if he ought to introduce himself, “I probably shall though, in the near future,” he added. “Do I go the right or left here?” “To the right. The other way leads back to Clayton Wold— do yon know Clayton Woldt” “I know the house,” said Michael cautiously. “I know it very well, too,” she answered. “The Rolfs are friends of mine—or, perhaps, I should say they were! Mr. Rolf is dead you know.” “So I heard. He has a daugh ter, hasn’t het” “An adopted daughter. Every one always thought she would get all his money, but she hasn’t. Poor Patricia.” Michael glanced down at her sharply—there had been «pjne thing rather contemptuous in her mention of Patricia’s name. “Miss Rolf ^is a frien4 of yours,” he said quietly. Effio Shackle hesitated, then she gave an odd little laugh. “Well, I really hardly know,” she answered. “Patricia is so different to most people. She’s so frightfully spoilt and selfish. Mother was only saying to-day that she will have to change now she has lost all her money, unless she wants to lose all her friends as well—” “You mean that the loss of the one necessarily means the loss of the other,” Michael said dryly. He was beginning to feel irri tated by this girl. “Well, you see, people don't really like Patricia,” she explain ed with exaggerated frankness. “She’s so haughty! She thinks so much of herself, and before Mr. Rolf adopted her they say she was just nobody—that her people were quite common.” Michael interrupted abruptly. “To the loH or iright here?” “To the left—that is our house through the trees.” “Oh! it was not so very far, then.” She flushed a little. “I hate walking,” she mur mured. * They drove in through newly painted gates up a very new looking carriage drive, to a square, red-bricked house which Michael thought the ugliest he had ever seen. Its front door stood open, and a light in the hall silhouetted the figure of § mpn standing on the steps, a short, stout silhou ette it was, that waved an eager hand as the car approached. Effie Shackle jumped out and fan up the steps. ”Here I am, Daddy! did you think I had had an accident! I only ran out of petrol, and this gentleman came along and very kindly drove me home” —she turned eagerly to Michael who had left the car and was standing a little behind her. ‘This is my father,” she said. Mr. Shackle came down a step, hand extended. “Glad to* meet you, kir” he said heartily. He prided himself that he knew a gentleman when he saw one. “.Come right in I I must thank you for bringing my little girl home safely. She’s our only one you know, and pre- ' cious! Come in, sir!, I should like you to meet my wife.” Michael submitted reluctantly but he did not want to stay, but neither did he want to be un gracious. In the light of the hall lamp he knew Mr. Shackle was looking at him critically. “You’re a stranger round here, I think, sir” he said, after a moment. “I know most faces about Clayton, but yours—” “I used to live here years ago,” Michael explained— “and I hope to live here again. I dare say you knew my father,”—he paused— “I am Michael Rolf,” he added. (Continued Next Week Almost Married And Only Thirteen Little Lucille Kane, 13-year-old girl of Kansas City, Kan., would have been a bride if George Tranberger, of Parsons, Kan., had had his way about It. George traveled all the way to Kansas City in his home-made wagon to do his wooing, but the authorities caught him and his friend. Mike Yawman, who had gone along to act as best roan, and arrested them as runaways. How Women Mail Letters From The Kansas City Star. Femininity has its own way of post ing a simple, everyday letter accord ing to one keen observer. For in stance, out of thirty women who were watched at a street letter bos in the residential section of a large city, twenty-one withrdew the letter before quite letting go of It, to scan both sides of the envelope, to be cer tain the letter was securely sealed, properly addressed, stamped and to make sure nobody could look through the envelope to read the contents. Ancestry of the President* (Prom The Kansas City Star) Of the 29 men who have served the United States as President, 18 have been of English descent. Scotch and §90ttlah pilxtures follow closely in second place and there have been two of Dutch ancestry. Jefferson was of Welsh descent. The late Warren G. Harding was of Scotch-Dutch descent and President Coolidge can boast of English ances tors. The presidents and their an cestry from the time of Washington to Coolidge: Washington .. English Adams . English Jefferson . Welsh ladison .English Monroe.Scotch 3. Q. Adams.English (ackson . Scotch-lrish ran Buren . Dutch W. H. Harrison . English Tyler . English Polk . Scotch-lrish Taylor . English Fllmore . English Pierce . English Buohanan . Scotch-lrish Lincoln . English Johnson .English Grant . Scotch Hayes . Scotch Garfield . English Arthur . Scotch-lrish Cleveland . English Benjamin Harrison .. English McKinley .Scotch-lrish Roosevelt . Dutch Taft . English Wilson .. Scotoh-Irlsh Harding . Scotch-lrish Coolidge . English Maine’s Boxing Fish. From the Portland Press-Herald. Down at Tunk pond under a log lives a boxing fish which has been named by his trainer, Flrpo. He was trained by Mr. Stanwood of Big Chief Camps this summer In tne following manner to box with his bird dog Bo. A sunflsh, about seven Inches in length was lured with bread crumbs to an open place near a log and there fed for several days. As the fish showed signs of eagerness for the oruimbs he would be gently pushed b§ck wUJi a stick until he would rush and strike at the stick and the rest was easy. As the dog was always an Interested spectator to the training, be was soon eager to take ft hajid *n4 as he enters the wafer the flan ■trikes at his legs, the dog parrying he blow. So far only one bout has S»ad to be called off and that wa? Fhen Father Neptune was too lazy o sweep the floor. Believe It or not hat’s the tale as H. B. Stanwood tells It. Sanity On Race Question. From The Kansas City Star. A capable and successful negro Puhysiclan was asked how he had attained his position. ’’Well,” he replied, “I did not waste time complaining about injustices or how difficult it was for a negro to get a medical education in America un der present conditions. I just simply, got down to work and proved my case for recognition.” The principle here illustrated Is im portant. It holds the key to racial betterment, so far as action of the negro is concerned. The question is not whether injustice ex.lsts. but what Is the best course for the ngro to pursue in order to remove the in justice. any leaders of the race have decided that the way lies not through i complaint, through agitation or through threat of radical action, but through education, upright living and a steady effort to wore out ra cial salvation. Credentials. Tou ask credentials? There’s a pine on the top of the hill tihat knows me like a brother. There’s not a bypath but knows my daily way. The fields exude welcome as I pass, the stream chortles as 1 near, the grasses embrace my feet. The trees incline with gentle whis perings and graze with their soft leaves my cheek. The plowboy stops to call me friend. I am coming the upward route, the hill road. I am leaning hard on my staff, my mountain boots are torn—but I am coming, I am on the far. high ledge. I am coming with a spray of kinnl kinnic in my mountain coat, and the autumn colors in my moun tain soul. —Muriel Strode, in the Christian Science Monitor. Valua of Edison’s Ideas. The ideas and the genius of Thom as A- Edison are said to be worth 115,699,000,000 based on present in vestment in America alone of indus tries based on or stimulated by his inventions. The separate items mak ing up this total are thus extracted by the Wall Street Journal: Million dollars Moving pictures.......... ., ... ■ 1,250 Telephones.. ..•••••• .... ••>*., 1,000 Electric railways.6,500 Elec trio lighting and power.6,000 Electrical supplies.,.857 Fixtures.-.37 Phonographs .105 Electric car shops.109 Dynamos and motors.100 Edison storage batteries.S Cement.271 Telegraph.350 Wireless telegraph.16 Wisdom What can’t be cured must be endured, Plow deep while sluggards sleep, When the cat’s away, the mice will play. So look before you leap. Birds of a feather flock together, A stitch In time save nine, There’s many a slip ’twixt clup and lip Cast not your pearls to swlns. Many a little makes a mickle, Rob Peter to pay Paul, A winter’s fog will freeze a dog, And the weakest go to the wall. A bird In the hand—but you under stand By now how this Is done. And I haven’t any proverb book at hand. And I wish I hadn’t begun. Synthetic rhymes are really crimes— They’re done by a lazy bard, But they’re harder far than the oth ers are That look three times as hard! —Ted Robinson In the Cleveland Plain Dealer. What Is said to be Ohio's record wheat yield was made this year by Charles Karns, a Miami county far mer, who produced 627 bushels on 10 seres, an average of nearly 6S bushels to ths acre. He grows potatoes or corn, wheat and mover in rotation. Potatoes preceded this unprecidented wheat crop. To test the effect of atmospheric conditions at high altitudes, three men were recently locked In a cylinder 16 feet long and 9 feet In diameter and the air within was gradually rarefied until It WM «