THIS WOMAN RELIEVED FROM SUFFERING By Lydia E. Pinkham’a Vegetable Compound. A Remarkable Story Dover, DeL—“I wish every woman would take your wonderful medicine aa it hasdonesomucngood to me. I had cramps and faint spells and very bed pains. One day I was over to my neighbor’s bouse and she told me I ought totake Lydia E-Pink ham’a Vegetable Compound. Sol went to the store pn my way home and got a bottle, and took the firstdoee before bud per. I have been taking it ever since, and you can hardly believe bow different I feci. 1 had just wanted to lie in bed all the time, and when I started to brush up I would give out in about ten min mes. So you know how badlv I felt. I used to go to bed at eight and get up at ■even, still tired. Now I can work all day and stay up until eleven, and feel all right all the time. My housework is all I do in summer, but in winter I work in a factory. I have told a good many of my friends, and I have had three come to me and tell me they wouldn’t do without the Vegetable Compound. ” —Mrs. Samuel Murphy, 218 Cecil St., Dover, Delaware. r~--sr—--— 1 Dispute Over Seed Wheat F. S. Johnston, n farmer nt Morton, Wash., Is pointing with pride to a wheat crop wlilch he says originated from seed taken from n burying place In the Nile valley. He says he start ed his experiment four years ago and that the grain from his present crop Is “white and very hard, the straw short and tint heads prolific." Some scientists dispute the claim, saying that seed so long dormant, as It must have been If It came from the tomh, would not grow. HeadNoisesandDeafhess Frequently go together. Some people only suffer from Head Noises. LEONARD EAR OIL relieves both Deafness end Head Noises. Just rub It backoftheears.ln sert in nostrils and follow directions of Dr. J. B. Bergeson for “Caro of Hearing,” enclosed in each package. Leonard Bar Oil Is for sale everywhere Inionmttni dsmcriptive folder A.f) . serif upon request j. L:Lc<,"«fi,lnc.708thAvc.,^ot: DONT DO , THI$J MUNYON’S PAW PAW PILLS for Constipation A mild, affective laxative. Quickly relieve* ilia and dis comfort* resulting from sluggish liver and bowel*. Munyon's Paw Paw Tonic makes you well, keeps 4;ent for $1.00. Copper State Radio Co., Bo* 1*50, Phoenix, Aria. M*U*r K«|>im MmIii far tr with our Hop* 'g tag? aa -J r HAIR BALSAM ■—nnD»Mw«-«H|»Ulrr>m»| Itwhni C»I»t ■■iiitrteCniTMifUWm MU4UI atnniftiiL »*—ytthajMy.rr lI _ &/>e Ragged Edge by Harold MacGrath Here was Ruth Enschede—sick of love! Love—something the world would always keep hidden from her at least human love. All •he had found was the love of ♦his dog. She threw her arms around Rollo’s neck and laid her cheek upon the flea-bitten head. “Oh, Rollo, there are so many things I don’t know! But you love me, don’’t yout’’ Rollo wagged his stump vio lently and tried to lick her face. He understood. When she re leased him Me ran down the beach for a stick which he fetch ed and laid at her feet. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. October. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was letting in. Then came the great day. It was at lunch when Mc Clintock announced that in the mail-pouch he had found a letter addressed to Howard Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so forth. Spurlock grew cold. All that confidence, born of irony, dis appeared ; and fear laid hold of him. The envelope might con tain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manu scripts. In mailing the talcs he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. “So you’re writing under a nom de plume, eh?’’ said Mc Clintock, holding out the letter. “You open it, Ruth. I’m in a funk,” Spurlock confessed. McClintock laughed as he gave the letter to Ruth. She, having ill the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then. Spurlock snatched the check out of Ruth’s hands and ran to the window. “A thousand dollars in British pounds 1 .... A thousand dollars for four short stories!” The tan on Spurlock’s face light ened. He was profoundly stirr ed. He returned to Ruth and McClintock. “ You two . . . both of you! But for you I could n’t havt done it. If only you know what this means to me!” “We do, lad,” replied McClin tock, gravely. The youth of them! And what was he going to do when they left his island? What would Donald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left the island, never more to return? Ruth was thrilling with joy. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. To go to Hoddy, to smother him with kisses and embraces in this hour of triumph! To save herself from committing the act—the thought of which was positive hypnotism —she began the native dance. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the di version. He seized a tray, squat ted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. It was a mad half hour. “Well, lad, supposing you read what the editor has to say T” was MeClintock’s suggestion, when the frolic was over. “You read it, Ruth. You’re luck.” “Aye!” was McClinteok's in audible affirmative. Luck. The boy would never know just how lucky he was. Ruth read; “Dear Sir; “We are delighted to accept these four stories, particularly “The Man Who Could Not Go Home.' We shall be pleased to see more of your work. “ ‘The Man Who Could Not Go Home.’ Why,” said Ruth, “you did not read that to us.” “Wanted to see if I could turn out one all on my own,” replied Spurlock, looking at MeClintock, who nodded slightly. “It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his na tive land and wandered strange paths emptily. But never mind, that. Come along home, Ruth. I’m burning to get to work.” After all those former bitter failures, this cup was sweet, even if there was the flavour of irony At least, he would always be able to take care of Cuth. The Dawn Pearl; how well they had named her! The pearl without prioe— his and not his! He took her arm and drew it under his; and together they went down the veranda steps. Ruth’s arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. The future was not so black, .dll the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. After five or six years it would not be difficult to hide in Italy or in France. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. If this success con tinued, it would be easy to as sume the name of Taber. Ruth could not very well object, since an air of distinction would go with Taber. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him and he wheeled to learn the cause. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter’s road, grim, stony. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat around which ran a collar which w’ould have mark ed him the world over as a man of the Word. His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth’s shoulder. “So, wanton, I have found you!” “Wanton! Why, you inferal liar!” cried Spurlock, striking at the arm. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. Berserker, Spurlock rose, head down, and charged. * ‘ Iloddy, Iloddy! . . . . No, no! This is my father!” warned Ruth. Spurlock halted in his tracks. 1 “But what does he mean by call ing you a wanton!—you, my wife!” Enschede’s hand slipped from his daughter’s shoulder. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. “Your wife!” “His lawful wife,” said Ruth, with fine dignity. For a moment none of them stirred; then slowly Enschede turned away. To Spurlock’s ob serving eye, Enschede’s wrinkles multiplied and the folds in his clothes. The young man’s imagi nation suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. But why did he turn away! “Wait!” Ruth called to her father. The recollection of all her un happiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in ver bal lava. It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. The father, granite; the daughter, fire: Spurlock saw the one and heard the other, his amazement indescribable. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth’s. But as the mystery whieh surrounded Ruth fell away that whieh enveloped her father thickened. “I used to cry myself to sleep, Hoddy, I was so forlorn and lonely. He heard me; but he never came in to ask what was the matter. For fifteen years 1— so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. But I wait ed in vain. So I ran away, blind ly, knowing nothing of the world outside. Yeuth! You denied me even that.” said Ruth, her glance now flashing to her father. “Spring!—I never knew any. I dared not sing, I dared not laugh, except when you went away. What little happiness I had I was forced to steal. I am glad you found me. I am out of your life forever, never having been in it. Did you break my mother’s heart as you tried to break minet I am no longer accountable to you for anything. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have for given me, understanding. Some day I may forgive you; but not now. No, no! Not now!” Ruth turned abruptly and * walked toward the bungalow. mounted the meanda steps, and vanished within. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. For a time Spurlock did not move. JhijL incredible scene roMecl him of the "settle of loco motion. But his glance roved, to the door through which Ruth had gone, to Enschede’s drooping back. Unexpectedly he found himself speeding toward the father. "Enschede!” he called. Enschede halted. “Well?” he said, as Spurlock reached his side. “Are you a human being, to leave her thus?” “It is better so. You heard her. What she said is true. ” “But why? In the name of God, why? Your flesh and blood! Have you never loved any thing?” “Are yon indeed my daught er’s lawful husband?” Enschede countered. “I am. You will find the proof in McClintock’s safe. You called her a wanton!” “Because I had every reason to believe she was one. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue.” Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless. Fired with wrath, Spurlock recounted the Canton episode. “She travelled alone; and she is the purest woman God ever permitted to inhabit the earth. What!—you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite. She ran away from you; and now I can easily understand why. What sort of a human being are you, anyhow?” Enschede gazed seaward. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and riveted ; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. “What shal I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I ha?e loved something—her mother. Not wisely but too well. I loved her beyond anything in heaven or on earth—to idolatry. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. I had consecrated my life to His Work; and I took the primrose path.” “But a man may love his wife!” cried Spurlock, utterly bewildered. “Not as I loved mine. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a black guard, and died in the gutter, miserably. Perhaps I’ve been mad all these years; I don’t know. Perhaps I am still mad. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do. For I still love her mother. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appear ed, obliterating it. I made it a point to bring beachcambers to the house to fill her with horror of mankind. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. Any thing that might stir the sense of love And God has mocked me through it all.” “Man, in God’s name, come with me and tell her thisl” urg ed Spurlock. “It is too late. Besides, I would tear out my tongue rather than let it speak her mother’s infamy. To tell uth anything, it would be necessaryR to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. So she built a shrine. Always her prayers ended—‘And may my beautiful mother guide me!’ No. It is better as it is. She is no long er mine; she is your." ‘‘What a mistake 1" ‘‘Yes. But you—you have a good face. Be kind to her. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between." “And all the time you loved her!"—appalled. * ‘ Perhaps. ’ ’ Enschede stepped into the proa, and the natives shoved off. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinite simal speck in the distance. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. For yonder went the loneliest man in all God’s unhappy world. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his hel met and sat down in the white , Mijad, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them pondering. Was he really awaket The arrival and departure of this strange father lacked the essenti ally1^? touch to make it real. Without a struggle he could givo up his flesh and blood like that 1 1 ‘J £35 now give myself utterlv; no numSli efftotiori will ever be shuttling in between.” The mor tal agony behind those eyes 1 And all the while he had probably loved his child. To take Spring and Love out of her life, as if there were no human instincts to tell uth what was being denied her I And what must have been the man’s thought as he cams upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother’st— a fair picture of the mother in the primrose days? J»ot a flicker of an eye lash ; steel and granite outward ly. The conceit of Howard Spur lock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But en schede was right: Ruth must never know. To find the true father at the expense of the beau tiful fairy taleRuth had woven aroiind the woman in the locket was an inteolerable thought. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!— the iron in this child of his I Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. Spurlock bent his head to his knees. He took into his soul some of the father’s misery, some of the daughter’s, to mingle with his own. En schede, to have starved his heart as well as Ruth’s because, hav ing laid a curse, he knew not how to turn aside from it! How easily he might have forgotten the un worthy mother in the love of the child ! And this day to hear her voice lifted in a quality of ana thema. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. He knew that at this moment Ruth lay upon her bed in torment, for she was by nature tender; and the reaction of her scathing words, no matter how justifiable, would be putting scars on her soul. And he, her lawful husband, dared not go to her and console her! Accursed—> all of them—Enschede, Ruth, and hmself. “What’s the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?” standing beside him. He waved a hand toward the sea. “A sail?” said McClintock “What about it?” “Enschede.” “Enschede?—her father? What’s happened?” McClintoch sat down. “Do you mean to tell me he’s come and gone in an hour? What the devil kind of a father is he?” (TO BE CONTINUED) LEGHORNS BEAT WORLD RECORD North Branch, N. J., Pullets Average 253 Eggs in Year’s Laying Storrs.Conn.—White Leghorns from North Branch, N. J., won the thir teenth annual International egg-lay ing contest at Connecticut Agricul tural college here by furnishing 2, 581 eggs In the past fifty-two week’s, getting an average of over 253 eggs for each pulet in the pen of ten birds and creating a new record. Back in 1918 a pen from Oregon Agricul tural college laid 2,352 eggs In fifty two weeks, setting a record Just beat en. The one foreign entry this year —Ontario Agricultural college, Quelph, Ontario—finished nineteenth on the lists, Its barred rocks laying 2, 007 eggs. Purdue university hens were twelfth In ' finishing. Other exhibitors were: Attleboro, Mass., sec ond; Suffield. Conn., third; Orongo, Mo., fourth; Waldboro, Me., fifth; Franklin, Mass., sixth; Hamden, Conn., seventh; Dover, Mass., elgth; Grand Kaplds, Mich., ninth; En field, Mass., 10th; Wapping, Conn., 11th; Pleasant Valley, N. Y., 12th; West Rutland, Vt„ 14th; Coravalll, Ore., 15th; State College, Pa., 16th; Groton, Mass., 17th; Joplin, Mo., 18th; and College Park, Md., 20th. Champion hens were shown up In this fashion: Rhode Island Red laid 324 eggs; White Leghorn laid 290 eggs; White Rock laid 281 eggs; Barred Rock laid 289 eggs; White Wyandotte l:ld 252 eggs. The best previous record for a single hen was set In 1918, when a White Wyandott# laid 308 eggs. Sportsmanlike. Prom the Chicago News. While a shooting party was out for a day's sport a raw young sportsman was observed to be taking aim at a pheasant running along the ground As It Is unsportemanllke to shoot a bird while It is on the ground, a com panion shouted: “Hi, there, never shoot a running bird -’ "What do you take me for, you Idiot 7" came the reply. "Can't you see till It stopsT" The Same Old Backache! , Does every day bring the same old backache? Do you drag along with your back a dull, unceasing ache? livening find you "all played out"? Don’t be discouraged! Realize it is merely a sign you haven’t taken good care of your kidneys. Take things easier for a while and help your kid neys yyith Do