£ KERRY SQUARE A NEIGHBOURLY NOVEL f 1 by a.SACK a. lUCIIAIUND - 1 TFw their surprise it was , ktipW with the soft flaming of camfrom top to bottom. Bt-cdl- y Sturgis’ ear stood .11 l3w driveway, backed by that •f Darter Fiske. **|'ni g);ul they’re all here,'' land Jo. “They must have Bern delayed, too.” **T>iry must have just got ” Mackay surmised. “Vet , -—it seems rather strange tin* | wtifh house should be lighted. J nothing’s wrong. 1’er Aop*. I’d better come in with and see—if 1 may. And I’d rather like to hear Hunt’s I explanations,” he added, somc wm* grimly. T%»ey went in togetlier, for tJwi front door was open, and ifritsy met Doctor Fiske coming 4few,*th the ball. Me looked w* n\e that Jo asked quick Ur" Has anything happened!” **f hope not.” But his look cEidn’t lighten. “We can’t ffowJ Doctor Chase in the ••©Ji!—I oughtn’t to have tfmmr 1” Jo cried remorsefully, wader her breath. ••That’s the way we’re all ft*sd»ng, of course. But we wu*t imagine what he could !k*w done. Mrs. O’Crailv says tk^ went .to bed at half-past 10, full/ witli lii»r ! 1 ii<( 1 11; 11 tm ligbl was out a few minutes jfcftrsr, Her window at the %ark nil look toward his in the Mjrriglit.” 44lVrhnps he couldn’t sleep, aww} wenl for a walk,” Maekay w*trr<~,1abas Hunt came dashing into j Sbe bouse. Evidently he had driven into the dooryard but a •viwent after Maekay and Jo. At a matter of fact, it wasn’t IS minutes since the others of tht party had reached the and the discovery of Schuyler's absence bad but jrMU bf .m made. Hunt noted ooWiy s face except Jo’s as be straight for her. " * an you possibly forgive rue, Miss JcnncyT” he cried. '* ! can never tell you how sor rv } am—or von either. Mr W*rkny.” IIis look swung for **- infant to Mackay but rc- j Awm-d to Jo as lie scanned her mnhr-r face. “The whole story wdt talie an hour. Hut the j l»>eici;t tact is I couldn’t help it, i I feel confoundedly cha *rrtw<-d his concern. He wwrr’d take his ear Hinl scour countryside, he said. But. before anybody could 1b'ssr the house, the second and ■ewre storm of the night «Jwith fury. The weather bv«‘f u aridly dry for a fort wiyHwf, with exeessive heat the now'1 hat it had come, wn«» as if Nature had broken w* m blind auger amt would fftww no warning of her blows, Rut.ible lilft la Omaha, Prom the Lincoln Star My-, Sarah Jaalyn'i splendid gift •* • 6000.000 memorial art center *m t*»r iieopie u< Omaha, and at Is the most rauipictcnm em nbdlicm o> this character tilth,* e«*«*a which Ilea between |h« Mu* ■Bnr- river and the Roriy mouti Rm r t ,t the Atlantic seaboard and i* ** I»rgr Industrial reniera at ISMardg, Inch a nr and Ohio, wtiere ■J*»t wealth has hern accumulated u >*»# not been unusual tar men and w*** ot targe meant to catend CM where they have made th?lf He* ■ It it hahra- ka la a new There was nothing to do but to wait till the tempest was past. Sally Chase went upstairs again, and Jo followed her. Adelaide Sturgis had gone to In r room, l»nt eame to its open door as Sally and Jo passed it, “You’re imagining things, Sally,” she said, “What couid have happened to Sehuy, in a dead little place like this at midiiji'ht? It's just as llieh Fiske says: lie went for a walk ami got caught, and they’vo put him to bed ami lie’ll come homo in the morning.” “I can’t believe that explan ation!” Sally said, under her breath, “lie might have gone for a walk, though I doubt it. I«nt he wouldn’t have left us to he anxious about him—he’d have sent some word.” It did look strange, Jo thought. She went to her own room ami took off the riot lies of the evening, putting on a cotton frock and stout shoes in which she could tramp. Full of remorse that she hadn’t in sisted on remaining at home, she meant to do her part in the search, no matter whera or how far it led. The moment the storm was over—ami it ceased for the sec ond time as it had begun ami ceased before, as if some tu i <*li 1 tr Lit ivn/u^nlr I.... 1 l.n n turned on and off the search ers left’ the house. Urged to re main behind lest her husband conic in and need her care, Sal ly reluctantly yielded to the harder task of enduring her suspense unoccupied. Even iNornh O'Grady was ready with a lantern, her son .limr.v be side her, for she and he, she in sisted, knew every nook and byway of the village and coun try, as the others did not. ‘‘You don’t need a lantern —the moon’s out again, gor geously,” Bradley Sturgis re ported. Tie was eager for the hunt—it was an excitement to be welcomed. But he asserted that, lie wa. sure old Schuyler couldn’t be sick — couldn’t • have met with thugs not in this rustic neighborhood— couldn’t have done away with himself -- ltie.hard Eiske’s hand came heavily upon Bradley’s arm as he gave careless voice to these assertions, for Sally was close by, seeing them off. She was very pale, though she kept her head. Doctor Eiske knew she was blaming herself merciless ly for having left her husband behind, alone except for a ser vant. In her mind, as in Eiske’s own, the knowledge of Schuy ler's unsteady spiritual balance in this illness, with its threat ened hopeless outcome, was reason enough for anxiety. Though of late he had seemed to have himself better in hand, not to be brooding on his oros peets unduly, both wife and physician understood that it took little to upset him and bring on an attack of nervous depression. A morbid chapter in a book, a newspaper account of a crime, even for so suscep tible he was—the very ap proach of a severe electrical storm, such as the two which had passed this night, might have sent his mercurial temper ament down to a point of dan ger to his impulses. The party set off. Bradley Sturgis went with Jo—she couldn’t prevent him. “Think I'm going to let you dash off alone down dark lanes?’’ he demanded. “They won’t be dark in this moonlight. ’’ “If you should find him. you'd need a man's help,’’ he insisted, and she couldn’t deny this. As for village gossip, that wasn't to be thought of, no matter whom they met. No matter liow silently the search was made, the whole town would know of it, in some way, by morning. state. Organised as a territory In 1864, Its last territorial governor. Alvin Baunder*. completed his term of olfice In 18*77, alien (tie tint •tale government s* is perfected I’Yom 1487 to 1824 presents a laps* of tft year*, during which time the people of this state have been engaged in U.e laek of con* qorMtu; the prairie. ouitding towns, and iTtlev churches ar.d school*, and m establishing the business and industrial labile, which, along with its farm* Is the source of Its vealtii Because of tla youth, tt U not at range NrbtaJti should have only a few men end women pmeuitif xir. It was Gordon Maekay who found Schuyler Chase. The others scattered to dsrle and pond, tragedy in the minds of all, even 1 trad ley’s, though he denied it. Maekay tried to re construct the plan in the mind of a man who came out of the house, unable to sleep on a fine moonlight night, lie decided that in his physical weakness Doctor Chase would simply start down the road. In what direction! Very likely it would occur to him that lie might meet the returning party from tin* distant city by walking toward them, so that they might pick him up. If he | went into any house, driven by ; the sudden storm, it would he ■ one on that main highway, and that was the place, Maekay thought, to look for lights. binder's strength might con ceivably have failed, he might even he lying unconscious sc mewhere beside the road. Anyhow, Mackay’s instinct was that this was the direction to take, and lie followed it. A quarter mile down the read he saw the lighted win dows of a sqiall house, but they didn’t make him pause, for these same windows were lighted every night. Mortal illness lay within, as he well knew, for he had been making daily calls at the plnee since he came to the town, more than a month ago. His sympathies had been strongly aroused, for an aged pair were nearing sep aration, after GO years of life t» getlier. ai. I the wife who was soon to lie left belli ml was pili fully frail. Even in bis quest, t! c sight of that light, burning in the outer room from which t lie small bedroom opened, called to him to stop. But his anxiety for Doctor Chase was too keen, and lie was striding rapidly by when the door opened and two figures came into view, silhouetted against the light. One was that of the little old woman—Mackav knew that tiny stooped figure in ev ery line. The other was the one he sought. He knew that figure, too. The tall man was clasping the hand of the little old woman, and saying some thing to her, very low. Then he was coming down the two steps of the little porch, slowly, his hat still in his hand. As the door closed behind him he stood still for a minute, look ing up at the moonlit sky. Then lie began to walk, with the step of a weary man, toward the road where Mae kay, in the shadow of a great elm, stood watching him. Was it best to join him, or to let him walk alone, in com fortable ignorance of the fact that the whole household had been anxious about him? For a minute Mackav considered the latter the wiser course. But Chase was likely to he met by others of the searching party, less discreet; and anyhow, Mackay was eager to know just just what it meant that he l.nmil mini imr nut rtf* flint particular house. Had it been only the chance of the storm that sent him there? lie came up behind the slow ly moving figure, with a quiet hail. Chase turned, startled. ‘‘I didn’t expect to see you here. Doctor Chase. You see. when Mrs. Chase reached home and found you out, she was afraid you might have been caught in the storm. So l came along down the road, having a notion you’d gone for a walk.” ‘‘I see. Yes, I suppose I’ve aroused everybody's fears, if they’re hack. I thought I’d be home long before they were. I —-have rather lost track of the time, 1 believe.” ‘‘One does—in that house,” Maekav glanced back toward it. ”1 know the people well, and know what you found there. 1 lose track of time, too, whenever 1 go.” Schuyler was silent for a minute, as the two walked along. Then he said in a tone which showed that he had been somewhat shaken by his recent 1 experience: ‘‘They wanted the wealth to make large gifts com parable to the one just announced by Mrs Joalyn, Judged by eastern standards, where fortunes run into the hundreds ot mtlllons. Mrs Jos lyn la not a rich woman, so tier de cision to build a $3,000,000 art cen ter (or Omaha la all the mote Im pressive. Its muntflrlenre la eweeded only by the gift ot the late William K Nelson, publisher ot the Kansas City Star, who left most ot hu large fortune to the people ot Kan sas Cltv for the establishment of an art museum Her generosity will | give the people of Omaha and Ne braska an art center which will _ Yon sec—the old man died while 1 was there.” it was Mackay’s turn to be startled. ‘‘He did?” He turned again to look back at the house. “Why, I-” “You ought to go back.” “I will—but I’m going to walk home with you first. If you’ve been through that, you've a right to be leaning on tho arm of a friend. You're not so strong yet as you're going to be. Please!” he offered bis arm, and Schuyler Chase willingly ac cepted it. Since lie bad left i the small house lie was realiz ing how shaky were both his n •rves and bis sinews—if lie had any sinews, after his ill ness. It gave him a pang to be leaning on the arm of a young man only a few years his junior, but there was no doubt lie needed that sturdy strength. “1 couldn't sleep,” he said. “I went around the Square first. Every light was out, though it was only 11 o’clock. These little country towns! . . . I came by your house—the manse my wife had pointed out to me. I met a boy who’d just conic away. He asked me if J knew where you were, lie said one of your people was dying. Of course, 1 thought I ought to go in your place. The boy said the only other minister was away.” “It was my job.” Regret was sharp in Gordon Mackay’s voice. “1 ought to have been on call. Hut noor old .Jonathan Cutler has been at low ebb so often, I’d no possible expecta tion the tide would really car ry him out tonight. I'm mighty sorry,” ‘‘You may he sorry for your self." said Schuyler Chase. "But you needn't he sorry for me.” The other looked at him keenly in the bright moonlight, which at the moment was tin dimmed by any passing cloud. .Mackay could see the fine pro file clearly outlined, could even almost see, could fully guess at, the quiver of the deli cately cut lips, lie wanted the explanation of that last, state ment, though he thought ho knew what it was. “I’ve always felt,” Mackny | said gently, ‘‘that it is one of 1 the greatest privileges of a minister's life to be allowed to be with people in hours like that. I’ve never come away from such a place without be ing sure of that all over again.” “You see,” Chase answered after a little, “for some years now I’ve had an assistant min ister in my church. He’s done the calling on the bereaved—• mostly. Unless”—an odd smile touched his lips—“they were very important people. Then I’ve gone myself.” All Mackav found to say to this was, in his turn, “I see.” And he though he did see. ‘‘So—I've been spared a good deal of—the sort of thing I've seen tonight—especially ! among the poor. I think, per Ii <) no 4 Vi 4 « V it.li 11.. n good thing.” 'Well! The man was honest with himself, Mnckay thought. To tell the truth, much as he had admired Doctor Chase—lie had heard him preach at vari ous times, and had envied him his amazing a b i 1 i t y—t h e thought of that assistant min ister getting most of the real contacts will he lowlier par ishioners had bothered him. It was an undoubted fact that the head of a great church like Chase’s couldn't possibly do all the work alone, he must have help. Yet—wasn’t the result of it that something vital was lost by it ? Chase seemed to be owning up to that very ’ thing. (TO B». CONTINUED) - »». .... Paris. —A commission of 32 members headed by the director general of fine arts will censor mo tion picture films in Fiance. No films may be shown without a com : mission visa. Foreign films sub mitted for visa must be presented in the exact and integral version, with n translation in French of ex act titles nnd subtitles. > measure up to tha highest stand ; ards in America. — »♦ . Q. What Is the coast to coast highway that passes through the beautiful Blue Orass Region of Kentucky? L M. A. United States highway num bers 40. II. 60. 31. 70. 67. and 80 The route Is- Atlantic City, Baltimore. Hagerstown. Staunton. White Sul phur spring* Charleston. «w Vs..) Lexington, ed In drenching the horse or cow should not be i tried on the hog. If the hog must ; be drenched, use a small-dose syr inge. Prop the jaws open and place GRINDING \ -- SOAKING FEEDS Grinding barley for pigs in- j creases its feeding "alu * bv about , 2ft per cent, but soaking it does very little good A saving of Eft to 20 per cent, can be made bv grind ing wheat for nogs The wheat should be ground coarsely or rolled Soaking wheat ta a poor substitute for grinding. — FARM HOOK KEEPING PATH A farm bu*in**a without »ome kind of record such a» in annual inventory la tike a cl set without hands. You cannot telt whether it la gaining nr lo*mg. or where it stands at any one tune. the nozzle or pipe of the syringe well back in the mouth. Force the liquid out of the syringe very slow ly, a small amount at a time. Be patient, ar.d don’t attempt to finish the job too quiek. Capsules are given with a mouth speculum and a so called balling gun, but as th s method of medication requires con siderable practice before it can be used with safety, it is not recom mended that the unskilled person attempt it. The throat of a hog, unlike the throat of other animals, is very peculiar >y formed, in that there is a blind pouch or cul-de-sac directly over the opening of the esavhagus or gullet. When liquids are given to a hog too hurriedly, there is danger that they will be caught by this pouch and in turn be thrown down the windpipe, tha opening of which is also adjacent* Result, dead hog. SETTING PRICES The statement is frequently made that the person or firm who buys the farmer’s product sets the price to the producer and to the con sumer. If this were true, it would be difficult for any distributor to fail in business. It has also been pointed out that the spread between what the farmer receives ar.d what the consumer pays is too large. The cost of getting farm products from the producer to the consumer is too great and there is opportunity to lessen this cost. This is a. problem not easily solved. Effort and care ful planning are required to lower the expense of our present system of distribution which has grown up be cause of the demands of the con sumer. The failure of several milk distributors in Chicago last year well illustrates that the purchaser of farm products does not have the control over farm prices as soma people think, or that he arbitrarily fixes prices to the consumer. Tha business of one of these firms that (' n • 1. j :_ r-y \. i_ __ i < . . »ao oviu Jii uiu United States district court for $422. 000. The assets of the company were $800,000 and the liabilities $800,000. The failure of these sev eral milk distributors shows that this industry, as well as the farm ers, has its problems. BURN DISEASED CARCASS The best rule to follow, when an animal dies of disease, is to burn tho carcass. If not disposed of in wise fashion, the carcass is quite likely to be a hotbed of disease. Take blackleg—a calf dead of blackleg is a dangerous thing, threatening to Infect the pastures for years to come if it is no: wholly destroyed. Burning is the most thorough and least-expensive meth od. An old hay-rake wheel, an o'.d harrow, or anything that will make a rude grating when supported on rocks, will keep the calf off the ground and allow a draft under neath. Put the calf on this grating and place plenty of brush and wood underneath. Slash the body thor oughly with a knife, drench with a gallon or so of kerosene, and it will burn. The carcass should be burned where it lies, if possible. If it lias to be moved, load it an a stone-boat wagon or sled, providing pienty of straw to absorb any infectious dis charges Dragging the carcass across the fields is the most certain method of infecting the whole route with blackleg for future generations of cattle. If the carcass can not be burned, it should be buried at least four feet down and covered with un slaked lime. SHREDDING \*s. HUSKING In these days when so much at tention is being paid to lowering production costs on the farm, it is interesting to note that a consider able saving in the cost of producing corn may be effected by husking corn with a shredder as compared with husking by hand According to records secured, three bushe's of corn were husked and cribbed per man. per hour, while 6.7 bushels were husked and cribbed per man, per hour by means of the shredct^r. This figure was arrived at afte’- de ducting time chargeable to hauling the stover to the barn, which was done when the corn was husked by me owicuuei. On the acre basis, husking and cribbing by hand required 16 man hours per acre; and bv the shrert der method. 12 hours. Haul ng tlia stover to the bain, however, con sumed six hours of man labor; hence by adding six hours to 16 wa have 22 hours as compared with 12 hours, the time required when the shredder was used. The shredding was done by exchanging work with neighbors which resulted in a large saving of hired labor that is usu ally employed for husking by hand. SUDAN FOR SOIL EROSION Sudan grass is just the thing to keep small ditches from becoming larger, says a hill farmer who has tried it with satisfactory results. He puts sudan grass seed in his drill and runs the drill wheel down the center of the d.tch. seeding sudan as he goes. He then comes back on one side and down on the other side of the ditch, so that sudan grass wil be sown on both sides of the ditch It seeded about corn-planting time when the ground is warm, the sudan gras* makes rapid growth. If rains coma and soil covers the young plants, they will come on up throuah ths washed soil and keep growing. "That is why suaan is better than any other grass for sowing along the ditches—it has recuporativi powers that other plants do noi seem to oossess," he says. In cass ditches are deep and narrow, plow ing up and down the side oi th* ditch and throwing dirt into and toward the ditch helps to level ti up for sowing sudan. Sometime* no ordinary scraper Ls used to good id vantage in filling up 'he deeper de pressions Sudan, with Its vigorous root system, helps to b.nd the *>*i| particle., and prevent further wash, ing of the topsoil. FOUL SOIL TO BLAME Outbreaks of hog cholera and new corn are often asaoclatrd. although there does not appear to be any di rer* connection between new corn tm» the disease. Nevertheless, re* pot's of hot; cholera outbreaks b — Kin to come tn usually ab)ul tha time the hogs get acres* to file new crop of com. iV.ssiblv -nr* is be cause fanner* relax their u«Hari.<* al this season, and bv turning their host in-o the gram Held* to dean up th* loo«e grain, am* in'o tl># corn Held* to n“*g down earn. eg. pose them to the germ* the J)«~ ea*e ;*t*ai tn Hit so"