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CHAPTER IV—(Continued.)
And then Harold amazed them by ;
the question:
"Is there a oehool at Easthill-On- |
Sea? I never heard of one.”
Easthlll-on-Sea was about two miles j
from Easthill proper, in the opposite
direction from Dynevor Manor and the
Uplands. Within the last few years
some speculators had got possession
of land there, and were trying hard to
convert what had been a fishing ham
let into a watering-place. They had
not succeeded well, and the present
result was a kind of straggling, un
finished settlement, which was neither
town nor village. The old Inhabitants
of Easthlll rath r made game of the
new watering-place, which will account
for Kitty’s laugh.
“I really don't know', Harold; I
hardly ever go to Easthill-on-Sea.
There may be half a dozen schools;
but I hope not, for their proprietors’
eakes, for I can’t imagine that any one
would send children there.”
”1 think you’re hard on the place,
said Harold. ‘’There’s a very good
beach and a splendid air. 1 suppose
^ people are to be found wno ^cau uu
without niggers at, the seaside.
“Ah, hut they'd want decent, roads
ar.d tolerable comfort," objected K.lty,
“and you know when it rains Easthill
on-Sea is almost a swamp, because no
one has made up the roads. 1 hen they
only bake every other day, and the
butcher’s shop opens twice a week. It
would take a good deal to make up for
such drawbacks.”
“It Is all so unfinished.” said Mrs.
Dynevor. "The roads are staked out,
and Imposing names painted on sign
boards, like 'Elm avenue,” and ‘Sea
View gardens,’ but neither avenue nor
gardens boast a single house, and the
roads are not even divided from each
other, except by c. few posts.
"Why are you so suddenly interested
In Easthill-on-Sea?” demanded Kitty.
“You can't possibly have been asked
to recommend any one a school theie .
“Oh, dear, no; but I came home from
Marton by train, and a gild got out
at. our station who wanted to go to
Easthill-on-Sea. She asked the porter
the way to Mrs. Tanner s school. He
questioned the ticket collector, and
even the station master himself, but
neither of them had ever heard of it.
I couldn’t help feeding sorry for her.
she looked so tired and sad. Tt mu3t
be hard lines to come off a long journey
and not find any cne who can direct
you to your destination.”
“Poor thing!” said Kitty, and then
the subject dropped. None of the three
guessed the influence the lonely little
traveler was to have on their lives. It
never dawned on Kity that the un
known girl who was bound for a school
no one had ever hoard of was to be
^ her dearest friend.
CHAPTER V.
Nothing will describe the desolation
which filled Beryl London's heart
when she stepped on to the platform
at Easthill. She had left London filled
with the one desire of escaping from
her father and stepmother. Ever since
she heard of the former’s marriage her
one end and object had been to get
safely away from Elchester square. It
was only when she had actually start
ed, when Mrs. Markham’s kindly face
was lost to sight, that she realiz d she
was going among strangers, that a
new, untried life lay before her, with
not one friendly voice to brighten It.
It was a long, tedious journey, and
involved two changes. Easthill was on
a branch line, at which only the slow
est of trains condescended to stop.
She was very plainly dressed in
black; but all her things had come
from a West End shop, and there was
an air of distinction about her not
often seen in a lonely little third-class
traveler.
She was eighteen, though she iooitea
older—a very small, fairy-like crea
ture, with soft, wavy brown hair, and
big. lu»* -ous blue-grey eyes. Her com
plexfo fas very fair, and had the
dalnti carmine tint,
f She knew absolutely nothing of the
' country. Brighton, Brussels, where
she had been at school, and the tall
house in El Chester square had made
up her world. To find herself at a
little rustic station, with only a few
cottages in sight, was almost alarming.
And no one at the station had heard
of Mrs. Tanner’s school. That of it
self was enough to discourage her.
“Don’t you be afraid, mlssie,” the
station master said kindly. “If you
wrote to the lady, and she had your
letter, she must live here somewhere,
and the postofflee are the best people
to help you find her. You go straight
along this lane till you come to a sign
post, take the road marked ‘Easthill
on-Sea,* and presently you'll see four
or five shops. The postofflee is the
first of the lot, and they’ll put you
right.”
Beryl left her luggage to the porter’s
mercy and started. The lane seemed
Interminable. Perhaps in summer time
It was pretty; but it was a late season,
and the trees were hardly in bud. Their
bare branches almost met in the mid
dle of tho lane, looking very like black,
threatening hands uplifted against her
—or Beryl thought so. She reached
the sign post without meeting a single
creature; but another half-mile
brought her to the shops, and her h*;art
^ gave a thrill of relief as she recognized
the postofflee.
It was quite unlike any postofflee
Beryl had ever seen, being a cottage
with all business transacted In the
,r- y* y* >* >' Jr- y* w*
front parlor; while the room on the
opposite side appeared to be a baker’s,
one stale loaf and half a doztn stodgy
looking buns being arranged in the
window.
“Can you tell me the way to Mrs.
Tanner’s school—Woodlands, the house
is called?” asked Beryl anxiously.
The young woman behind the
counter was better informed than the
railway people, for she answered with
out any hesitation:
“It’s the last house on tbe front.
The name’s not up; but you can’t be
mistaken because there are no more
houses."
This was conclusive; but Beryl felt
positively sinking from weakness and
fatigue. She looked at the loaf of
bread and buns, and finally asked the
damsel in charge if she could have
some refreshment—“a cup of tea or
something.”
“The fire's out, I expect. You ran
have a glass of milk and a plate of
bread and buttar, if you like.”
The fare was plain, but it revived
the traveler. The attendant gave her
plenty of local information while she
ate and drank. Mrs. Tanner had not
been at Easthill-on-Sea long. There
wasn’t much opening for a school;
there were very few residents, and nat
urally vistors didn’t want to send their
children to school when they came
uun a in nic summer,
“You do look tired!" she concluded.
“But it’s not much further now. The
end of this street leads to the front,
and Mrs. Tanner's is the last house
on the right.”
Beryl found the house easily; but
her heart sank as she looked at it.. It
was so new that at. the back the piece
of waste ground called a garden was
i.ot yet fenced off, and the front rail
ings had not yet been fenced off.
Woodlands looked as though it had
been built elsewhere, brought to East
hill on a trolley, and just popped down
on the first vacant space. The wind
howled round It, the waves which
dashed over the shingle seemed to
laugh derisively at it, and even to poor
Beryl the huge board over the front
windows—“Ladies’ School”—seemed
grotesque in such a place.
She rang the bell. It was so stiff
her fingers could hardly move It, and
when at last it rang it made such a
noise she decided Mrs. Tanner -would
think her new teacher very impatient.
There was not the least sound of move
ment in the house, and Beryl was
actually contemplating a second ring
when the door was flung suddenly
open, and a very small servant in a
very big white apron stood regarding
her curiously.
“Is Mrs. Tanner at home? I think
she is expecting me. I am the new
governess.”
“You’re to come this way,” said the
child—she really was very little more.
And Beryl followed her across a good
sized hall to a small sitting-room at
the back, the door of which her guide
opened encouragingly.
“You go straight in,” she com
manded.
It was a very small room, and rather
sparsely furnished; but what Beryl
saw first was a tall, slight woman in
widow's weeds, who came forward- to
meet her with such a frightened face
that the girl felt compelled to take the
initative.
“I am afraid I am later than you
expected, Mrs. Tanner; but it is a long
walk from the station, and I came
slowly so as not to lose my way.”
“You look cold and tired,” said Mrs.
Tanner gently. “Sit down and warm
yourself. Rhoda will bring tea soon;
I waited for you.”
“It was very kind of you,” Beryl
| began, and then she broke down help
lessly and cried as though her heart
would break. Of course it was behav
ing disgracefully, it was most unschol
astic and childish; but those few kind
ly words had been the last touch.
Mrs. Tanner did not seem in the least
angry. She took Beryl’s hand and held
I it for a minute or two, then she said
gently:
"I don t wonder at your being upset,
my dear. When I first came hero in
January I loathed the place quite as
much as you can do. I came from a
pretty country rectory, with a dear
old garden and trees that had stood the
test of centuries, and this bleak, des
olate place seemed terrible to me; but,
Miss Lindon, work is the best cure
for sadness, and even Easthill-on-Sea
seems brighter when one is busy."
"Please forgive me!” said Beryl,
pleadingly. "Indeed, I am not discon
tented; it was only that you were so
kind to me.”
"Did you expect me tobe an ogress?”
asked Mrs. Tanner. "When you havo
had some tea. and feel rested I will
tell you all about things. I am afraid
you will find plenty of rough places
j at Woodlands, but they won't be of
my making.”
j Tea was delightful. With curtains
- drawn and the lamps lighted, the room
seemed quite a snuggery; and Mm.
Tanner saw that Beryl had plenty of
the fare provided.
“I would rather tell you everything
before you see my sister,” she said,
when Rhoda had taken away the
thing3. My husband died last Novem
ber. He was the best and kindest man
who ever lived, but he wasn’t busi
nesslike, and when all the expenses
were paid I had only £ 20 and the fur
niture to keep myself and the children.
Of course I knew I should have to
work; but I had neJer had to earn my
living, and I did not know how t® nsfc
about It. My sist'r is the only nrar
relation I have. She is very rich. o,®4
she likes io manage. She decided I
had better keep a school, then the
twins could be educated for nothing.
Her husband has a good deal of prop
erty round here, and they offered me
this house rent free for three years.
“Of course”—she flushed painfully—
"the Wilmots are in a very good posi
tion here, and it would not do for it
to be known any one connected with
them had to keep a school, so I prom
ised Mary I would never mention tho
relationship. She has really been very
good. She speaks of tne to people as
‘a young widow in whom she is inter
ested,' and altogether I have twelve
pupils. If the new ones promised this
term come tomorrow 1 shall have fif
teen. They pay £2 a term, so that
1 have ,tlkO a year; but I found out
if I had any one who could teach
French and really good mimic I should
get more scholars and keep them till
they were older. That is why I
thought of getting help. Besides, with
only Rhoda, there is a great deal to
do domestically, and the twins' clothes
have to be made and mended.”
“How old are the twins?” asked
Beryl.
“Four. Rather young to be In school
all day; but 1 can't send them out
alone, and I don't like them to bo in
the kitchen with Rhoda. Miss Llndon,
I know I am offering you a very small
salary; but I think if you and I ‘fit
in’ you may really be happier here
than in a grander situation.”
“I am sure of it,” said Beryl. “Mrs.
Tanner, I don't think any one in the
whole world can be lonelier than I
am, and if only you will keep me, I
shall l>e glad to stay.”
Mrs. Tanner gave a little sigh.
"Mary—Mrs. Wilraot—will be round
in the morning. You must not mind
if she seems a little overbearing. Oh,
and there i3 the thing she wanted me
to say—she docs not like your name
at all.”
Beryl professed her regret, nut nnra
Iy paw the objection was her fault.
"It’s In this way,” explained Mrs.
Tanner. ‘‘The show place near here,
Dynevor Manor, belongs to a Mr. Lin
don, though General Craven lives
there. Mary thinks it a slight to Mr.
Lindon that my teacher should have
the same name. Her husband is his
agent, and goes to see him sometimes
at his grand house in Elchester square,
Belgravia. Of course I told Mary Mr.
Lindon would never hear of my school,
much less my teacher's name; but she
was very disagreeable, and said it
could not matter to you, and that by
changing one letter the name sounded
quite differently. Do you mind being
Miss Lendon? You see, it won’t make
any difference to your letters, because
most people loop their l’s now, so that
they look like e’s.”
Beryl felt Inclined to bless Mrs. Wil
mot. If, as she now felt positive, her
father were the owner of Dynevor Man
or, why, then, her one desire was that
he might never hear his fugitive
daughter was living beneath Its shad
ow. She had never heard him speak
of Sussex, or of possessing property
in the country. Surely It was strange
that, with all England before her, she
should have drifted to the one place
where he had interest.
School began the next day. The fif
teen girls were nice things. Mrs. Wil
mot’s interest had procured some. The
clerk of the works employed by her
husiKind to watch his interests in the
building operations, sent three small
daughters; the tax collector contrib
uted two; but there was a sprinkling
of a higher grade—the curate’s only
child, and the doctor’s two little girls.
Mrs. Wilmot struck Beryl as far less
refined than her sister. She and her
husband were rich, and gloried in their
money, though as yet it had not been
able to force an entrance into the so
ciety of Easthill proper, which was of
the select and exclusive kind known as
"county."
(To be Continued.)
CHURCH MONEY.
Some Odd Ways In Which Women
Karned It.
The women folk of the Methodist
church at Oxford recently set out to
earn money for certain church pur
poses, and a meeting was held at
which each woman or girl recited the
method by which she had earned her
contribution, says tho Boston Journal.
Somo of the recitals were funny
enough to convulse the audience, and
a few are epitomized as follows: Miss
Mary Dobbs started out to do some
janitor work, but got tired and sub
contracted the job, though saving for
herself a margin of profit. Mrs. M.
Collins said that one day her husband
wa3 tearing around the house hunting
for his overshoes and said he would
give a half a dollar to know what nad
become of them. She told him she
had sold them to the ragman, and
demanded the half. Mrs. Bay kalso
mined her own house and saved the
dollar which an old colored man de
manded for the job. Miss Zulu Cole
engaged In a great variety of employ
ments. She got 5 cents for washing
Mrs. Middleton’s dishes, 10 cents for
doing somo sewing for her sister, 5
cents from her uncle for keeping her
mouth shut five minutes, 5 cents for
killing three cats. 15 cents for sweep
ing the sidewalk in front of two stores,
and 5 cents for popping some corn.
Miss Lyda Mills made 50 cents by
mending the harness and making a
new halter for tue cow. Miss Lcttle.
Morrill got 50 cents for doctoring ^
sick calf.
Tombs are but the clothes of the
dead. A grave is but a plain suit, and
! a rich monument is one embroidered
j —Fuller.
A PETITION.
fler* among your poppy fields,
ldlenc s, I pray you.
Let nio wander lazy-eyed,
Flmv of thought and pace,
Empty-handed, light of heart,
Kager to obey you,
P" loaf and make a mad7i*>al
Tuned to fit your face.
Sb k am I of strife and toll,
1 would seek your daisies.
Count the clouds and doze and dream
Through drowsy afternoons.
Prithee, take me by the hand—
Show me where the way Is—
*set me change the clink of gold
Por your linnets' tunes.
Idleness! Oh. Idleness,
Smile a welcome for me.
Here's a minstrel out sf voice,
A weary heart to rest.
Soothe me with the pip** of I’an.
Hum Ills music o'er me,
Hock me like a tired child
Sleepy on your breast.
—Theodosia Pickering Harrison.
Blunders of John Carster.
BY GASTON HARVEY.
(Copyright, lMO, by Hally Story Pub. Co.)
“Well, I suppose this is the end of
it." John Caxsten heaved a heavy
sigh, and strode along moodily. Helen
looked at him curiously and then
asked:
“The end of what?"
“You know as well ns I do what 1
refer to. To be perfectly plain, I hear
it reported on very good authority
that you are to marry this Monte
Crlsto. And that is what 1 mean
when I say that 1 suppose we will not
take maiiy more walks together.” lie
looked at her keenly.
i suppose it is but a runner ex
emplification of the doctrine an
nounced by the Bible, where it says
"To him who hath, it shall be given,
and to him who hatn not it shall be
taken away,’ and I want to add to
that, 'even that which he may seem
to have.' I suppose that if 1 was on
the upward tide, everything would be
coming my way, but as I seem to be
stationary, notwithstanding my fran
tic efforts to swim, everything appears
to pass mv>, Just out of reach.” Ihcre
was a silence for a few moments.
Helen reached in a fence corner and
pulled a great glittering spray of
golden rod. She did not look at him.
After a few moments she said in a
low voice:
“You are getting bitter, Joan. Don’t
do it. It does not help you.”
"Don't you think 1 have cause to
be bitter? A man can smile and stand
a great deal; he can stand a great
deal more without giving evidence of
his suffering, and there is still another
degree of pain, which turns eveiy
thing to gall. I have suffered that.”
“You are very wrong to look at
things that way,” replied the woman.
"What have you to be bitter over?
You possess youth, and health, and
strength, and ability—all those are
priceless gifts. You are well thought
of by everyone, and I see no cause for
you to think your lot is hard.
“Yes, what you say is true, but I
have not the great essential—money.
I might be a paralytic, and just have
enough Bense to keep out of a lunatic
asylum, and enough morals to keep
from being locked up as a menace to
society, but if I had money, all that
would be overlooked, and 1 would be
better thought of than 1 am now. As
It is, I am not considered at all.”
“Not considered by whom?”
“Everybody. And someone in par
ticular whom I wish to consider me.
and who has refused. I have tried
everything else; I have placed myself
at her feet. Ix>ve does not count.”
Her face was crimson. She looked
far away over the sere, brown fields,
and at last said:
“Then what am I to deduce from
that assertion—It isn’t clear.”
“You are not to deduce anything—
I state It as my positive conviction
that, given on the one hand a man
with everything to make him desir
able In the eyes of a woman, but with
io money, and on the other hand a
r. l. ✓—\
“You are getting better, John—Don’t
do It"
man with nothing to recommend him
but money, as between the two a
woman will choose the man with the
money ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred. That’s what I mean.’’
“Why John, why John!” There
was an Infinity of reproach in those
words.
“Yes, I mean it!" he added. “I mean
every word of it Women are essen
tially selfish, and they love the soft
side of life. They know that money
will make a soft side to anything, and
therefore, they are on the side of
money."
“I am sorry for you," she sold
simply. “I thought that you had a
higher idea of women."
"Haven’t 1 a right to be bitter?” he
continued. "Haven't I every right to
such ideas? If It ha# not been dem
onstrated to me, nothing has. There
Is nothing so convincing os personal
experience, and it Is from that 1
speak."
“I have known you a long time,
John, and 1 know of no such Instance
In your career that you rpeak of.
When was It?"
“You know very well what I allude
to. You know that I have loved you
for all there years, since we were little
more than children. You know that
there has not been a day that the In
cense of my soul was not offered to
you. I have loved you truly, faith
fully, unwaveringly. You know that
my highest dream of earthly happi
ness was to some day make a home
for you, where I could have you with
me always. You know that my wak
ing thoughts are all of you; that 1
dream of you at night; that not a
plan I have made has not had you for
its inspiration, with the hope that it
would conduce toward the end I
wished. There has not been an ambi
tion in my brain that w as not caus< d
by my wish to excel and make you
proud of me.
* The rest of the world can go hang
- you are my world, the all in all for
me. And now, after all these years,
all that counts for naught. There
comes into your life a great big, beefy
man—you know little about him ex
cept that lie Is very wealthy, and in
the course of two months he undoes
Then, taking her hands, looked her
full In the face.
what I have done, or rather In that
time accomplishes what I could not ac
complish in six times as many years.
Is not that evidenco enough? What Is
to be deduced from that except what
I have stated?”
‘‘I ought to be very angry with you,
John. You have accused me of a
wretched thing-that 1 would sell my
life, my love, my soul, merely to pro
vide myself with creature comforts. I
don’t know why I don’t make you
leave me, and never permit you to
speak to me again, except that I’d
realize that your anger has carried
you off your feet. I realize what you
say, that such a state of things is an
awful blow to a man. But 1 do not
grant that any such state exists—that
is—I mean—”
“You mean what, that you are not
going to marry him?” There was light
and life and hope in the questioner's
eyes now.
“Yes, I mean that; and that I have
not intended to do so. And now let
me do a little preaching to you—you
have had your say, and you have said
things you ought not to have said. I
will say what you left unsaid, and
what you should know. It is, that
with a true woman, and with true
love, all the gold in the universe
could not outweigh her love. If on
the one side is a man a woman loves,
who is as poor as poverty itself, and
on the other a man offering himself,
a millionaire, the man and his money
would not for an instant be considered
as a possibility.
“It is a mistaken notion men have,
that a woman wants to receive all and
give nothing. True love is self eft'aee
ment, and bearing the burdens of
those whom we do love, and nothing
gives a woman so much pleasure as to
suffer for the man she really cares
for.”
“Do you really moan that?" There
was wonderment upon the face of the
questioner.
res. Ana were wouiu De more
women who would be glad to accept
even the Mttle In the way of wealth
their sweethearts possess, if they were
given the chance. Instead of going
bravely to her and saying 'I have little
or nothing, but I love you. 1 can pro
vide enough to keep us from starving,
and enough to furnish us with clothes.
More than that I do not care for, with
you at my side. Will you accept that?'
the men stand off and snivel about
woman wanting wealth. It makes mo
weary. It's weakness.”
There was a long pause. The sun
had sunk below tho horizon, and the
west was gorgeous with the opaline
tints of the dying day. In the dying
grasses the crickets chirped a requi
em for the sweet summer. A few
dead leaves floated through tho
branches and rustled gently to their
last resting place. Tho air had a tinge
of the coming chill of winter, and na
ture seemed saddened and dreary.
The couple stood a moment looking at
the sunset. Perhaps it w’as the glory
of the ruddy rays upon her face, or the
reflection from the golden gates of
the west that shone in her eyes. He
paused, for a moment irresolute, and
then taking her hand, looked her full
in the eyes. She looked down and her
face flushed.
“Helen,” he said very gently, “I
have almost nothing in the way of
goods or wealth, but I have a love for
you that the wealth of Midas could not
buy. Will you accept,what I have?”
She looked up and smiled softly.
“Why didn’t you say that a year or
to ago? Yes, I will.”
When a minister preacnes about so
cial extravagance half the women in
the congregation bito their lips and
try to look mortified.—New York
Press.
Killing on*a Shark.
One of the more wonderful fish sto
ries of the century is told in the New
York Press of Dr. Ralph Smith, a
noted surgeon of Jacksonville. While
in bathing in surf about up to his
waist over on the East coast a big
shark swam between his legs, forcing
him to a sitting posture and swimming
out to sea with his burden astride.
The sensation nearly cost the doctor
his hair and whiskers. He declares he
was on the shark's back fully half a
minute. When the monster got in
deep water he slid off.
He Ghf« Them What They Wanted.
"Soon after I arrived in this coun
try on my present visit,” says Bishop
Partridge, (Episcopal) of Kioto, Japan,
who is a graduate of Yale, "I was In
vited to a University club dinner, and
was told that I was to speak to the
toast of 'Yale University.’ When I
arose in my turn my fellow banqueters
cried vociferously, ‘Never mind Yale,
oid man—talk to us in Chinese.’ I
entered into their spirit, and for twen
ty-five minutes I orated in Chinese.
Wha-t did 1 say? Suffice it to say that
I spoke only the court ct.aloct. The
strangest part about it is that all
present seemed to enjoy it even more
than 1 did.”
Nervy Thieves.
About the coolest thieves on record
did n job of work in Philadelphia a
few days ago. Early in e morning,
while hundreds of people were going to
work, half a dozen men arrayed as me
chanics appeared in front of a Turkish
bath establishment on Walnut street,
and with chisels, hammers and wrench
es took down the handsome bronze or
naments and railing which ornamented
the place. Then they calmly walked
away with the plunder.
LIMIT. MABLE C. HINT.
A Bright Salvation Armr I.ai.lr, Who
Kuonr. How to Ke«p Her Corps
In (tooil Health*
Ogden, Utah, Jan. Ill, 1901.—(Spe
cial.)—The Pacific Coast Division of
the Salvation Army, whose noble work
in the interests of fallen humanity has
done so much for this western country,
has its headquarters in this city. One
of the brightest and most enthusiastic
workers is Lieut. Miss Mabel Clarice
Hunt. Everyone knows how these de
voted people parade the streets day or
night, exposing themselves to all kinds
Of weather, that no opportunity may
be lost of rescuing some poor unfortu
nate from sin and suffering. In some
cases, their recklessness in thus expos
ing themselves has been commented
upon as almost suicidal. Their answer
to such criticisms invariably is their
unfailing faith In the Divine injunc
tion to “do right and fear not.” Lieut.
Hunt explains one of the means she
employs to keep her “Soldiers” in good
health, as follows:
“I have found Dodd’s Kidney Pills of
great value in cases of Kidney and
Liver Trouble and Diseases contracted
from severe colds. Several of our lads
and lassies have been repeatedly ex
posed to cold weather and rain, and
have spoken for hours out of doors,
often with wet feet and chilled to the
marrow. As a consequence of this ex
posure, Pulmonary Trouble, Rheu
matism and Kidney Disorders often en
sue. In such cases I always advise
Dodd’s Kidney Pills, for r have no
ticed better results, quicker relief, and
more lasting benefit from the use of
Dodd’s Kidney Pills in Buch cases than
from all other medicines I know of
combined. They cleanse the blood,
regulate the system and destroy dis
ease.”
A medicine which can do what Lieut.
Hunt says so positively Dodd’s Kidney
Pills do is surely worth the attention
of all who suffer with any form of
Kidney Trouble, Rheumatism, or Blood
Disorders.
Many good servants are bad masters.
A heated knife cuts freshly baked
bread well.
Cocoanut oil thickens and darkens
the eyebrows.
SCALDING WATER
&
voided in the morning and that -which
contains a sediment after standing,
certainly indicates dangerously affected
Kidneys. Don’t worry and make mat
ters worse, but at once take the remedy
which you can depend upon absolutely,
MORROW’S
KID-ME-OIDS
are guaranteed by the proprietors un.
der $50 forfeit to cure any case of Kid
ney Disease or Pain in the Back. This
is a tempting offer and is made in per
fect good faith. Other distinctive symp
toms of Kidney Disease are Backache,
Dizziness, Puffing under the Eyes,
Rheumatic Pains, General Weakness,
and frequently all the troubles peculiar
to women. Kid-ne-oids will restore you.
NEBRASKA AND KANSAS
people cured by Kid-ne-oids. In writing them please
enclose stamped addressed envelope.
H. U Small, 1810 Ohio St.. Omaha, Nob.
Henry Wlpperinau, E. Court St., Beatrice, Neb.
Mrs. Lilly Pratt. 1010 V St.. Lincoln, Neb.
Mrs. Hubert Henderson, West Market St..
Beatrice. Neb.
Wm. Noble, (Jrocerymnn. Topeka, Kan.
Andrew Jacobson, bi’8 Lavinie St., Atchison,
Kan.
Mrs. Gns ConoTeg, 11th and Kearney Sta., At
chison, Kan.
Morrow’s Kid-ne-oids are not pills,
but Yellow Tablets and sell at fifty
cents a box at drug stores.
JOHN MORROW A CO., tPRINQFlILO. O.
I
