BY
JOHN BEECKENI8DGE ELLIS
ILLUSTRATIONS BY'
, O • IESWIN • ITffiRS
CHAPTER I.
A Knock at the Door.
Fran knocked at the front door. It
was too dark for her to find the bell:
however, had she found it, she would
have knocked just the same.
At first, no one answered. That was
not surprising, since everybody was
supposed to be at the Union Camp
meeting that had been advertised for
the last two months, and that any one
in Littleburg should go visiting at
half-past eight, and especially that any
one should come knocking at the door
of this particular house, was almost
incredible.
No doubt that is why the young
woman who finally opened the door—
after Fran had subjected it to a sec
ond and more prolonged visitation of
her small fist—looked at the stranger
with surprise which was, in itself, re
proof. The lady in the doorway be
lieved herself confronted by a "carap
*r”-—one of those fitting birds of outer
darkness who have no religion of
their own, but who are always putting
that of others to the proof.
The voice from the doorway was
cool, impersonal, as if, by its very
aloofnesB. it would push the wanderer
away: “Wliat do you want?”
. “I want Hamilton Gregory," Fran
answered promptly, without the
slightest trace of embarrassment.
“I'm told he lives here.”
"Mr. Gregory"—offering the name
with its title as a palpable rebuke—
"lives here, but is not at home. What
do you want, little girl?”
“Where is he?" Fran asked, un
daunted.
He is at the camp-meeting, tne
young woman answered reluctantly,
irritated at opposition, and displeased
■with herself for being irritated. “What
do you want with him? 1 will attend
to whatever It is. I am acquainted
■with all of his affairs—l am his secre
tary."
“Where's that camp-meeting? How
can I find the place?” was Fran's
quick rejoinder. She could not ex
plain the dislike rising within her.
She was too young, herself. v> con
sider the other's youth an advantage,
but the beauty of the imperious wom
an in the doorway—why did it not stir
her imagination?
Mr. Gregory's secretary, reflected
that, despite its seeming improbabil
ity, it might be important for him to
see this queer creature who came to
strange doors at night-time.
“If you will go straight down that
road"—she pointed—“and keep on for
about a mile and a half, you will
come to the big tent. Mr. Gregory
will be in the tent, leading the choir.”
“All right.” And turning her back
on the door. Fran swiftly gained the
front steps. Half-way down, she
paused, and glanced over her thin
shoulder. Standing thus, nothing was
to be seen of her but a blurred out
line, and the shining of her eyes.
"I Guess,” Said Fran Inscrutably,
“You’re Not Mrs. Gregory.”
"I guess,” said Fran inscrutably,
“you're not Mrs. Gregory.”
“No,” came the answer, with an al
most imperceptible cbange of manner
—a change as of gradual petrifaction.
“I am not Mrs. Gregory.” And with
that the lady, who was not Mrs. Greg
ory. quietly but forcibly closed the
door.
It was as if, with the closing of that
d«)or, she would have shut Fran out
her
CHAPTER II.
A Disturbing Laugh.
The sermon was ended, the exhor
tation was at the point of loudest
voice and most impassioned earnest
ness. A number of men, most of them
young, thronged the footpath leading
from the stiles to the tent. A few
were smoking; all were waiting for
the pretty girls to come forth from
the Christian camp. Fran pushed her
way among the idlers with admirable
nonchalance, her sharp elbow ready
for the first resistive pair of ribs.
The crowd outside did not argue a
scarcity of seats under the canvas.
Fran found a plank without a back,
loosely disposed, and entirely unoc
cupied. She seated herself, straight
as an Indian, and with the air of be
ing very much at ease.
The scene was new to her. More
than a thousand villagers, ranged
along a natural declivity, looked down '
upon the platform of undressed nine.
In front of the platform men and
women were kneeling on the ground.
Some were bathed in tears; some
were praying aloud; some were talk
ing to those who stood,' or knelt be
side them; some were clasping con
vulsive hands; all were oblivions of
surroundings.
From the hundred members of the
choir, Fran singled out the man she
had been seeking for so many years.
It was easy enough to distinguish him
from the singers who crowded the
platform, not only by his baton which
proclaimed the choir-leader, but by
his resemblance to the picture she had
discovered in a New York Sunday
Supplement.
Hamilton Gregory was clean-shaved
except for a silken reddish mustache;
his complexion was fair, his hair a
shade between red and brown, his
eyes blue. His finely marked face
and striking bearing were stamped
with distinction and grace.
It was strange to Fran that he did
not once glance in her direction.
True, there was nothing in her ap
pearance to excite especial attention,
but she had looked forward to meet
ing him ever since she could remem
ber. Now that her eyes were fast
ened on his face, now that they were
so near, sheltered by a common roof,
how could he help feeling her pres
ence?
The choir-leader rose and lifted his
baton. At his back thq hundred men
and women obeyed the signal, while
hymn-books fluttered open throughout
the congregation. Suddenly the leader
of the choir started into galvanic life.
He led the song with his sweet voice,
his swaying body, his frantic baton,
his wild arms, his imperious feet.
With all that there was of him, he
conducted the melodious charge upon
the ramparts of sin and indifference.
If in repose Fran had thought him
singularly handsome and attractive,
she now found him inspiring. His
blue eyes burned with exaltation while
his magic voice seemed to thrill with
more than human ecstasy.
On the left, the heavy bass was
singing,
“One thing: we know.
Wherever we go—
We reap what we sow.
We reap what we sow.**
While these words were being doled
out at long and impressive intervals,
like the tolling of a heavy bell, more
than half a hundred soprano voices
were hastily getting in their requisite
number of half-notes, thus—
"So scatter little, scatter little, scatter
scatter little.
Scatter little seed* of kindness."
In spite of the vast volume of
sound produced by these voices, as
well as by the acotnpaniment of two
pianos and a snar#drum, the voice of
Hamilton Gregory, soaring flute-like
toward heaven, seemed to dart
through the interstices of “rests,” to
thread its slender way along infinites
imal curves of silence. As one list
ened. it was the inspired truth as ut
tered by Hamilton Gregory that
brought the message home to con
science. As if one had never before
been told that one reaps what one
sows, uneasy memory Btarted out of
(.COPYRIGHT 1912
1 B0BB5-MEPPILLC0.)
weather-stained canvas rolled th*
warning, not unmusically:
“We leap what we sow,
We reap what we sow.”
hidden places with its whisper or seed
sown amiss. Tears rose to many eyes,
and smothered sobs betrayed intense
emotion.
Of those who were not in the least
affected, Fran was one. She saw and
heard Hamilton Gregory's Impassioned
earnestness, and divined his yearning
to touch m-.ny hearts; nor did she
doubt that he would then and there
have given his life to press home upon
the erring that they must ultimately
reap what they were sowing. Never
theless she was altogether unmoved.
It would have been easier for her to
laugh than to cry.
Although the preacher had ceased
his exhortations for the singing of
the evangelistic hymn, he was by no
means at the end of his resources.
Standing at the margin of the plat
form. looking out on the congregation,
he slowly moved hack and forth his
magnetic arms in parallel lines. Not
one word did he s; eak. Even between
the verses, when he might have striv
en against the pi inos and the snare
"Won’t You Go With Me, Littie Girl?*’
drum, h*s maintained his terrible si
lence. f;ut as he fixed his ardent eyes
upon space, as he moved those impel
ling arms, a man wo^ld rise here, a
\v«ma j start up there—reluctantly, or
eager??, the unsaved would press
their way to the group kneeling at
the rront. Prayers and groans rose
louder. Jubilant shouts of religious
victo'-y were more frequent. One could
now hardly hear the choir as it in
sisted—
“XVe reap what we sow.
We reap what we sow.”
Suddenly the evangelist smote his
hands together, a signal for song and
prayer to cease.
Having obtained a silence that was
breathless he leaned over the edge of
the platform, and addressed a man
who knelt upon the ground:
“Brother Clinton, can’t you get it?”
The man shook his head.
"You’ve been kneeling there n'ght
after night,” tho evangelist continued;
“don’t you feel that the Lord loves
you? Can’t you feel it? Can’t you
feel it now? Can’t you get it? Can’t
you get it now? Brother Clinton, I
want you to get through before these
revival services close. They close
this night, i go away tomorrow. This
may be your last opportunity. I want
you to g*t It now. All these waiting
friends want you to get it now. All
these praying neighbors want to see
you get It. Can’t you get tLrough to
night? Just quietly here, without any
excitement, without any noise or tu
mult, just you and your soul alone to
gether—Brother Clinton, can’t you get
through tonight?”
Brother Clinton shook his head.
Fran laaghed aloud.
The evangelist had already turned
to Hamilton Gregory as a signal for
the hymn to be resumed, for some
times singing helped them "through,”
but the sound of irreverent laughter
chilled his blood. To his highly
wrought emotional nature, that sound
of mirth came as the laughter of
fiends over the tragedy of an immortal
soul.
“Seveial times,” he cried, with whit
ened face, "these services have beqn
disturbed by the ungodly.” He point
ed an inflexible Auger at Fran: "Yon
der sits a little girl who should not
have been allowed In thm tent unac
companied by her parents. Brethren!
Too much is at stake, at moments
like these, to . jhrink from heroic
measures. Souls are here, waiting to
be saved. Let the, little girl be re
moved. Where are the ushers? 1
hope she will go without disturbance,
but go she shall! Now, Brother Greg
ory, sing.”
As the song swept over the wor
shipers in a wave of pleading, such
ushers as still remained held a brief
consultation. The task assigned them
did not geem included in their proper
functions. Only one could be found
to volunteer as policeman, and he only
because the evangelist’s determined
eye and rigid arm had never ceased to
indicate the disturber of the peace.
Fran was furious; her small white
face seemed cut in stor.e as she stared
at the evangelist. How could she have
known she was going to laugh? Her
tumultuous emotions, inspired by the
sight of Hamilton Gregory, might
well have found expression in some
other way. That laugh had been as a
darting of tongue-flame directed
against the armored Christian soldier
whose face was so spiritually beauti
ful, whose voice was so eloquent.
Fran was suddenly aware of a man
pausing irresolutely at the end of the
plank that held her erect. Without
turning her head, she asked in a
rather spiteful voice, "Are you the
sheriff?”
He spoke with conciliatory persua
siveness: "Won't you go with me,
little girl?”
Fran turned impatiently to glare at
the usher.
He was a fine young fellow of per
haps twenty-four, tall and straight,
clear, and wholesome. His eyes were
sincere and earnest yet they promised
much in the way of sunny smiles—at
the proper time and place. His
mouth was frank, his forehead open,
his shoulders broad.
Fran rose as swiftly as if a giant
had lifted her to her feet. "Come on.
then,” she said in a tone somewhat
smothered. She climbed over the
i “stringer” at the -end of her plank,
and marched behind the young man
as if oblivious of devouring eyes.
As they passed the last pole that
supported a gasolene-burner, Fran
glanced up shyly from under her
broad hat. The light burned red upon
the young usher’s face, and there was
something in the crimson glow, or in
the face, that made her feel like cry
ing. just because—or so she fancied—
it revived the recollection of lone
liness. And as she usually did what
she felt like doing, she cried, silently,
as she followed the young man out be
neath the stars.
CHAPTER III.
On the Foet-Bridge.
To the young usher, the change of
scene was rather bewildering. His
eyes were still full of the light from
gasolene-burners, his ears still rang
with the confusion of tent-noise into
which entered the prolonged mono
tones of inarticulate groanings, and
the explosive suddenness of seemingly
irreverent Amens.
Nothing just then mattered except
the saving cf souls. Having faithfully
attended the camp-meeting for three
weeks he found.other interests blot
ted out. The village as a whole had
given itself over to religious ecstasy
1 Those who had professed their faith
left no stone unturned in leading oth
ers to the altar, as if life could not re
sume its routine until the unconverted
were brought to kneel at the evang
elist’s feet. '
As Abbott Ashton reflected that, be
cause of this young girl with the
mocking laugh, he was losing the cli
macteric expression of the three
weeks’ campaign. his displeasure
grew. Within him was an undefined
thought vibration akin to surprise,
caused by the serenity of the hushed
sky. Was it not incongruous that the
heavens should be so peaceful with
their quiet star-beacons, while man
was exerting himself to the utmost of
gesture and noise to glorify the Maker
of that calm canopy? From the
Above the tide of melody, the voice
of the evangelist rose iu a scream, ap
palling in its agony—"Oh. men and
women, why will you die, why will
you die?”
But the stars, looking down at the
silent earth, spoke not of death, spoke
only as stars, seeming .to say. “Here
are April days, dear old earth, balmy
springtime and summer harvest be
fore us!—What merry nights we shall
pass together!” The earth answered
with a sudden white smile, for the
moon had just risen above the distant
woods.
At the stile where the footpath
from the tent ended, Abbott paused.
Why should he go further? This scof
fer, the one false cote in the meet
ings harmony, had been silenced
"There,” he said, showing the road.
His tone was final. It meant. "De
part.”
Fran spoke in a choking voice, “I'm
afraid.' It was, not until then, that
he knew she had been crying, for not
once had he looked back. That she
should cry, changed everything.
"I am so little,” Fran said plain
tively. "and the world is so large.”
Abbott stood irresolute. To take
Fran back to the tent would destroy
the Influence, but it seemed inhuman
to send her away. He temporized
rather weakly, "But you came here
alone.”
"But I’m not going away alone,’
said Fran. Her voice was still damp,
but she had kept her resolution dry.
In the gioom, he vainly sought to
discern her features. "Whose little
girl are you?” he asked, not without
an accent of gentle commiseration.
Fran, one foot on the first step of
the stile, looked up at him: the sud
den flare of a torch revealed the sor
row' in her eyes. “I am nobody's little
girl,” she answered plaintively.
Her eyes were so large, and so soft
and dark, that Abbott was glad she
was only a child of fourteen—or fif
teen, perhaps. Her face was so
strangely eloquent In its yearning foi
something quite beyond his compre
hension, that he decided^ then and
there, to be her frie'nd. The unsteady !
light prevented definite perception of
her face. There was. in truth, an ele
ment of charm in all he could discern
of the girl. Possibly the big hat
helped to conceal or accentuate—at
any rate, the effect was somewhat
elfish. As for those great and lumi
nously black eyes, he could not for the
life of him have said what he saw in
•
"S'
“Who’s Little Girl Are You?’*
them to set his blood tingling with
a feeling of protecting tenderness. Pos
sibly it was her trust in him, for aE
he gazed into the earnest eyes oi
Fran, it was like looking into a clear
pool to see oneself.
"Nobody's little girl?” he repeated,
inexpressibly touched that it should
be so. What a treasure somebody w»as
denied! "Are you a stranger in the
town?”
"Never been here before,” Fran an
swered mournfully.
“But why did you come?"
“I came to find Hamilton Gregory.’
<TO BE CONTINUED.)
SMALL VALUE OF HUMAN LIFE
According to Legal Decision* Few
Men Need Have High Opinion of
Themselves.
That "human life Is cheap” would
appear from a study undertaken by
a well known lawyer of the legal deci
sions banded down in this country
with reference to the "cash value” of
a man.
It is estimated that at ten years
of age a boy of the laboring class
is worth $2,061.42; at fifteen, $4,263.46;
at twenty-five, $5,488,03, from which
time the decline is steady, a man of
seventy, by this legal decision scale,
rating at only $17.13! By the same prac
tical method of computation one eye
is worth $5,000; one leg, $15,000; two
legs, $25,000; one arm, $10,000; one
hand. $6,000; one finger. $1,500, and
permanent disability, $25,000. This, it
is pointed out, is merely an average as
far as decisions have been examined.
It should be added that the esti
mates of the value of a man’s life
are based upon an idea not of his
value V> himself, but of bis value to
the community. The figures in in
i'i vidua! cases would vary greatly
with reference to the fact whether or
not *the person's death caused hard
ship to others who were dependent up
on him.
The value of a man to himself is.
it is further pointed out, unimportant
after he is dead—from a legal point
of view. His value to society at large
cannot be considered in a cash esti
mate. since that kind of value de
pends upon other than physical re
sources. His value to those who look
to him for support can alone be esti
mated on the material side.
Gallo-Roman Villa Unearthed.
A Gallo-Roman villa haB been un
earthed in Paris in connection with
the works for the underground rail
way near the Luxembourg. Traces
of Roman remains are being discov
ered in Paris more numerously every
year, and the remains of the villa just
discovered might, we are told, rival
those of some of the finest brought
to light in Pompeii. It is not the first
time that this villa Is spoken of. as
parts of the walls and atrium were
uncovered years ago, when the works
were in nrogress for the Luxembourg
station, hut now the entire villa has
been laid bare, and it is found to have
consisted of twenty rooms, with a
large atrium and a piscina. It faced
in the direction of the Rue Gay Lus
sac and the boulevard Saint Michel,
and according all appearances it
was the most sumptuous private resi
dence built in Paris during the Gallo
Roman period—Paris correspondence
London Telegraph.
Anti-Swear Gong.
"Please do not swear when the bell
rings. That is the signal a lady is
buying something out front.” This is
the sign that is stuck up In the big
poolroom of a Virginia town, where
the young men are inclined to cuss
when they miss an easy side-pocket;
shot or "scratch” on an easy play.
In front of the poolroom is a magazine
and stationery stand, and the owner
found the only way to keep both hia
poof trade and magazine customers
was to stop the boys from swearing
when women were. near. The gong
does it
PLACE FOR DANGEROUS DRUGS
Household Should Have Some Kind
of Cupboard Where They May
Be Kept in Safety.
Almost every medical man has ex
perience of some lotion intended for
outward application being taken by
mistake, and such accidents will go
on happening until the general pub
lic does something for its own pro
tection. The druggist may label his
bottles ever so carefuly. but to a child
the label conveys no meaning, and if
the bottle be left within his reach no
one can be surprised if an accident
happens.
Every house should contain a small,
safe ccboard out of reach of chil
dren where bottleB may be kept, for
many medicines which are perfectly
harmless if taken as prescribed by
the person for whom they are In
tended would bring abont serious re
sults If the bottle were emptied at
one draught
People do not realize what great
precautions are taken by dispensers
at large hospitals who have the re
sponsibility of dealing continually
with many powerful drugs. In most
cases all poisons are kept In a special 1
cuboard, so arranged that an electric
bell rings loudly as soon as the door
is opened, summoning immediately a
'checker," without whose presence
no dangerous drug can be taken out.
These precautions, valuable as they
undoubtedly are, must be supplement
ed in the patient's home: it is there
for the mqst part that the accident,
take place.
He Meant a Wee Nap, Not a Wee Nip.
After Charles Myers, a Mason (Mo.)
barber, had finished up the stranger
he raised the chair, and his customers
head fell over lo rme side. The barber
straightened him up and shook him
a little.
••You were asleep,” said Charley.
"So I was—so I was,” agreed the
gentleman In the chair. "Well, you’ll
have to come ’round to my place and
take one on me.”
"I don’t drink,” returned Charley.*
“Neither do?I. I’m the new preach
er at the First Street church.”—New
York World.
TENDERFEET WIN !
WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
HILL AND SONS, THp OAT CHAM
PIONS, ARE COCKNEYS BORN
AND BRED.
City-bred in the world’s greatest
metropolis and untrained as to things
agricultural, were J. C. Hill and his
three boys when they settled on home
steads at Lloydminster, in the Prov
ince of Saskatchewan (western Can
ada), eight years ago. Today they
are the recognized champion oat grow
ers ol the North American continent,
having won twice in succession the
silver challenge cup. valued at $1,500
at the Fifth National Corn exposition,
Columbia, S. C. The Plate, officially
known as the Colorado Oat trophy, is
emblematic of the grand champion
ship prize for the best bushel of oats
exhibited by individual farmers or ex
periment farms at these expositions.
The Hill entry won this year in the
face of the keenest competition, hun
dreds of exhibits being sent by expe
rienced farmers from all parts of the
United States and Canada. The oats
were grown on land which was wild
prairie less than four years ago.
When Mr. Hill and his three son*,
who probably never saw a wider acre
age than the hills of Hampstead
Heath, or the parks of London, came
to Saskatchewan eight years ago, they
had little more capital than was re
quired for homestead entry fees. They
filed on four homesteads, in the Lloyd
minster district, which straddles the
boundary of Alberta and Saskatche
wan. They went to work with a will,
ripping the rich brown sod with break
ing plows and put in a crop, which
yielded fair returns.
They labored early and late and de
nied themselves paltry pleasures, glad
to stand the gaff for a while in rising
to their possibilities. They talked with
successful farmers and studied crops
and conditions and profited by both.
The new life on the farm was strange
but they never lost heart, handicapped
as they were by lack of experience
and capital.
The farm house, modern in every
respect, compares favorably with any
residence in the city. The Hills have
substantial bank accounts and- their
credit is gilt-edge from Edmonton to
Winnipeg and beyond.
"There is nothing secret about our
methods nor is our plan copyrighted.
We first made a thorough study of
climatic conditions, soil and seed,"
said Mr. Hill. "We tended our crops
carefully and gradually added live
stock, realizing from the beginning
that mixed farming would pay larger
and more certain returns than straight
grain growing. We have demonstrated
that fact to our satisfaction and the
result is that many of the farmers in
the district are following our exam
ple.’’
The land that the Hills work is of
the same class as may be found any
where in Manitoba, Saskatchewan or
Alberta.—Advertisement.
Hope for Us All, Then.
"Even Dobblitz has his good
points."
‘‘A remark that is enough to make
the average man an optimist.”
Exceptions.
"Never put your foot in it when
acknowledging a birthday present.’
"Not even if it is a pair of slip
pers?” ,
Liquid blue is a weak solution. Avoid it.
Buy Ked Cross Ball Blue, tbe blue ih&i's alf
blue. Ask your grocer. Adv.
A hen sitting on a porcelain egg is
a pathetic example of misapplied eon
♦fidence.
WOMAN COULD
NOT WALK
1,1 1 ■■ ■■ •
She Was So Bl—Restored to
Health by Lydia E. Pink
ham’s Vegetable
Compound.
Pentwater, Mich. —“A yearagolws*
very weak and the doctor said I h»d a
^ serious displace
ment. I had back
ache aud bearing
down pains so bad
that I could not sit
in a chair or walk
across the floor and
I was in severe pain
all the time. I felt
discouraged as I had
taken everything I
could think of and
was no better. 1
began taking Lydia E. Pinkham s Veg
etable Compound and now I am strong
and healthy.”—Mrs. Alice Darling,
R.F.D. No. 2, Box 77, Pentwater, Mich.
Read WhatAnotherWoman says:
Peoria, 111.—"I had such backacbc3
that I could hardly stand on my feet. I
would feel like crying out lots of times,
and had such a heavy feeling in my right
side. I had such terrible dull headaches
every day and they would make me feci
so drowsy and sleepy all the time, yet I
could not sleep at night.
“After I had taken Lydia E. Pinkham’s
Vegetable Compound a week I began to
improve. My backache was less and
that heavy feeling in my side went
away. I continued to take the Com
pound an4 am cured.
“You may publish this if you wish.”
—Miss Clara L. Gauwitz, R.R. No. 4,
Bex 62, Peoria, TIL
Such letters prove the value of Lydia
E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com pot nd for
woman’s ills. Y/hy don’t you try it?
Your Liver
Is Clogged Up
That’* Why You’re Tired—Out of So*t»
—Have No Appetite.
CARTER’S LITTLE
LIVER PILLS
will put you right ^
in a few days. A '
They do^
their dutv.y
CureCon-i
stipation,
Biliousness, indigestion ana sick neaiuicu*
SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICE
Genuine must bear Signature
Manufactured and guaranteed under
the U. S. Food <K Drug Act of June 30,
1906. Write for descriptive matter and
tree booklet “Something About Hog*. ’’
BROADWELL-BOBEBTS CO.
South Omaha Nebraska
The Effects of Opiates. C’
THAT INFANTS are peculiarly susceptible to opium and its various
preparations, all of which are narcotic, is well known. Even in the
smallest doses, if continued, these opiates cause changes in the func
tions and growth of the cells which are likely to become permanent, causing
imbecility, mental perversion, a craving for alcohol or narcotics in later life.
Nervous diseases, such as intractable nervous dyspepsia and lack of staying
powers are a result of dosing with opiates or narcotics to keep children quiet
in their infancy. The rule among physicians is that children should never
receive opiates in the smallest doses for more than a day at a time, and
only then if unavoidable.
The administration of Anodynes, Drops, Cordials, Soothing Syrupe and
other narcotics to children by any but a‘physician cannot be too strongly
decried, and the druggist should not be a party to it. Children who are ill
need the attention of a physician, and it is nothing less than a crime to
dose them willfully with narcotics.
Castoria contains no narcotics if it bears t
signature of Chas. H. Fletcher.
Genuine Castoria always bears the signature
Catarrhal Fever
3 to 6 doses often core.
One 50-cent bottle 8POHN’8 guaranteed to cure a case.
Safe for any mare, horse or colt.
Dozen bottles 16. <iet It of druggists, harness dealers or direct frost
manufacturers, express paid. •r
SPOHN’S is the best preventive of all forms of distemper.
SPOH X MEDICAL CO.,
Chemists and Bacteriologists, Goshen, Inch, C. S. A.
Egotism.
The Man (sourly)—The home team
always loses when I go to a game.
I'm the hoodoo, all right.
The Woman—How can you be so
conceited, John?
T.EW1S’ Single Binder cigar give* you the
rich natural quality of good tobacco. Adv.
Some men show good judgment by
showing a lack of self-confidence.
FOLEY KIDNEY FILLS
RICH IN CURATIVE QUALITIES
FOR BACKACHE. RHEUMATISM,
KIDNEYS AND BLADDER
DAISY FLY KILLER
P’acsd aaywher*.
tract* and kills ail
ties. Neat clean or
namental. coo renient
cheap. Lasts all
season Made of
metal, can't spl u or tip
over, will not soli oa
injure anything
Guaranteed effect Its.
Alt denlarw ore sent
. . __ «xpr«»« p*ia ror vi m
BABOLO SOMEES. 1M DtAaib At... Brooklyn. V. T.
IP ^ TT Ip /A and all diseases of
C^V/^lvr1!^ the skin CIUKU.
iriaL r. male (bebic cb.. ai£££
PATENTS
NebraskaDirectory
j I BOILER REPAIRS
I Expert boiler makers sent any where— anytime.
' 1 WILSON STEAM BOILER CO., Omaha
DEFIANCE STARCH
is constantly growing ia favor becau.se it
Does Not Stick to the Iron
and it will not injure the finest fabric. For
laundry purposes it has no equaL 16 oz.
package 10c. 1-3 more starch for same money.
DEFIANCE STARCH CO- Omaha, Nebraska
Try Us—It Will Pay You
Consign your stock to us for good prices, good fill*
anti prompt remittance. Write or wire os for any
desired informal ion regarding tbe market. A11 mm
UKmicaiiotts answered promptly. We are workiee
for your interest and appreciate your business
N. E. ACKER A CO.,
Live Stock Commission
(mb 110-112 Ei:lmp HOC.. Stock TCi. Statloa, --a*
Alex. G. Buchanan & Son
are always fighting for the
Live Stock Shipper’s Interest
GET IN TOUCH W ITH THEM
