' BY JOHN BEECKENMDGE ELLIS XtX ILLUSTRATIONS BV p& l O-IEWIN-MYEKS u SYNOPSIS. Fran arriyes at Hamilton Gregory's Ihuim in Littleburg, but finds him absent conducting the choir at a camp meeting.li She repairs thither in search of him |J laughs during the service and is asked to" leave. Abbott Ashton, superintendent of echools, escorts l’ran from the tent. He tolls tier Gregory is a wealthy man. I deeply interested in charity work, and a pillar of the church. Ashton becomes frreatly# interested in. Fran and while tak n< lenS’e of her. holds her hand and Is «ieen by Sapphira Clinton, sister of Rob ert Clinton, chairman of the school board. Fran tells Gregory she wants a home with him. Grace Notr, Gregory's private secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran and advises her to go away at once. Fran hints at a twenty-year-old secret, and Gregory in agitation asks Grace to leave the room. Fran relates the story of how Gregory married a young girl at Springfield while attending college and then deserted her. Fran is the child of (that marriage. Gregory had married his present wife three years before the death of Fran's mother. Fran takes a liking to Mrs. Gregory. Gregory explains that Fran is the daughter of a very dear friend ■who is dead. Fran agrees to the story. Mrs. Gregory insists on her making her home with them and takes her to her arms. Fran declares the secretary must tfo Grace begins nagging tactics in an effort to drive Fran from the Gregory home. Abbott, while taking a walk alone at midnight, finds Fran on a bridge tell ing her fortune by cards. She tells Ab bott that she is the famous lion tamer. Fran Nonpareil. She tired of circus life and sought a home. Grace tells of see ing Fran come home after midnight with a man. She guesses part of the story and surprises the rest from Abbott. She decides to ask Bob Clinton to go to Springfield to investigate Fran's story. Frau enlists Abbott in her battle against Grace. Fran offers her services to Greg ory as secretary during the temporary absence of Grace. CHAPTER XIV.—Continued. “Of course you are lonely, child, but that is your fault. You are in this house on a footing of equality, and all •eem to like you. except Miss Grace— «uid I must say. her disapproval dis turbs you very little. But you won’t adopt our ways. You make everybody talk by your indiscreet behavior—then wonder that the town shuns your so ciety. and complain because you feel lonesome!" Fran’s eyes filled with tears. “If you believe in me—if you try to like me— that's all I ask. The whole town can talk, tf I have you. I don’t care for the world and its street corners—there are no street corners in my world ” “But, child—” “You never call me Fran if you can help it.” she interposed passionately. “Even the dogs have names. Call me by mine; It's Fran. Say it, say it. Call me—oh, father, father. I want your love.” “Hush!’’ he gasped, ashen pale. “You will be overheard.” She extended her arms wildly: “What do you know about God, except that He’s Father. That’s all—Father v-—and you worship Him as His son. Yet you want me to care for your re ligion. Then why don’t you show me the way to God? Can you love Him | end deny your own child? Am I to pray to him as my Father in Heaven, but not dare acknowledge my father on earth? No! I don’t know how oth ers feel, but I’ll have to reach heav enly things through human things. And I tell you that you are standing between me and God.” “Hush. hush!” cried Gregory. "Child! this is sacrilege!” “No, it is not. I tell you, 1 can’t see God, because you’re in the way. You pray ‘Our Father who art in plearen . . give us this day our daily bread.’ And I pray to you, and I say. My father here on earth, give— Rive me—your love. That’s what I want—nothing else—I want It so bad. . . . I’m dying for it, father, can’t you understand? Look—I’m praying for It—” She threw herself wildly at his feet. Deeply moved, he tried to lift her from the ground. “No.” cried Fran, scarcely knowing what she said, “I will not get ap till you grant my prayer. I’m not asking for the full, rich love a child has the right to expect—but give me a crust, to keep me alive—father, give me my daily bread. You needn’t think Gcd is going to answer your prayers, if you refuse mine.” Hamilton Gregory took her in his arms and held her to his breast. ■“Fran," he said brokenly, “my unfor tunate child . . . my daughter—oh. why were you born?" “Yes.” sobbed Fran, resting her head upon his bosom, “yes, why was I born?” “You break my heart," he sobbed !with her. “Fran, say the word, and f will tell everything; I will acknowl edge you as my daughter, and if my wife—’’ Fran shook her head. “You owe no (COPYRIGHT 1912 B08B5-MEPPILLC0.) r more to my mother than to her." she said, catching her breath. “No, the secret must be kept—always. Father —1 must never call you that except when we are alone—I must always whisper it, like a prayer—father, let me be your secretary." It was strange that this request should surround Fran with the cnill atmosphere of a tomb. His embrace relaxed insensibly. He looked at his daughter in frightened bewilderment, as if afraid she had drawn him too far from his security for further hid ing. During the silence, she awaited his decision. It was because of her tumultuous emotions that she failed to hear ad vancing footsteps. "Some one is coming," he exclaimed, with ill-concealed relief. “We mustp't be seen thus—we would be misunder stood." He strode to the window, and pretended to look out. His face cleared momentarily. The door opeued, and Grace Noir started in. then paused significantly. “Am I interrupting?" she asked, in quiescent accent. “Certainly not," Gregory breathed freedom. His surprise was so joyful that he was carried beyond himself. "Grace! It’s Grace! Then you didn’t go to the city with Bob. There wasn't any train—” “I am here—” began Grace easily— “Yes, of course, that’s the main thing,” his delight could not be held in check. “You are here, indeed! And you are looking—I mean you look well—I mean you are not ill—your re turn is so unexpected.” “I am here,” she steadily persisted, "because I learned something that affects my. interests. I went part of the way with Mr. Clinton, but after thinking over what had been told me, I decided to leave the train at the next station. I have been driven back in a carriage. I may as well tell you, Mr. Gregory, that I am urged to accept a responsible position in Chicago ” He understood that she referred to marriage with Robert Clinton. “But—” he began, very "pale. She repeated, “A responsible posi ./V. “My Unfortunate Child—My Daughter —Oh, Why Were You Born." tion in Chicago. And I was told, this morning, that while I was away, Fran meant to apply for the secretaryship, I thus taking advantage of my absence.” Fran’s face looked oddly white and old. in its oval of black hair. “Who told you this truth?” she demanded, with a menacing gleam of teeth. “Who knew of your intentions?” the other gracefully said. “But this is no matter. The point is that I have this Chicago opportunity. So if Mr. Greg ory wantp to employ you, I must know' It at once, to make my arrangements accordingly.” “Can you imagine,” Hamilton cried reproachfully, “that without any warn ing, I would make a change? Certain ly not. I have no Intention of employ ing Fran. The idea is impossible. More than that, it is—er—it is abso lutely preposterous. Would I caimly tear down what you and I have been building up so carefully?" ‘Then you had already refused Fran before I came?” "I had—hadn't I, Fran?” Fran gave her father a look such as had never before come into- her dark eyes—a look of reproach, a look that said, “I cannot fight back because of the agony in my heart.” She went away silent and with downcast bead. CHAPTER XV. In Sure-Enough Country. One morning, more than a month after the closing days of school, Ab bott Ashton chanced to look from his bedroom window as Hamilton Greg- i ory’s buggy, with Fran in it, passed. Long fishing-poles projected from the back of the buggy. By Fran’s side, Abbott discovered a man. True it was “only” Simon Jef ferson; still, for all his fifty years and his weak heart, it was not as if it were some pleasant, respectable woman—say Simon’s mother. How ever, old ladies do not sit upon creek banks. The thought of sitting upon the bank of a stream suggested to Abbott that it would be agreeable to pursue his studies in the open air. He snatched up some books and went below. On the green veranda he paused to inhale the fragrance of the roses. ’Tin glad you've left your room.” said Miss Sapphira, all innocence, all kindness. ’’You’ll study yourself to death. It won't make any more of life to take it hard—there's just so much for every man.” Huge and serious. Miss Sapphira sat in the shadow of the bay-window. Against the wall were arranged sturdy r ound-backed wooden chairs, each of which could have received the landlady's person without a quiver of a spindle. Everything about Abbott seemed too carefully ordered—he pined for the woods—some mossy bank sloping to a purling stream. Suddenly Miss Sapphira grew pon derously significant. Her massive head trembled from a weight of meaning not to be lifted lightly in mere words, her double chins consolidated, and her mouth became as the granite door of a cave sealed against the too-eurious. Abbott paused uneasily before his meditated flight—“Have you heard any news?” She answered almost tragically, ‘‘Board meeting, tonight.” Ordinarily, teachers for the next year were selected before the close of the spring term; only those "on the inside” knew that the fateful hoard meeting had been delayed week after week because of disagreement over the superintendency. There was so much dissatisfaction over Abbott Ash ton—because of “so much talk”—that even Robert Clinton had thought it best to wait, that the young man might virtually be put upon good be havior. “Tonight," the young man repeated with a thrill. He realized how impor tant this meeting would prove in shap ing his future. “Yes,” she said warningly. “And Bob is determined to do his duty. He never went very far in his own educa tion because he didn’t expect to be a school-teacher—but ever since he's been chairman of the school-board, he’s aimed to have the best teachers, so the children can be taught right; most of ’em are poor and may want to teach, too, when they’re grown. I think all the board’ll be for you to night, Abbott, and I’ve been glad to notice that for the last month, there’s been less talk. And by the way,” she added, “that Fran-girl went by with Simon Jefferson just now, the two of them in Brother Gregory’s buggy. They’re going to Blubb’s Riffle—he with his weak heart, and her with that sly smile of hers, and It’s a full three mile!" Abbott did not volunteer that he had seen them pass, but his face showed the ostensible Integrity of a jam-thief, whg for once finds himself innocent when missing jam is mentioned. She was not convinced by his look of guilele8sness. “You seem to be carrying away your books.” “I want to breathe in this June morning without taking it strained through window-screens,” he ex plained. Miss Sapphira gave something like a choked cough, and compressed her lips. “Abbott,” she said, looking at him sidewise, “please step to the tele phone, and call up Bob—he's at the store Tell him to leave the clerk in charge and hitch up and take me for a little drive. I want some of this June morning myself.” Abbott>pbeyed with alacrity. On his return. Miss Sapphira said. "Bob's go ing to fight for you at the board meet ing. Abbott. We’ll do what we can, and I hope you’ll help yourself.” As Abbott went down the fragrant street with its cool hose-refreshed pavements, its languorous shadows athwart rose-bush and picket fence, its hopeful weeds already peering through crevices where plank sidewalks main tained their worm-eaten right of way. he was in no dewy-inorning mood. He understood what those wise nods had meant, and he was in no frame of mind for such wisdom. He meant to go far, far away from the hoarding house, from the environment of schools and school-boards, from Little burg with its atmosphere of ridiculous gossip. Of course he could have gone just as far. if he had not chosen the direc tion of Blubb's Riffle—but he had to take some direction. He halted before he came in sight of the stream; if Fran had a mind to fish with Simon Jefferson, he would not spoil her sport. He found a comfortable log where he might study under the gracious sky. H^ did not learn much—there seemed a bird in every line. < When he clodbd his books, scarcely knowing why, and decided to ramble, it was with no intention of seeking Fran. Miss Sapphira might have guessed what would happen, but in perfect innocence, the young man strolled, seeking a grassy by-road, sel dom used, redolent of brush, tree, vine, dust-laden weed. It was a road where the sun seemed almost a stranger; a road gone to sleep and dreaming of the feet of stealthy Indians, of noisy settlers, and skillful trappers. All such fretful bits of life had the old road drained into oblivion, and now it #»*«*** He Understood What Those Wise Nods Had Meant. seemed to call on Abbott to share their fate, the fate of the forgotten. But the road lost its mystic mean ing when Abbott discovered Fran. Suddenly it became only a road—nay. it became nothing. It seemed that the sight of Fran always made wreckage of the world about her. She was sitting in the Gregory bug gy, but, most surprising of all, there was n<5 horse between the shafts—no horse was to be seen, anywhere. Best of all, no Simon Jefferson was visible. Fran in the buggy—that was all. Slow traveling, indeed, even for this sleepy old road! , “Not In a hurry, are you?" “I've arrived," Fran Baid, in un friendly tone. “Are you tired of fishing. Fran?” “Yes, and of being fished.” She had closed the door in his face, but he said—as through the keyhole— “Does that mean for me to go away?” “You are a pretty gcfod friend. Mr. Ashton,” she said with a curl of her lip, “1 mean—when we are alone.” “ ‘While we’re together, and after we part,’ ” he quoted. "Frau, surely you don’t feel toward me the way you are looking." "Exactly as I'm looking at you.'.hat’s the way I feel. Stand there as long as you please—” “I don’t want to stand a moment longer. I want to sit with you in the buggy. Please don’t be so—so old!” Fran laughed out musically, but im mediately declared: “I laughed be cause you are unexpected; it doesn't mean 1 like you any better. 1 hate friendship that shows itself only in private. Mr. Chameleon, 1 like people to show -their true colors.” "I am not Mr. Chameleon, and 1 want to sit In your buggy.” “Well, then get in the very farthest corner. Now look me in the eyes.” "And, oh. Fran, you have such eyes! They are so marvelously—er—un friendly." “I’m glad you ended up that way. Now look me in the eyes. Suppose you should see the school-board sail ing down the road. Miss Sapphira thrown in. What would you do?" “What should I do?” “Hide, I suppose,” said Frau, sud denly rippling. “Then you look me in the eyes and listen to me,” he said impressively. "Weigh my words—have you scales strong enough?” "Put ’em on slow and careful." “I am not Mr. Chameleon for I show my true color. And I am a real fiiend, no matter what kind of tree I am—” He paused, groping for a word. “Up?” she suggested, with a sudden chuckle. "All right—let the school board come. But you don’t seem sur prised to see me here In the buggy without Mr. Simon." “When Mr. Simon comes he’l! find me right here,” Abbott declared. "Fran, please don’t be always showing your worst side to the town; when you laugh at people's standards, they think you queer—and you can’t imag ine just how much you are to me.” "Huh!” Fran sniffed. “I’d hate to be anybody’s friend and have my friendship as little use as yours has been to me.” He was deeply wounded. "I’ve tried to give good advice—” ”1 don't need advice, I want help in carrying out what I already know.” Her voice vibrated. "You’re afraid of losing your position if you have any thing to do with me. Of course I’m queer. Can I help it, when I have no real home, and nobody cares whether I go or stay?” , “You know I care, Fran.” • Fran caught her lip between her teeth as if to hold herself steady. "Oh, let’s drive,” she said recklessly, strik ing at tl»e dashboard with a whip, and shaking her hair about her face till she looked the elfish child he had first known. “Fran, you know I care—you know It” “We’ll drive into Sure-Enough Country,'’ she said with a half-smile showing on the side of her face next him. "Whoa! Here we are. All who live in Sure-Enough Country are sure enough people—whatever they say Is true. Goodness!” She opened her eyes very wide—“It’s awful dangerous to talk in Sure-Enough Country.” She put up her whip, and folded her hands. “I'm glad we're here, Fran, for you have your friendly look.” “That’s because I really do like you. Let's talk about yourself—how you ex pect to be what you’ll be—you’re noth ing yet, you know, Abbott; but how did you come to determine to be some thing?” Into Abbott's smile stole something tender and sacred. “It was all my mother." he explained simply. “She died before 1 received my state cer tificate, but she thought I’d be a great man—so I am trying for it." “And she’ll never know." Fran lamented. (TO (IF. CONTINUED.) Had Not Fair Chance in Life. Recent statistics as to the life his tory of the inmates of the Elmira (N. Y.) reformatory, the prison to which offenders under the age of 25 are sent on their first conviction, show that 60 per cent, of them were raised in orphan asylums. •QUEER THING IS THE TURTLE Scotch Naturalist of Wide Repute De clares It Is Neither Fish, Flesh Nor Fowl. According to Macdonald, a Scotch naturalist of wide repute, the turtle Is the strangest of all living things and the most unfathomable. He can live in the water as well as out of it and can seemingly go for Indefinite lengths of time without air or food or light. He is neither fish nor flesh nor fowl, and yet he has the characteristics of all three. As for his eating. It seems quite superfluous, for he can remain shut up in a barrel for a number of weeks and emerge at the end of the time apparently none the worse for the lack of food and light and air. The baby turtle seems also just as indifferent to its surroundings as Its narents are. As soon. as it comes jforth from Its egg it scuttles off to the £ea. It has no one to teach or guide lit In its brain seems implanted the Idea that until Its armor becomes hard »t has no defense against hungry flsk Mb belter to *.11 .eed and feeds unmolested until its armor gets hard. By the time that it weighs 25> pounds, which occurs the first year, it knows that it is far from all danger, for after that no fish, however hungry or well armed with teeth, can inter fere. The turtle immediately with draws its head into its neck between the two shells, and all intending de vourers struggle in vain to impress it. Sudden Change. To illustrate the difficulty which at tends any attempt to part the ave rage man from his money for a church purpose collection, Bishop Murray recently told this story at a gathering in the Green Spring valley. It seems that a certain church had a very well-kept cemetery surrounded by a good fence, which fence was one night blown down by a violent storm. A meeting of the church members was held to consider the rebuilding of the fence, and the vote of ninety-five to five. This point being decided, the minister announced that contributions to pay for the rebuilding would be next in order. The announcement was received in unenthusiastic silence.! broken at last by a member who rose to object to the rebuilding of the | fence. “If you think it over," he argued, I "you will see we don't need that fence. For, gentlemen, those who are inside the cemetery can’t get out, and those outside certainly don’t want to get in, so what use is a fence after all? I move to recall the vote." And recalled it was by a vote of 100 to 0. JOHN WINK. Why She Wat Quitting. A famous Ohio humorist says that a new rich family in Cleveland, who were beginning to put on a lot of airs, hired a colored girl Just arrived from the south to act as their serving-maid. Her new mistress Insisted that all meals should be served in courses. Even when there wasn’t much to eat it was brought to the table in courses. At the end of a week the girl threw up her Job. Being pressed for a rea son for quitting so suddenly, she said: “HI tell you. lady. In dls yere house dere’s too much shiftin’ of de dishes fur de fewness of de vittles.” -.Tv'C,- iLv;. FEET TAKE PUCE OF HANDS English Woman, Born Without Arms, Has Taught Herself to Sew, Cook and Write. At Eastbourne, says an English paper, resides a woman probably without an equal in the country. She was born minus arms yet she can do almost anything with her feet. Her name is Mrs. Peirce of Tower street, and recently she attended a dinner given to the old people of the town by the local lodge of Buffaloes. She surprised everybody present by placing her feet upon the table, and picking up the knife and fork with marvelous dexterity commenced to enjoy the feast. She manipulated the knife and. fork quite as well as any ordinary person would with her hands, and although she looked very uncomfortable with her feet on the table, she was quite at ease. One had to look very closely to discern that Mrs. Peirce was actual ly uelng her feet, and had any one been looking round and had not known V.~ v. '- . • -.,V.V-1if ROAD * BUILDING TEXAS BUILDING GOOD ROADS Over Four Hundred Miles in Course of Construction—Many Counties Are Interested. According to reports recently com piled for the consideration of the Texas Welfare commission, there are now in course of construction 437 miles of good roads within the state, with a prospect of double this amount during the next 12 months. On its face this looks like a large per cent, of improved highways for Texas, but on an area basis it *s a small show ing, and to secure the per cent, of mileage of good roads that the banner state, Connecticut, has we will have to build 525,000 miles more. Several of the largest undertakings of the south are now contemplated in the state, and one or tw-o have taken tangible form, writes Ida M. Darden, in the Houston Post. The Red'river to-the-gulf highway, the much talked of and long hoped for trans slate road, when built, will have a total mileage of 630, and will serve more than fifty million acres of the state’s most desir i able agricultural land. Two-thirds of the counties along the route of this I proposed highway are now building J their links of the great thoroughfare. I It has been estimated by the Texas Commercial Secretaries and Business | Men's association, who keeps close tab on road building throughout the state. I that this highway will be completed l ,-—-, Macadam Road in Arkansas. by 1914, at the present rate of con struction. It is held that the improve ment of roads adds $10,000 per mile to contiguous property, and on this basis the building of the river-to-the gulf highway will give a net increase in property values to property along this roadway of $400,000,000. The counties through which this highway will pass are Galveston, Har ris, Waller, Brazos, Robertson, Falls. Limestone, McLennan. Hill. Navarro, Johnson, Ellis, Tarrant, Dallas, Den ton, Collin, Grayson and Cooke, the road to be double-tracked from Hearne north. Another highw’ay of state impor tance is the Dallas-Texarkana high way, beginning at Dallas and passing through the counties of Collin, Gray son, Fannin, Lamar, Red River and Bowie, which will cost approximately $600,000. There are 2104 miles of pub lic highways in these countries, and the building of the trunk line will probably result in the improvement of the entire mileage of the counties, as well as stimulate road building in counties adjoining the project. GRADE HALF MILE FOR $7.50 Riley County, Kansas. Outfit Did the Work in One Day—Three Men Were Necessary. One traction engine, one road grader, and three men graded a half mile of : road in one day. This was accom I plisbed on a Riley county road at a I cost of $7.50. says Kansas Industries. The engine, running on kerosene, con sumed fuel at the rate of 20 gallons a day which, at a cost of 7^ cents a gal Ion, cost $1.50. Three men were neces sary to do the work—one to run the engine and tw o or the grader. With the exception of the engineer, the work can be. handled easily by la borers. The cost of road grading ranges from $15 to $50 a mild, depend lng on the soil and condition of the road, the width graded, and the price of labor. 1 — • Grass and Live Stock. Grass and live stock should go hand in hand. There is no farm, in my Judgment, which, tf properly han dled and kept at least one-half of ihe time in grasses and clovers, and grad ually brought under a proper system of rotation, would not produce more, in fact, double the crops which it now does, and yet constantly be grow ing better and better. 1... —■ — ■ - ■ ■ Chickens and Hogs. If a woman can hate anything she hates a chicken-eating hog The chickens don't know the difference be tween that kind and the other, so keep them apart, and keep peace in the family. Quality Instead of Quantity. Overgrown fowls are no better In any particular than those of normal sixe. The ^reeding care and selec tion designed for increasing size had better be devoted to the devel opment of laying qualities and table quality instead of quantity. Increase Mflk Supply. Properly managed, the silo will Increase the amount of milk that can be produced upon the farm and will also aid to cut down the cost of pro duction. HAD NOTHING AT ALL TO SAY Under the Circumstances Captain Could Hardly Be Blamed for Preserving Silence. Everybody in Middle Bay knew that Mrs. Captain Liscomb was talking about making a visit to her married daughter in Cincinnati. She had been talking about it for two years, but age and the natural timidity of a woman unused to travel had post poned the great event from month to month, until the neighbors began to wonder whether it would ever come to pass. So one morning, when Uncle Billy Evans met Captain Liscomb in Eccles’ store, there was twinkle in his eye as he asked: “When's Mis’ Liscomb going out to Ohio, Daniel?” “Don't ask me!" returned the cap tain. a little peevishly. “I don’t know nothin’ about it. If I tell her to go, she says I^want to get rid of her. If I tell her to stay to home, she says I'm mean! 1 ain’t saying a single word!” ECZEMA SPREAD OVER BODY RoxDury, Ohio.—“When my little boy was two weeks old he began breaking out on his cheeks. The eczema t^egan just with pimples and they seemed to itch so badly he would scratch his face and cause a matter to run. Wherever that matter would touch it would cause another pimple until it spread all over his body. It caused disfigurement while it lasted. He had fifteen places on one arm and his head had several. The deepest places on his cheeks were as large as a sil ver dollar on each side. He was so restless at night we had to put mit tens on him to keep him from scratch ing them with his finger nails. If he got a little too w-arm at night it seemed to hurt badly. “We tried a treatment and he didn't get any better. He had the eczema about three weeks when we began using Cuticura Soap and Ointment. 1 bathed him at night with the Cuticura Soap and spread the Cuticura Oint ment on and the eczema left." (Signed) Mrs. John White, Mar. 19, 1913. Cuticura Soap and Ointment sold throughout the world. Sample of each free,with 32-p. Skin Book. Address post card “Cuticura, Dept. L, Boston.”—Adv. His Farewell Speech. James H. Wallis, “the fly man of Boise.” has made Idaho the most sani tary and most flyproof state in the Union. Mr. Willis, discussing his success with a New York reporter, laughed and said: “I have succeeded in eradicating the fly by making all Idaho hate the fly. even as poor old Dan Carson hated his wife. “Poor old Dan lay dying. His wife, melted a little for once, said to him: “ ‘You're going, Dan.’ “Dan, his eyes closed, made no an swer. His wife then repeated, with a sigh: " Dan, you're going, but I’ll soo follow you.’ "Upon this Dan's glassy orbs opened, and he said in a hollow voice: “ ‘You stay here as long as you can.' ’’ Question of Hearing. The burly farmer strode anxiously into the post office. “Have you got any letters for Mike Howe?” he asked. The new postmaster looked him up and down. "For who?" he snapped. "Mike Howe?” replied the farmer. The postmaster turned aside. “You don't understand!'roared the applicant. “Can’t you understand plain English? I asked if you've got any letter for Mike Howe!” "Well, I haven’t," snorted the post master. “Neither have I a letter for anybody else's cow! Get out.” Mean Intimation. “What is this hard round object which has just rolled to my feet?” “I don't know whether it's a golf ball or one of my wife's biscuits." Appropriate One. “What kind of a horse do you think would suit a fireman best?” “I suppose a plug would.” AN bl_D NURSE Persuaded Doctor to Drink Postum. An old faithful nurse and an exper ienced doctor, are a pretty strong com bination in favor of Postum, instead of tea and coffee. The doctor said: "I began to drink Postum five years ago on the advice of an old nurse. “During an unusually busy winter, between coffee, tea and overwork, 1 became a victim of insomnia. In a montn after beginning Postum, in place of tea and coffee, I could eat anything and sleep as soundly as a baby. “In three months I had gained twen ty pounds in weight. I now use Pos tum altogether instead of tea and cof fee; even at bedtime with a soda cracker or some other tasty biscuit. "Having a little tendency to Diabe tes, I used a small quantity of sacchar ine instead of sugar, to sweeten with. 1 may add that today tea or coffee are never present in our house and very many patients, on my advice, have adopted Postum as their regular bev erage. -i “In conclusion I can assure anyone that, as a refreshing, nourishing and nerve-strengthening beverage, there is nothing equal to Postum.” Name given by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Write for booklet, "The Road to Wellville.” Postum comes in two forms. Regular (must be boiled). Instant Postum doesn’t require boil ing but is prepared instantly by stir ring a level teaspoonful in an ordinary cup of hot water, which makes it right for most persons. A big cup requires more and some people who like strong*things put in a heaping spoonful and temper it with a large supply of cream. Experiment until you know the ’ amount that pleases your palate and have it served that way in the future. “There's a Reason" for Postum.