MARY RttMQND ANDREWS urwf r* wirr 'r?yjrz, rue fjnrrr? mrA<5ur?f. nc HUftTFATKWS ILL3VQRTM YUV/NG—» 1 ffr OC vsT %- <**•> ^ ^ 5 E7 SYNOPSIS - ..«* m auger. • peasant bat— -f >i fa. after aa *a>u»i« itwtOrtt «■ •Mrt Aarvhal X-** Agate*. * iwk a r at fnu»r Iq ih, Kauprror V» Will ■» U> pr. aifewtt. <1 that IM b»> ■»€••! Mr d*l tm a E.arai.al .4 Knar •rMSrr >») * iiutf’Mtlot eampelgne The tr-> Mmto a « _f.r t.— c r-eal and Stf» at the fnrataUl b. I a ret. lire gen eral aag Me route iU|« a ho > athpaucned ant ibe ce«rrai qarUr Mai»-*«• *g Fb-trw aa a aarl «f the general tttr Plena an* FawwvUS meet a ■tiaac ha* aha prt.vea a» be fnan 1 elite Xa pat--* KYaauen «avrly herr ' flu M aa a real of Ham Nnmpten on the "terdf larf." P» to fea.nn ta ntup Ptorru# relate ta Ytrymi Lfeer Hampton fall* In tov r wot. Fran--ate CHAPTER XXIII—Continued Thu female mind paid no after.lion ta the dngniMim Lory had long «c> finally If Gpeonartoualy. pot her father's personality into its right plat* Fitter ts the prince really poor ajhd Bloae ib this country* "Poor—yes. ! fancy—I to suite cur la*B. ta fad- Alone—that depends Thu authorities of Norfolk received him Blth MB* distinction. the Herald stares hat he is potting up at the inn —on* would conclude that he aras an huied guest at many at our great Lscy flow like a bird across to the fireplace Her hands went up to eitb rr side of ths colonel s face. "Father, puck' Have Thunder saddled and ride in—quick, father and bring the prtace out here to stay with us Give the order Id Sambo, or 1 shall “ Csisad Hampton s eyes widened with surprise “Why. hut Lucy." he stammered “Why—hut why should V What claim have we—“ Ofe nonsense." aad Lucy shook her pead impatiently “Who has more glairs* Aren't we Virginians of the aaa river princes ia our own coun try. loo* Haaat oar family reigned la Uoaaoke longer than ever his reigned ia Europe* Haven't we •wongh house room aad servants to make kim as comfortable as in a pal see* Hut that tun t the most impor taut It is a shame to as all father, that no ana has invited him before, tint a strange gentleman of high a'a uw should have to lodge at an inn. Why haaa t Cousin George Harrison ashed him ta Brandon* And the Car ters at Shirley, and the people at Bevkeiey vhat do they mean by not asktpg him* Bat we won t let Vir ginian hospitality be stained We will ask aim You will ride to Norfolk at once, will you not. father dear?” The touch oa his cheek was pleas ant to the vala aad affectionate man. haf the spirit of the girt s speech, the aoggeatloa of the courtesy due from him as a reigning prince, to this other prtace forlorn and exiled, this was pleasanter He panned bis lips and smiled dow a "Oat «f the month of babes.' be re marked. sod drew bis brows together as if wader »treat at largs machinery h hind them. “My little girl, you #• Considered the levitation for a Si teat Moment. he*- rather a sensible idea. I bad nverhmked before, that"—be cleared bin throat aad Mack Aaron standing tray in band across the room, jumped aad foiled bis eyes- that." be eonUn aad. ~a man of my importance has du ties of hospitality, even to a foreigner who oomse without Introduction into "Aaroa, tail Sambo to saddle Thun • • e e • • Pnaee Louis, In bis dingy parlor at the tas. looked at bid rlsftor from be twaea half-shut eyelids, and measured him. soul aad body. He considered the tarnation for n silent moment This was aae of the great men of the country The prince had alteady beard bis name aad the name of bis bMtnrir home, It was well to hare laSaeolial friends, more particularly as as letter awaited him as be had hoped from his uncle. Joseph Bonn* parte, wttb the American introduc |ax far which be had asked. A vi&it of a few days at this place of Roan oke could do no harm and might lead to good 1 thank you very much. Monsieur le Colonel.' he said gravely, yet gra ciously "You are most good to de sire that 1 visit you. 1 will do so I with pleasure." Out they rode through the sun lighted. wind-whipped country, dozing restfully through its last winter's nap. stirring already at the step of lively April on the threshold The air was sharp, and nipped at the prince's fin gers and toes, but it was exhilaration to be across a horse again, and the exiles spirit the case-hardened heart of steel which failure and misfortune never broke till it broke forever at Ssedan -grew baoyant. That "some thing about the outside of a horse a hu b is good for the inside of a man" worked its subtle charm on this fin ished horseman and horse lover, and he was gently responsive as the col onel talked fluently on. ‘ Does it so happen. Monsieur le Colonel, that there is »n these parts a Frenchman of—of instruction—a man whom 1 might use as a secretary? 1 shall have need tomorrow to write letters Would you know of such a man. Monaieur le Colonel?" Nothing pleased Monsieur le Col onel more than to be master of the sit uation "Most certainly,' he an swered blandly and felt that the pnnce must notice how no demand could find Colonel Hampton at a loss. Most certainly. My daughter's French master would be the very fel low He is intelligent and well edu cated. and what is more, he is a most ardent adherent of your family, prince. le has talked to Miss Hampton with such a vehement enthusiasm that, by the laird Harry. 1 believe she expects to see you fly in with wings, sir—I be ■ieve she does ' and the colonel laugh "d loudly and heartily. It was as good a joke as he had ever made. And before them, at that mo rn-nt. rose a stately picture A .urge old house, built of dark red brick t nought from England, towered sud denly from out of the bare trees of its park like a monument of calm hos pitality. lu steep roof was set with dormer windows; Its copings and Its casements were white stone; a white stone terrace stretched before It. At one front, as they came, was the car riage entrance, and the squares of a formal English garden, walled with box hedges, lay sleeping before the springtime; at the opposite side a w ;de lawn fell to a -massive brick wall, spaced with stone pillars, guarding the grounds from the flowing of the James river Colonel Hampton gazed at the home of his people and then at his geest, and he cast the harness of his smallnesses and stood out in the simple and large cordiality which is the heritage above others of southern people. "V cur are welcome to Roanoke, prince." he said. CHAPTER XXIV. Brother*. Colonel Hampton's study was dark from floor to ceiling with brown oak wainscoting and was lightened by a dull brightness of portraits. An an cestor in a scarlet coat, the red turn ed yellow and brown with time; an ancestress in dimmed glory of blue satin and lace and pearls; a judge in his wig and gown, gave the small room importance. A broad window ; looked through bare branches, lacy ; black against sky, across a rolling ■ country and groups of woodland. On the morning of the first day of j April. 1837. Prince Louis Napoleon | Bonaparte stood at this window, star ; ing at brown fields and trying to trace a 1 keness between this new world and the ancient country which he call , ed his, France, where, since he was seven years old, he had been allowed \ to spend but a few weeks; France, wh ch had freshly exiled him; France, j the thought of which ruled him, as he meant one day to rule her; France, for ! whom he was eating his heart out to ; day. as always, thousands of miles 1 from her shores. He recalled the happy life at Aren j pn»erg, in Switzerland, and the work and play and soldierly training which all pointed, in the boy's mind, to one « nd—to serve France—a service which did not at that time mean sovereign ty, for the Duke of Reichstadt, Na poleon s son. was alive and the head I of the house of Bonaparte. He thought of his short career, his and his well beloved brother's together, J * ith the Italian insurgents against the Austrians, and the lonely man's heart i lea**d for his own people as he went I over again that time of excitement ! aad sorrow, ending with the older boy's death at Forli and his own 111 j ness and narrow escape from capture. "What a mother!" he cried aloud, tossing qp his hands with French dem i onstrati veness, as the memory came ! to him of the days in Ancona when he ' lay at death s door, hidden in the very room next that of the Austrian gen eral. saved only at last by the mar velous mother’s wit and courage. The j journey through Italy to France, that | was drama enough for one life. Rec ognized at every turn, betrayed never, | and ending with—Prince Louis smiled his slow dim senile—a fitting ending Indeed to days whose every minute was adventure. He thought of the landlord of the Inn, the old cavalry man; the young Frenchman—Beaupre —that was the name; it was set In his memory; had been in that tenacious memory since an afternoon of 1824, when a runaway schoolboy prince had slipped over the Jura, and played with three other children, about a ruined castle; he saw Ftancrls Beaupre take reverently In his hand the sword which Napoleon had heid—and then the alarm! That vas a fine sight—the dash of the youngster through the startled mob of Austrians; the flying «eap to the horse; the skirmish to get' free, and. at last, the rush of the chase. He had seen It all, watching quietly while his mother and the land lord Implored him to bide himself. That young Frenchman—if he should be alive—if ever he should meet him again Prince Louis would not forget. It was psychological that he should have been thinking this when a knock sounded deferentially on the door of the room. But picturesque coinci dences happen in lives as well as on the stage; in Louis Napoleon's there was more than one. “Entrez!" he called sharply, and then, “Come in!” The door swung slowly and Aaron, white-aproned and white-eyeballed, stood in it. “Marse Prince," he stated with a dig nity of service which crowned heads | could not daunt, “ole Marse sen’ me ; bring you dis hyer Marse Bopray." A light figure stepped before the black and white of Aaron, and halted, and bowed profoundly. The light from ; the window shone on his face and the dark immense eyes that lifted toward Prince Louis, and for a moment he stared, puzzled. Was he in the pres ent? Surely this man was part of the past which he had been reviewing. ; Surely be had played a role in the prince's history—where? With a Hashing thought into the years he knew 'Mon ami!" cried Louis Bonaparte, and sprang forward and stretched out both hands, his royalty forgotten in the delight of seeing a face which re called his youth and his mother. Francois, two minutes later, found himself standing, bursting with loyal ty and pride, with the prince's hands clasping his, and the prince's trans formed face beaming on him. "You rode like the devil," said the prince. “But the Austrians had the horses. That poor Bleu-bleu! How did you get away? Where have you been? Mon Dieu, but we looked for you. Zappi and I!" “But no. your highness, I did not get away,” smiled Francois Beaupre as if imparting a joyful bit of news. "They caught me.” And he told briefly his story of the five years in prison, of the desperate escape, of the rescue and voyage to America, of his wrecked health, not yet re-established. Through the ac count shone the unconquerable French gaiety. Another thing there was which a Frenchman and a Bonaparte could not fail to see—that the thought of his service to the house of Bona “Mon Ami," Cried Louis Bonaparte. parte had been a sustaining pride, and the hope of future service an in spiring hope. Superstition and gratitude laid hold together on the prince's troubled : mind. He threw himself back into Colonel Hampton's leather arm-chair, throne-like in impressiveness and size; j the mask of impassivity closed on his i colorless featues. “Sit there. Monsieur,” he ordered, "and tell me your life.” Simply, yet dramatically as was his gift, the young man went over the tale which he had told to Lucy Hamp ton. that and more. And the prince listened to every word. He. too, had the French sensitiveness to theatrical effect, and his over-wrought imagina 1 tlon seemed to see the hand of destiny visibly Joining this story to his. Here was a legacy from Napoleon; an in strument created by his uncle, which j he, the heir, should use. There was ; a long silence when Francois had fin ished. and Louis' deep-pitched voice ! broke it ■' ‘One day perhaps a marshal of ; France under another Bonaparte,’" he ! repeated thoughtfully. "It was the | accolade, the old right of royality." : and gazed. If reflecting, at the other I man's face. Heightened color told how much It meant to Francois Beanpre to hear ! those words spoken by the prince. "My prince. I will tell you—though it may be of little moment to know— that it is not for my own advance ment that I care. It is the truth that I would throw away a hundred lives S if I had them, to see the house of Bon aparte rule France. It is only so, I I believe, that France can become great 1 once more. We need heroes to lead ; us, we Frenchmen, not shopkeeper kings such as Louis Phillippe; if it has not a hero the nation loses courage, and its interest in national life. But the very name of Napoleon is inspira tion—it pricks the blood; a monarch of that name on France’s throne, and our country will wake, will live. You, my prince, are the hope of the house j of Napoleon." With a quick step forward he threw himself on his knees before the quiet 1 figure in the throne-like chair; he seis ed the prince's hand and, head benL 1 kissed it with passion. There was a line of color in each cheek as his face lifted, and his brilliant look was shot with a tear. "If I may die believing that I have helped to win your throne, I ahati die In happiness.” Prince Louis had his mother's warm heart, and this went to it He put his hand on the other's shoulder, famil iarly as if the two were equals, kins men. The brotherly touch on Francois’ shoulder was withdrawn, and with gen tle dignity, with a glance, the prince lifted him to his feet, and Francois stood happy, dazed, before him. He found himself telling his plans, his methods, his efforts to fit himself for the usefulness that might be on the way. *T have studied enormously, my prince. All known books on warlike subjects, all I could borrow or steal I have studied. Ah, yes! I know much of these things.” Louis Bonaparte, with an exhaustive , military education, a power of appli cation and absorption beyond most men in Europe, let the gleam of a smile escape. He listened with close attention while Francois told of his organization of the youth of the neigh borhood into a cavalry company, and of their drill twice a week. “And you are the captain, Mon sieur?” Francois smiled a crafty, worldly wise smile—or perhaps it was as if a child would seem crafty and worldly wise. "No, my prince," he answered, shaking his head sagely. "That would not be best. I am little known, a for eigner. They think much of their old families, the people of these parts. So that it Is better for the success of the company that the captain should be of the nobility of the country. One sees that. So the captain of the com pany is Monsieur Henry Hampton, the younger, the kinsman of Monsieur le Colonel, and a young man of great goodness, and the best of friends to me. Everything that I can do for his pleasure is my own pleasure.” The prince turned his expression less gaze on the animated face. “Mad emoiselle Lucy likes the young mon sieur?" "But yes, my prince—she likes ev ery one. Mademoiselle Lucy. It is sun shine, he- kindness; it falls every where and blesses where it falls. She loves Henry—as a brother.” "As a brother!” the prince repeated consideringly. “Yes, a brother. You find Mademoiselle Lucy of—of a kind disposition." “Beyond words, and most charm ing," Francois answered steadily, and flushed a little. He felt himself being probed. With that the facile, myste rious, keen mind of the prince leaped, it seemed, a world-wide chasm. "That most winning little girl of the ruined chateau of Vieques—our playmate Alixe—you remember how she stated, 'I am Alixe,' and was at once ship wrecked with embarrassment?” "I remember," Francois said shortly, and was conscious that he breathed quickly and that his throat was dry, and that the prince knew of both trou bles. “Is she still 'Alixe'—the same Alixe?" inquired the prince, turning os tentatiously to the window. “Has she grown up as sweet and fresh and bril liant a flower as the rosebud prom ised?" Francois, hearing his own heart beat, attempted to answer in a par ticularly casual manner, which is a dif ficult and sophisticated trick. He fail ed at it. “They say—I think—she has—oh. but yes. and—I think"—he stammered and the prince cut short his sufferings. “Ah, yes! I see that it is with you, as with Monsieur Hen ry, a case of devoted brotherhood. You love her as a brother—you will not boast of her. “You have done well, Chevalier Beaupre. You have done so well that when the time is ripe again—it will not be long—for Strasburg must be wiped out in success—that I shall send for you to help me, and I shall know that you will be ready. I see that the star which leads us both is the only light which shines for you. It holds your undivided soul, Chevalier —I am right?” Francois turned his swiftly chang ing face toward the speaker, drawn with a feeling which swept over him; for a moment he did not answer. Then he spoke in a low tone. “When a knight of the old time j went to battle," he said, “he wore on his helmet the badge of his lady and carried the thought of her in his heart j A man fights better so.” And the silent prince understood. CHAPTER XXV. How Lucy Told. The prince was gone. There had been festivities and formalities, great | dinners, gatherings of the Virginia no bility to do honor to his highness at! Roanoke house and elsewhere.; every where the Chevalier Beaupre had been distinguished by his highness' most marked favor. And Lucy Hampton’s eyes had shone with quiet delight to see it and to see the effect on her fa ther. For the colonel, confused in his mind as to how it might be true, re luctantly acknowledged that there : must be something of importance I about this Chevalier Beaupre. that a j prince should treat him as s brother. 1 He believed that it wol-.~ be best to treat him—he also—at least as s gen tleman. So the French lessons were continued and the Jefferson troop was encouraged, and Francois was asked often to Roanoke house. And as the months rolled on he tried with every' thoughtful and considerate effort. tc express to the little lady of the manor his gratitude for the goodness of her family. It troubled him more than a little that the early friendliness and intimacy of Harry Hampton seemed to : be wearing off. The boy did not come so often to Carnifax, and when he came he did not stay for hours, for 1 days sometimes, as was his way at | first. He was uneasy with his friend, i and his friend wondered and did not! understand, hut hesitated to push a : way into the lad’s heart. "He will j tell me in time." thought Francois, and, sure of his own innocence, wait ed for the time. Meantime he was going home. Go ing, much against the advice of the Norfolk doctor, who warned him that j he was not yet well or strong, that j the out-of-door life in the mild Vir ginia climate should be continued per haps for two years more, before he went back to the agitation and effort of a Bonapartist agent in France. But he could not wait; he must see his old home, his mother, his father, and all the unforgotten faces. He longed to watch the black lashes curl upward from the blue of Allxe’e eyes. He longed to hear her clear voice with its boyish note of courage. It would put new life into him, that voice. It was seven years now and more since he had left them all at a day’s notice to go to Pietro in Italy—to a living death of live years, to many undream ed of happenings. The fever was on him and he must go home. There was to he a‘celebration for the new and very fashionable cavalry troop of which Francois was the nn-j official backbone and author. In the great grassy paddock at Bayly’s Folly the proud mother of elghteen-year-old Caperton Bayly—first lieutenant, and the most finished horseman in the Vir ginia country—had invited the gentry from miles about to feast with her and to watch her son and his friends show how the Chevalier Beaupre had made them into soldiers. They came in shoals, driving from far off over bad roads in big lurching chariots, or rid ing in gay companies, mostly of older men and girls and young boys, be cause all of the gilded youth were in the ranks that day. When the drill was over there was to be rough riding and jumping. Hur dles were swiftly dragged out and placed in a manner of ring. “This one is very close to the bank.” i —-. She Found Herself Holding Francois Dark Head in Her Arms. said Lucy Hampton, standing by Blue bird and watching as the negroes placed the bars. "If a horse refused and turned sharp and was foolish, he -might go over. And the bank is steep." “Lucy, you are a grandmotherly per son." Clifford Stewart—who was an other girl—threw at her. “You would like them all to ride in wadded wool dressing gowns, and to have a wall padded with cotton batting to guard them.” And Lucy smiled and believed herself overcautious. The excited horses came dancing up to the barriers and lifted and were over, with or without rapping, but not one, for the first round, refusing. Then the bars were raised six inches; six inches in mid-air is a large space when one must Jump it. Caperton Bayly went at it first; his mother watched breathless as he flew for ward. sitting erect, intense, his young eyes gleaming. Over went his great horse Traveler, and over the next and the next—4ll of them; but the white heels had struck the top bar twice— the beautiful, spirited performance was not perfect. Harry Hampton came next; all of the kindly multitude gazed eagerly, hoping that the boy to whom life had given less than the others might win this honor he want ed. The first bars without rapping; the second; and a suppressed sound of satisfaction, which might soon be a great roar of pleasure, hummed over the field. Black Hawk came rushing, snorting, pulling up to the third jump, the jump where Lucy stood. And as he came a little girl, high in a car riage, a chariot as one said then, flour ished her scarlet parasol in the air, and lost hold of it, and it flew like a huge red bird into the course, close to the hurdle. And Black Hawk, strung to the highest point of his thoroughbred nerves. Eaw. and a hor ror of the flaming living thing, as it seemed, caught him. and he swerved at the bar and bolted—bolted straight for the steep slope. A gasp went up from the three hun dred, four hundred people; the boy was dashing to death; no one stirred; every muscle was rigid—the specta tors were paralyzed. Not all. Fran cois from his babyhood had known how to think quickly, and these boys were his pride and his care; he had thought of that possible danger which Lucy had forseen; when the jumping began, tnounted on his mare Aquarelle, he was posted near the head of the slope, not twenty yards from the hur dle, to be at hand in any contingency. When Harry’s horse bolted, one touch put Aquarelle into motion. Like a line of brown light she dashed at right angles to the runaway—a line drawn to Intercept the line of Black Hawk’s flight There was silence over the ^ neid—one second—-two seconds—the lines shot to the aDgle—then it came —the shock they awaited. Black Hawk, rushing, saw the other coming and swerved at the last mo ment—too late. The animals collided, not with full force, yet for a moment it looked like nothing but death for riders and mounts. Harry Hampton was thrown backward to the level i field; Black Hawk galloped off, frantic and unhurt, across it; Aquarelle, one saw, lay on the very edge of the drop and was scrambling to her feet with liveliness enough to assure her safe- ; ty; of Francois there wii no sign. In ; half a minute the breathless still crowd was in an uproar, and a hun- i dred men were jostling one another to reach the scene of the accident, j It was two minutes, perhaps, before Caperton Bayly, with a negro boy at ; his heels, with Jack Littleton and : Harry Wise and a dozen other lads : racing back of him, had plunged over ! the drop of land where Francois hatj disappeared. Two minutes are enough sometimes for a large event. In that two minutes Lucy Hampton, without conscious volition, by an instinct as simple and imperative as a bird’, in stinct to shield her young, bad slipped from her horse Bluebird and flown across tbe level and down over the ! steep bank till she found herself hold ing Francois' dark bead in her arms and heard her own voice saying words she bad never said even to herself. *‘I love you, I love you." she said, and if all the world beard she did not know or care. There w >s no world for her at that minute out the mat) lying with his head against her heart j —dead it might be, but dead or alive, j dearest. “I love you—love you—love you,” she repeated, as If the soul were rushing out of her ia the words. With that the luminous great eyes opened, and Francois was looking at her, and she knew that he had heard. And then the training of a lifetime, of centuries, flooded back into her, and 1 womanly reticence and maidenly shame and the feelings and attitude ; which are not primeval, as she had been primeval for that one mad mo ment. She drew back as she felt him trying to lift himself, and left him free and was on her feet, and then with a shock she was aware of another pres ence; turning she looked up into the i angry glow of her cousin's eyes. He ' was not looking at her, but at the man who, dazed, hurt, was trying painfully ! to pull himself up. Harry Hampton glared at him. "We will settle this later," he brought out through his teeth. “I hope ; I can kill you” And Lucy cried out: "Shame!" she cried. "He has just saved your life!" "Damn him!” said Harry Hampton. “I do not want my life at his hands. I hate him more for saving me. Damn him!" And Francois, clutching at a bush, things reeling about him unsteadily, j looked up, friendly, wistful, at the boy [ cursing him. With that there was an influx ol population; the whole world, appar ently, tumbled down the steep bank, every one far too preoccupied with help for the hero to remark Harry Hampton's grim humor. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Bobbie Bums’ Granddaughter. An action has been entered in Dum fries sheriff court by Miss Annie Beck ett Burns of Cheltenham, the only sur viving granddaughter of the Scottish poet, claiming "to have herself, as the nearest of kin, declared executrix of certain hitherto unconfirmed personal estate of the said Robert Burns.” This ia a sequel to the recent announce ment that the Liverpool Athenaeum had sold for £5,000 the two volumes of Burns' poems and better known as the Glenriddell manuscripts, and that they were likely to go to America, an announcement which brought strong protests from Lord Roseberry, Dr. Wil liam Wallace and others.—Westmin ster Gazette. Old American Coins. Robert Morris, the financier of the Confederation, early in 1783, arranged with Benjamin Dudley to strike off some "pattern pieces" that could be placed before congress. On April 2 Dudley delivered to Morris some pieces, which were in reality the first coin struck having the name "United States coin.” The particular speci mens are known to numismatists as the "Nova Constellatio Paterus.” They were of silver and denominated the "mark" and "quint.” The first coins struck by the United States mint were some half dimes, in 1792. DUCHESS MUST HAVE SMILED Little Milliner Faithfully Obeyed In structions That She Thought Had Been Given Her. Mr. Lane of Washington was not only a page in the senate in the days of Webster and Clay, but, through the fact that his uncle kept a book store where these statesmen were accus tomed to while away their leisure hours, came to know them intimately on their social side, declared that Webster, while not given to story-tell ing, had one favorite little Joke that he would tell whenever the occasion seemed opportune. This, according to Mr. I jane, was the story: There arrived at Boston a certain duches from one of the great nations of Europe. Desiring to have some headgear suitable for her inland travels constructed, she sent for the most prominent milliner In the city to come to her apartments at the Revere house, then the principal hotel in New England. The local milliner was sent all a flutter at the distinction shown her, but she was a province-bred little woman of a democratic country and knew not the “egg-dance conventions" of Court society. Accordingly, desir ing to know in what manner she should deport herself in the presence of the titled lady she applied to the wife at one of the Adamses, who was a customer of hers, and who had spent some time at foreign courts. "Oh, all that's necessary," explained Mrs. Adams, 'is to bow low when you are ushered into the presence of the duchess and say. ‘Your Grace.’ ’’ Thus coached in court etiquette the little milliner betook herself to the Revere house and sent word to the duchess. As she was ushered into the pres ence of that lofty person, she bent low, and, with a sweeping courtesy, said: "May the Lord make us thankful for what we are about to receive!" The Slash. Paul Poiret, the famous French dressmaker, was asked by a New York reporter if he thought woman’s pres ent mode of dress made for morality. "I do not deal in morality," M. Poiret replied. “I deal in beauty.” Then, apropos of the slashed skirt he told a story. “A young lady in a white dinner gown,” he said, ‘‘stood under a blazing electrolier, and. swinging round before her fiance, she asked: “ ‘How does my new dress show upf " “Up almost to the knee,’ the young man replied. Those white silk stock ings with gold clocks are beautiful.’ ” Sign. A Bundle on the end of a stick is a pretty sure sign that the man wht carries it has lost his firip—Puc*. MRS. WILLIAMS’ LONG SICKNESS IHelds To Lydia E. Pink ham’s Vegetable Compound. Elkhart, Ind.:— "I suffered for four teen years from organic inflammation, iemale weakness, pain and irregulari ties. The pains in my sides were in creased by walking or standing on my feet and I had such awful bearing down feeiingB, was de pressed in spirits and became thin and pale with dull,heavy eyes. I had six doc tors from whom I received only tempo rary relief. I decided to give Lydia EL Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound a fair trial and also the Sanative Wash. I have now used the remedies for four months and cannot express my thanks for what tney have done for me. “ If these lines will be of any benefit you have my permission to publish them.” —Mrs. Sadie Williams, 455 j ames Street, Elkhart, Indiana. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com pound, made from native roots and herbs, contains no narcotic or harmful drugs, ano to-day holds the record of being the most successful remedy for female ills we knew of, anc> thou sands of voluntary testimonials on file in the Pinkham laboratory at Lynn, Mass., seem to prove this fact. If you have the slightest doubt that Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegeta ble Compound will help you,w rite to Lydia E.Pinkham MedicineCo. (confidential) Lynn,Mass., for ad vice. Your letter will be opened, read and answered by a woman, and held in strict confidence. The Army of Constipation '* Growing Smaller Every Day. CARTER’S LITTLE LIVES PILLS are responsible — they a not only give relief^ — they psrma nc-ntlycure ti jjt.cn. Mil lions usei them tor Kt Bc!iojin**», ^ Carters ■ ITTLE IIVER [pills. indigesuoB, hick Headache, Sallow Ska. SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE SMALL PRICE Genuine must bear Signature I RELIEVES 1_ SORE EYES W. N. U- OMAHA, NO. 14-1914. The Thieving Ear of Corn. Twelve ears of corn will plant an acre. If one of the planted ears hap pens to be "no good” there is a twelfth of an acre missing. An acre of corn may be worth thirty to forty dollars, so to discover a thieving ear is worth from two and a half to three and a half dollars. One can pick out the ears of poor germination at slight cost, if he will test his corn before he becomes rushed with spring work. And while about It rejeot the ears that although germinating do not send up strong, vigorous stalks. Lusty, vig orous young things grow surest into profit, whether they be pigs, lambs, colts or cornstalks.—Breeder's Ga zette. King George in France. During the visit of King George and Queen Mary to Paris his majesty will be present at the annual spring review of the Paris garrison on April 22. Tha review will be held, as in previous years, at Vincennes. The review is generally held in March, but out of compliment to King Geogre it has been delayed this year. Definition of a Crisis. "Pa, the paper says there's a crisis in Mexico. What’s a crisis?” "A scarcity of news, my bov."— Life. Ef you wish beautiful, clear, white clothes, use Red Cross Ball Blue. At all good grocers. Adv. When the man Is getting tha worst of the argument he is sure to say: ‘•Well, that’s just like a woman!” Divorcee are more difficult to obtain ia England than in any other civilized < ountry. - * Putnam Fadeless Dyes do not stain the kettle. Adv. A bad memory is a cheerful liar's nightmare. IW.L.DOUGLASl SHOES Mel's !£2S!2‘£>&s5j Women's Ul MIM«s, Boys,Children! SI.80 SI.78$2*2 BO*3l B*OW Bw*i«»«« in | 1870; «•• »*l ^ fMk»r ^ |I,»».J0,|4,\ W mrd»4.80.^Ml W fr th« *•"«. 1 $ 1,006,2 l ttSPSSMml ThM to the rcaeori we five you Uie I Maevalueelort3.00.Vs.Su. $4.(0 l and $4.AO noiwlihf'enrtlng Uie K eaormoue Increaae In the coat of 3K leather. Our atendarda have A not been lowered and the prise —. a toyouremalneibeeame. mm XU your dealer to show yn the Undo! W.L. Douflae ehoee so la settlor ter $3.00. t^SuT$4.03 aid t4.sa You will then be convinced that W.L.Douflae ahoea are abno lutaiyae food as other makea sold at k hither prleaa The only dUtentiee I to the price TAKK NO AUHTITUTl. ■aka pnlu wttkaal V. L. raulaa' un ataapad ak tka WIN. If W. L. Doafrlaa akeaa ara aot for tala la joar aictaltp. ordar I dlracf from factory. Akoaaforaaaryaakbar L at tka (kaillj at all priaaa. poataaa fraa. Iky Wrtta tka Ulaatiatad catalop tkowfna >«ar I ta ordar by mall. W. I D000LAI1. tar *1* Apart mat. Brocktok. Mw. Western Canada Lands The richest Mixed Fannin* lands in Western are in the Battleford District. The soil Is a deep t>lack loam on clay subsoil and lands can be purchased at from $10 per acre up. Ex cellent water in abundance, and railroad facili ties and *ood markets Write for list of selected properties to L. ft. GOOD, Secretary, 5 »ard •f Trade. Da ttleierd. Saskatchewan, Canada