* * The Mystery of a Silent Love * • I
af'lhevalier VYlLLIAn LL QUtUA
C (J AUTHOR «f “TJ1C CLODED DOOR," ETC- x
ILLUSTRATIONS 4- C D RHODES^
tV0r»K*T OY TtT 1ST /‘L&LUfl/rC CV
SYNOPSIS.
T ■ . ■ « Lull narrow !y escape* wreck
to ■ . - . s, harbor <o-rilon *ir*gs. locum
the British consul, t* called
• ruby. Ui* LaU'a owner, and
• ■t. a • I with him and hi* friend,
it. ■ *t.-r At-wri Ihe yacht he ac
a r.om full of iirms and
» n n -»nd a lorn ; t. graph of a
. That night ilic consul's safe
i» n ! tlie 1 - hi put* suddenly to
> 1* a
Seaa.t n.l tc- I sea's n line a false one.
•r- :c '* « apt Jack Durnford of the
unarm * steiard his vessel, and Is sur
learn that 1 'urn ford knows,
•t.: ■ not reveal, the mystery of the
1 - • noneevag a woman." In Uw
-0.1 . is trapped r. »rly to hi* death
« ■ r s riant. Otinto who repents
I ’ save tlm but not to give a rea
• tread • ry Visiting In Dum
-* . gg niei-t* Muriel l.etthcourt.
* . 1 angdy affected at th»* mention
■ I- .» Hornby appears Muriel in
r H cnby a* Martin Woodroffe.
• friend i iregg finds that she
s engaged to W .s-draff e UlikcMirt'i ac
11**■ - meet n with Woodroffe are
is • i a Ur. ;t see* a copy of the
■•■i in •'oenph on the I-nU and finds
young girl is Muriel's friend.
: “ - tmapjs-ar* Or-gg discovers
*► ■1. of s murdered woman In Kan
•as h w rod
CHAPTER V—Continued.
v Muriel, a pretty figure in a low
» ' g a of turquoise chiffon, stand
- :.:nd her father, smiled secretly
*t 1 »e. I smiled at her in retura. but
» - a strange smile. I fear, for with
k* wledge of that additional mys
ry uiihm me—the mystery of the
f u lying unconscious or perhaps
-ad up la the soul—held me stupe
fied
1 id suspected Leitlienurt because
oostact trysts at that spot, but
1 d at least proved that my sus
. were entirely without founda
• ■ He could not have gone home
-- d r* *.*.-d in the time, for I had
** (fie near--l route to the castle
the fugitive would be compelled
in n...pi iid*' detour.
!y mm tied a few minutes, then
.* m forth into the darkness again.
.’ ' . undecided bow to act. My first
• ... •* was to return to the woman's
•*r she might not be dead after
all
A d yet when I recollected that
1 r-e cry that rang out in the dark
• e*. 1 knew too well that she had
b* -n struck fatally. It was this latter
» ttou that prevented me from
«*-• -ng back to the wood. You will
1 p* blame me, but the fact Is I
f-ar»-d tbat if 1 went there suspicion
ti. . lit fall upon me, now that the real
. nt had so ingeniously escaped
v. .ether or not 1 acted rightly in re
i --* ng away from the place. I leave
it t« you to judge in the light of the
»•!..»zing truth whi.-b afterwards tran
*| red
1 oe. :ded to walk straight back to
t ' tide's, and dinner was over before
1 . id had my tub and dressed. Next
the bod> would surety be found;
"“•a the whole countryside would be
hi'-d with horror and surprise Was
feisaihle that I-eitijcourt. that calm,
.l-groomed. d.stinguished looking
in. held any know ledge of the ghast
!y truth* No. His manner as he
»• d la the hall chatting gavly with
- was surely not that of a man with
a guilty secret. 1 became firmly con
* need that although the tragedy af
ted him very closely, and that it
-.1 occurred at the spot w hich he had
» h day visited for some mysterious
I rpose, yet up to the present he was
c ignorance of what had transpired.
Uut who was the woman? Was she
> »ung or old?
A thousand times I regretted bitter
ly that I had no matches with me so
that I might examine her features.
Waa the victim that sweet faced young
:irt whose photograph had been so
ruthlessly cast from its frame and de
iroyed? The theory was a weird one,
ut was it the truth? I retired to my
f join that night full of fevered appre
unaion Had I acted rightly in not
returning to that lonely spot on the
(.row of the hill? Had 1 done as a
man should do In keeping the tragic
secret to myself?
At six 1 shaved, descended, and
went out with the dogs-for a short
walk, but <ai returning I heard of
nothing unusual, and was compelled to
remain inactive until near midday.
1 was crossing the stable yard where
I had gone to order the carriage for
my aunt, when an English groom, sud
Jemy emerging from the harness room,
touched his cap, saying:
' Hate you 'eard. sir, of the awfui
affair up yonder?”
"Of what?" I asked quickly.
rWell sir. there seems to have been
a murder last night up in Kannorh
wood." said the man quickly "Holden,
the gardener, has just come back from
tbat village and says that Mr. Leith
court s under gamekeeper as he was
going home at live this morning came
upon a dead body.”
"Call Holden. I'd like to know all
he's heard.” I said. And presently,
when the gardener emerged from the
grapehouse, I sought of him all the
particulars he had gathered.
“I don't know very much, sir," was
the man's reply. T went into the inn
for a glass of beer at eleven, as I al
ways do, and heard them talking about
it. A young man was murdered last
night up in Rannoch wood.”
'The body was that of a man?” I
asked, trying to conceal my utter be
wilderment.
"Yes—about thirty, they say. The
police have taken him to the mortuary
at Dumfries, and the detectives are up
there now looking at the spot, they
say."
A man! And yet the body I found
was that of a woman—that I could
swear.
After lunch I took the dogcart and
drove alone into Dumfries.
The police constable on duty at the
town mortuary took me up a narrow
alley, unlocked a door, and I found my
self in the cold, gloomy chamber of
death. From a small dingy window
above the light fell upon an object
lying upon a large slab of gray stone
and covered with a soiled sheet.
The policeman lifted the end of the
sheet, revealing to me a white, hard
set face, with closed eyes and dropped
jew I started back as my eyes fell
uoon the dead countenance. I was en
tirely uuprepared for such a revela
tion The truth staggered me.
The victim was the man who had
acted as my friend—the Italian waiter.
Olinto.
I advanced and peered into the thin
inanimate features, scarce able to real
ise the actual fact. But mj- eyes had
not deceived me. Though death dis
torts the facial expression of every
man, 1 had no difficulty in identifying
him. i
"You recognize him. sir?” remarked
the officer. "Who is he? Our people
are very anxious to know, for up to the j
; resent moment they haven’t succeed
ed in establishing his identity.
"I will see your inspector,” 1 an
swered with as much calmness as I
could muster. "Where has the poor
fellow been wounded?”
"Through the heart." responded the
constable, as turning the sheet farther
down he showed me the small knife
wound which had penetrated the vic
tim's jacket and vest full in the chest.
"This is the weapon." he added, tak
ing from a shelf close by a long, thin
poniard with an ivory handle, which
he handed to me.
In an instant I recognized what it j
was, and how deadly. It was an old
Florentine misericordia. with a hilt
of yellow ivory, the most deadly and
fatal of all the daggers of the middle |
ages. It was still blood-stained, but as
I took the deadly thing in my hand I
saw that its blade was beautifully dam
ascened. a most elegant specimen of a i
medieval arm. Yet surely none but j
an Italian would use such a weapon. !
or would aim so truly as to penetrate !
the heart. And yet the person struck
down was a woman and not a man!
I looked again for the last time upon j
the dead face of the man who had |
served me so well, and yet who had
enticed me so nearly to my death. In
the latter incident there was a deep
mystery. He had relented at the last
moment, just in time to save me from
my secret enemies.
Could it be that my enemies were
his? Had he fallen a victim by the
same hand that had attempted so in
geniously to kill me?
Why had Leithcourt gone so regu
larly up to Rannoch wood? Was it in
order to meet the man who was to be
entrapped and killed? VYhat was
Olinto Santini doing so far from Lon
don, if he had not come expressly to
meet someone in secret?
With my own hand I re-covered the
face with the sheet. I accompanied
the constable to the Inspector's office
some distance across the town.
Having been introduced to the big,
fair-haired man in a rough tweed suit,
who was apparently directing the in
quiries into the affair, he took me
eagerly into a small back room and
began to question me. I was, however,
wary not to commit myself to any
thing further than the identification of
the body.
"The fact is.” I said confidentially,
"you must omit me from the witnesses
at the inquest.”
• Why?” asked the detective sus
I piciously.
"Because if it were known that I
have identified him all chance of
getting at the truth will at once van
ish," I answered. “I have come here
to tell you in strictest confidence who
the poor fellow really is.”
"Then you know something of the
affair?” he said, with a strong High
land accent.
"1 know nothing,” I declared. “Noth
ing except his name.”
"H’m. And you say he's a foreigner
—an Italian—eh?”
"He was in my service in Leghorn
for several years, and on leaving me
he came to London and obtained an
engagement as waiter in a restaurant.
His father lived in Leghorn; he was
doorkeeper at the prefecture.”
“But why was he here in Scotland?”
“How can I tell?"
“You know something of the affair.
I mean that you suspect somebody, or
you would have no objection to giving
evidence at the inquiry.”
“I have no suspicions. To me the
affair is just as much of an enigma
as to you,” I hastened at once to ex
plain. “My only fear is that if the
assassin knew that I had identified
him he would take care not to betray
himself."
"You therefore think he will betray
himself?”
"I hope so."
"By the fact that the man was at
tacked with an Italian stiletto, it would
seem that his assailant was a fellow
countryman.” suggested the detective.
“The evidence certainly points to
that.” I replied.
“Someone who waited for him on the
edge of that wood and stepped out and
killed him—that's evident,” he said,
"and my belief is that it was an Ital
ian. There were two foreigners who
slept at a common lodging house two
nights ago and went on tramp towards
Glasgow. We have telegraphed after
them and hope we shall find them.
Scotsmen or Englishmen never use a
knife of that pattern."
“I know not whom to suspect,” I
declared. “It is a mystery why the
man who was once my faithful servant
Revealing to Me a White, Hard, Set
Face With Closed Eyes and Dropped
Jaw.
should be enticed to that wood and
stabbed to the heart."
"There is no one in the vicinity who
knew him?”
"Not to my knowledge.”
"We might obtain his address in
London through his father in Leg
horn.” suggested the officer.
"I will write today if you so desire,”
I said readily. “Indeed, I will get my
friend the British consul to go round
and see the old man and telegraph the
address if he obtains it."
"Capital!” he declared. “If you will
do us this favor we shall be greatly
indebted to you. It is fortunate that
we have established the victim's iden
tity—otherwise we might be entirely
in the dark. A murdered foreigner is
always more or less of a mystery.”
Therefore, then and there, I took a
sheet of paper and wrote to my old
friend Hutcheson at Leghorn, asking
him to make immediate inquiry of
Olinto's father as to his son's address
in London.
We sat for a long time discussing
the strange affair. In order to be
tray no eagerness to get away, I of
fered the big Highlander a cigar from
my case and we smoked together. The
inquiry would be held on the morrow,
he told me, but as far as the public
was concerned the body would remain
as that of some person “unknown.”
“And you had better not come to
my uncle’s house, or send anyone,"
I said. “If you desire to see me, send
me a line and I will meet you here
in Dumfries. It will be safer.”
The officer looked at me with those
keen eyes of his, and said:
“Really, Mr. Gregg. I can't quite
make you out, 1 confess. You seem
to be apprehensive of your own safety.
Why?"
“One never knows whom one of
fends when living in Italy.” I laughed,
as lightly as I could, endeavoriug to
allay his suspicion. “He may have
fallen beneath the assassin’s knife by
giving a small and possibly innocent
offense to somebody. Italian methods
are not English, you know.”
“By Jove, sir, and I'm jolly glad
they’re not!” he said. “I shouldn't
think a police officer’s life is a very
safe one among all those secret mur
der societies I’ve read about.”
“Ah! what you read about them is
often very much exaggerated,” I as
sured him. “It is the vendetta which
is such a stain upon the character of
the modern Italian; and depend upon
it, this affair in Rannoch wood is the
outcome of some revenge or other—
probably over a love affair.”
“But you will assist us, sir?” he
urged. "You know the Italian lan
guage, which will be of great advan
tage; besides, the victim was your
servant”
"Be discreet,” I said. "And in return
I will do my very utmost to assist you
In hunting down the assassin."
And thus we made our attempt.
Half an hour after I was driving in
the dogcart through the pouring rain
up the hill out of gray old Dumfries
to my uncle's house.
As I descended from the cart and
gave it over to a groom, old Davis, the
butler, came forward, saying in a
low voice:
“There's Miss Leithcourt waiting to
see you, Mr. Gordon. She's in the
morning room, and been there an hour
She asked me not to tell anyone else
she's here, sir.”
I walked across the big hall and
along the corridor to the room the old
man had indicated.
And as I opened the door and Mu
riel Leithcourt In plain black rose to
meet me, 1 plainly saw from her white,
haggard countenance that something
had happened—that she had been
forced by circumstances to come to
me in strictest confidence.
Was she, I wondered, about to re
veal to me the truth?
CHAPTER VI.
The Gathering of the Clouda.
"Mr Gregg." exclaimed the girl with
agitation, as she put forth her black
gloved hand, “I—I suppose you know
—you've heard all about the discovery
today at the wood? I need not tell
you anything about It”
"Yes, Miss Leithcourt, I only wish
you would tell me about it,” I said
gravely, inviting her to a chair and
seating myself. Who is the man?"
"Ah! that we don't know,” she re
plied. pale-faced and anxious. “I
wanted to see you alone—that’s the
reason I am here. They must not
know at home that I've been over
here."
"Why, is there any service I can
render you?” ,
“Yes. A very great one," she re
sponded with quick eagerness, “I—
well—the fact is, I have summoned
courage to come to you and beg of
you to help me. I am in great dis
tress—and I have not a single friend
whom I can trust—in whom I can con
fide."
Her lips moved nervously, but no
sound came from them, so agitated
was she, so eager to tell me some
thing; and yet at the same time reluc
tant to take me into her confidence.
“It concerns the terrible discovery
made up in Rannoch wood,” she said
in a hoarse, nervous voice at last.
"That unknown man was murdered—
stabbed to the heart. I have suspi
cions.”
"Of the murdered man's identity?"
“No. Of the assassin. I want you
to help me, if you will."
"Most certainly," I responded. “But
if you believe you know the assassin
you probably know something of the
victim?"
"Only that he looked like a for
eigner."
"Then you have seen him?" I ex
claimed, much surprised.
My remark caused her to hold her
breath for an instant. Then she an
swered. rather lamely, it seemed to
me:
"From his features and complexion I
guessed him to be an Italian. I saw
him after the keepers had found him."
"Besides,” she went on, “the stiletto
was evidently an Italian one, which
would almost make it appear that a
foreigner was the assassin.”
“Is that your own suspicion?"
“No."
“Why?”
She. hesitated a moment, then in a
low. eager voice she said:
“Because I have already seen that
knife in another person's possession."
"Then what is your theory regard
ing the affair?” I inquired.
"It seems certain that the poor fel
low went to the wood by appointment,
and was killed. The affair interested
me. and as soon as I recognized the
old Italian knife in the hand of the
keeper, I went up there and looked
about. I am glad I did so. for I found
something which seems to have es
caped the notice of the detectives."
"And what’s that?” I asked eagerly.
“Why, about three yards from the
pool of blood where the unfortunate
foreigner was found is another small
pool of blood where the grass and
ferns around are all crushed down as
though there had been a struggle
there.”
“There may have been a struggle at
that spot, and the man may have stag
gered some distance before be fell
dead.”
’’Not if he had been struck in the
heart, as they say. He would fall,
would he not?” she suggested. "No
The police seem very dense, and this
plain fact has not yet occurred to
them. Their theory is the same as
what you suggest, but my own is some
thing quite different, Mr. Gregg. I be
lieve that a second person also fell
a victim," she added in a low, distinct
tone.
1 gazed at her open-mouthed. Did
she, I wondered, know the actual
truth? Was she aware that the woman
who had fallen there had disappeared?
"A second person!” I echoed, as
though in surprise. “Then d» you be
lieve that a double murder was com
mitted?"
”1 draw my conclusion from the fact
that the young man, on being struck
in the heart, could not have gone such
a distance as that which separates the
one mark from the other.”
“But he might have been slightly
wounded—on the hand, or in the face—
at first, and then at the spot where
he was found struck fatally,” I sug
gested.
She shook her head dubiously, but
made no reply to my argument. Her
confidence in her own surmises made
it quite apparent that by some un
known means she was aware of the
second victim. Indeed, a few moments
later she said to me:
“It is for this reason. Mr. Gregg, that
I have sought you in confidence. No
body must know that I have come here
to you, or they would suspect; and if
suspicion fell upon me it would bring
upon me a fate worse than death. Re
member, therefore, that my future is
entirely in your hands.”
"I don't quite understand," I said,
rising and standing before her in the
fading twilight, while the rain drove
upon the old diamond window panes.
"But I can only assure you that what
ever confidence you repose in me, I
shall never abuse. Miss Leithcourt."
“1 know, 1 know!" she said quickly.
"I trust you in this matter implicitly.
I have come to you for many reasons,
chief of them being that if a second
victim has fallen beneath the hand
of the assasin, it is. I know, a woman."
"A woman! Whom?"
“At present I cannot tell you. I
must first establish the facts. If this
woman were really stricken down,
then her body lies concealed some
where in the vicinity. We must find
it and bring home the crime to the
guilty one.”
"But if we succeed in finding It.
could we place our hand upon the
assassin?" 1 asked, looking straight at
her.
"If we find it, the crime would then
tell its own tale—it would convict the
person in whose hand I have seen that
fatal weapon," was her clear, bold
answer.
"Then you wish me to assist you in
this search. Miss Leithcourt? My
search may bring suspicion upon me.
It will be difficult to examine the whole
wood without arousing the curiosity of
somebody—the keeper or the police."
"I have already thought of that." she
said. "I w ill pretend tomorrow to lose
this watch bracelet in the wood,” and
she held up her slim wrist to show
me the little enameled watch set in
her bracelet. “Then you and I will
search for it diligently, and the police
will never suspect the real reason ol
our investigation. Tomorrow I shall
write to you telling you. about my
loss, and you will come over to Ran
noch and offer to help me.”
1 was silent for a moment.
“Is Mr. Woodroffe back at the
castle? I heard he was to return to
day.” *
"No. I had a letter from him from
Bordeaux a week ago. He is still on
the continent. 1 believe, indeed, he
has gone to Russia, where he some
times has business."
“I asked you the question. Miss Mu
riel, because I thought if Mr. Wood
roffe were here he might object tc
our searching in company," 1 ex
plained, smiling.
Her cheeks flushed slightly, as
though confused at my reference tc
her engagement, and she said mis
chievously:
“I don't see why be should object in
the least. If you are good enough tc
assist me to search for my bracelet
he surely ought to be much obliged to
you."
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Depends on the Man.
Any woman can have any man she
likes if she pursues him vigorously
enough or eludes him—either does.
There are two ways for a woman
to get what she wants. Either chase
it for all she is worth, or run from It
in the same manner. It depends on
the man.—"Time o’ Day," by Doris
Egerton Jones.
HEARD AT DELIVERY DESK
Librarian Is Frequently the Recipient
of Confidences Thst Are Distinct
ly of Private Nature
" a
"My husband's been fick. and be
ain't well enough yet to do mown
lie on the sofa and read." a brisk na
tron explained lately to the librarian
of a small city “He likes travel
books best. He's finished up 'he
north pole and the south pole; now
J'd Mke to lake him something at>jut
the discovery 6t the equator "
Although the librarian was unable
to comply with the request precisely
ta the way the matron expected, at
least she had no difficulty in under
standing • hat was wanted. Sometimes
much more reasonable inquiries are
sc worded as to test to the utmost the
Ingenuity and imagination of the will
ing but bewildered provider of litera
ture A member of the staff of the
sl Louis public library records a few
•-samples:
I ii«- Sphinx and Pyrenees." was
rectified to the “Sphinx and
Pyramids;” the description of a paint
ing by “Remembrance” was. after a
; littIe thought, produced—although the
artist was Rembrandt; a natural his
tory book on "Knowing, Inveterate
and Cavernous Animals” was inter
preted satisfactorily as one upon ani
mals that are gnawing, invertebrate
or carnivorous. Even the boy who de
manded a thrilling tale entitled,
"Fighting With the Hi-Hos” was not
disappointed. He received “Riflemen
of the Ohio."
With the frequenters of the chil
dren's room, who so often seek ad
vice and assistance, the friendly li
brarian is frequently on confidential
i terms—so much so that unexpected
domestic revelations are occasionally
made. Joe, a constant borrower, in
quired anxiously one Saturday:
"Missus, how much will I have to
pay if I keep my book until Monday V
"You book is due today." he was
told, “but you have an hour's time be
fore the library closes. Why don't
you go home and get it?”
“Can't,” said Joe.
“Why can't you?" persisted the at
! tendant
“ ’Cause,” said Joe, “I’ll get a bath
if I do.”—Youth’s Companion.
West Africans Use Soap Freely.
In all parts of West Africa there
are evidences that for centuries be
fore the native began to import or to
buy European cotton goods from the
European trader who came hither,
they grew their own cotton and wove
on hand looms their own cotton goods.
They also manufactured soap, and
have made free use of it in keeping
both their clothes and bodies clean,
as may be observed by those who
travel through the country. Some
wash their bodies, as a religious cere
.mony, two and three times a day.
This is necessary, as the natives oil
their skins as a protection against the
painful effects of the sun. They also
delight in their white, flowing gowns.
That’s Different.
A man makes fun of the cigars his
wife buys. Yet many a woman suf
fers in silence while a man smokes
the cigars he bought himself.—Wash
ington Star. i
SORRY TO HAVE MISSED TRIP
Traveler’s Regret Is That He Passed
Up Opportunity to Cross the
Sinai Desert.
The difficulties of the Sinai desen
seem to a correspondent to be some
what exaggerated. Ten years ago. he
writes. I visited Jerusalem, Jericho
and the Dead sea on my bicycle, and
on my return Journey was tempted to
make the trip from JafTa to Alexandria
by way of Gaza and the coast. As the
result of local Inquiries (and cycling
is not unknown in Palestine, for I got
the loan of a pump in Jerusalem) I
ascertained that the journey would be
only some 150 miles—“six days' came)
journey"—and that water would be ob
tainable at two places. There is no
“road," but my experience in Pales
tine did not make that any disadvan
tage. for I usually found that a camel
track gave considerably better going
than the sort of thing that passes as
a made road in the wilderness of Jn
dea. Six days by camel would have
meant about four days on a cycle, bat
as that was the exact time I had in
hand before my boat sailed from Alex
andria. I came to the conclusion that
there was not enough margin to work
on. To reduce my risks I was pre
pared to take enough drinking watet
and food for the whole journey, no
other equipment being necessary. I
have only once regretted not having
made the venture, but that regret is
still with me.—Manchester Guardian.
Painting Points.
When preparing paint remember
that better results are obtainable from
several applications of thin paint than
from heavier coats. Sf course, it
taVes longer to do the work. Paint
put on in thin coats and allowed to
dry. lasts much longer and will not
flake off as is often the case when
heavier coats are applied. When very
fine results are wanted rub down each
coat after it has thoroughly dried.
Gigantic Hot Springs.
Some of the hot springs of New
Zealand are actually small lakes, large
enough to float a battleship.
| USE KINDNESS IN DEALING WITH MULES
Docile and Tractable Work Animals.
(By W F. PURDUE.)
It Is a common error that all mules
are vicious. To "kick like a mule" is a
proverbial and misleading saying.
Mules are not worse than horses in
this respect. While it should be de
nied that mules are naturally vicious,
it is undoubtedly true that some are
made so by ill-treatment and abuse.
The same is true of horses. In gen
eral, the mule is quiet and patient in
temperament, and. when properly in
structed during its youth, is just as
steady and reliable as a horse. It is
much easier to take a mule colt in
hand at an early' age and train it prop
erly than it is to take an older animal
that has been misused and overcome
any habits or tricks arising from
| years of poor management. Kindness
is the best policy in dealing jvith
mules as well as with other domestic
animals. Mules that are accorded de
: :ent. humane treatment when young
j nearly always make docile and tract
j able work animals, and are always
l ready to respond to good, common
| sense treatment. The mule that is
roundly abused becomes ugly in the
same way as the horse develops
viciousness when he is continually
mistreated.
The mule foal's education should be
gin early. The young animal sh,;-ill
be accustomed to the halter and ta
to lead before being weaned. .> :
thereafter it should be handled r-. .
larly until time to break it to harn .;
Gentle methods are desirable ii.
latter operation. If the young a
develops normally. It is capable a
years of age of doing consider
farm work, and in any case it is ..
visable to give some light work. It
not well, however, to put mules at
hard work much before four year-; .
age. The mule's keep Is reckoned at
a third less than that of a horse.
For the indications of disposition of
old mules look at the head and
say those who have bandied the.
mals for many years. Avoid t
with abnormally long heads, as w.
those with hollow faces. The e>
the gentle mule are s,oft and mi!
set well apart. A sign of docility .
young mule is indicated by c. . •
motion of the ears; one ear ;•
forward, the other backward a
regarded favorably, liut bewar-'
mule that habitually lays t ,
back upon the neck, say .the am
ties. It is claimed Wy some that t
little mule is more apt to be ill ■■
pered and vicious, and that the lary r
the animal the better the dispositt .
PUSH THE PIGS TO
MAKE BEST RETURNS
Corn, Alfalfa and Clover Pasture
Will Lay on Fat—Provide
Suitable Shade.
After the pigs come feed the sow
I all she can eat of nutritious rations.
A fair amount of corn will not hurt
her then.
To keep the youngsters free from
■Ice, dip them Just before they are
weaned. Then dip them again late
in the fall.
Corn, alfalfa and clover pasture
will lay fat on pigs about as fast as
anything else that grows.
The hot sun will drive the fat out
it a pig about as fast as you can lay
it on. It pays to provide plenty of
shade.
The best shade is a shed on an ele
vat'on over which the wind can sweep
without obstruction. Dusty holes in
fence corners or in stifling under
brush are not desirable.
If your pigs are running on clover
pasture and you are feeding grain
give it to them at night.
A light feed of grain may be given
pigs three times a day, but twice is
better, provided they have plenty of
good pasture.
Plenty of clean water should be
provided every day at noon time and
again in the evening for the hogs.
Only the best bred >igs which are
pushed from the start to the finish
make the most money.
Don't forget that pigs never sweat,
and therefore they must be supplied
with plenty of water in which they
can cool themselves during the warm
summer months.
GOOD FERTILIZERS
FOR STRAWBERRIES
Tankage, Peruvian Guano, Fine
Ground Bone and Sulphate
of Potash Are Favored.
The following are recommended in
the culture of this fruit.
Tankage or Peruvian guano. (*00
pounds per acre; fine-ground bone,
1,000 pounds; low-grade sulphate of
potash. 600 pounds: nitrate**of soda.
100 pounds.
All these may be mixed, applied
after plowing and before setting
plants and thoroughly incorporated
In the soil by harrowing.
Dried blood. 200 pounds per acre:
low-grade sulphate of potash, 600
pounds: tankage or Peruvian guano.
600 pounds: basic-slag meal, 1.000
pounds; nitrate of soda. 100 pounds.
The slag is not mixed with the
blood, tankage or guano, as it causes
a loss of ammonia. It is better to
apply the slag by Itself but all the
other materials may be mixed be
fore application.
Watch the Cabbage.
If the cabbages grow so fast that
they are inclined to burst, tip the
heads over far enough to sever a por
tion of the roots. Keep close watch
of them, and if this does not check
the trouble use them. A head that
has burst soon becomes worthless.
Hoga Relish Green .Fodder.
The first green fodder will be rel
ished by the hogs. But in the North
there will not be much big enough this
month unless the sun gets down to
business.
ALL FARMERS OUGHT
TO HAVE SOME HOGS
Not Necessary Nor Desirable to
Devote Time and Attention
to Fancy Strains.
It ought to be within the reach *
all farmers to produce bogs, »
grades, Chester Whites. Be- „
Poland Chinas or the bacon t. ; •
hogs $r any of the other impr . 1
breeds, and by selection and au> at
in subsequent breeding and regard
for the plain principles with v .
every fanner should make him?’ *
quainted to improve and maintain :
standard of swine upon the farm.
It is neither necessary nor d®sirab>
that the farmer should convert 1
yards and houses into breeding . - a
iishments and devote his time and at
tention to breeding fancy stra - r
families, at the expense of his i rk
producing operations.
If the production of pork is the *>le '
object of the farmer it is within bn
power to so improve his swine that fur
all practical purposes they are as prai
tical and profitable as though they d.
scended from the best names in the 1
herd bocks.
He wants hogs that will fatten »e
and his practical eye should s> : ■ • A
bunch of good hogs without refercac j
to their pedigrees.
PROVIDE SUPPLY OF
CHARCOAL FOR HOGS
Corncobs Burned in a Pit Three
Feet Deep Will Furnish All
That Is Needed.
(By J. M. KELLY )
For the last 30 years, to the writer
positive knowledge, farm w riters : a ■
been telling their readers to ff- t t :
hog plenty of charcoal. Even if t
advice is old it is good. There sh , . ]
be charcoal before the hogs all t . *'
time. The supply may be made fro .
corncobs. These must be burned la
a pit, which should be three or fo.t
feet wide, three feet deep and e a!it
or ten feet long.
A load of cobs should be I t 1
the pit an'd set afire. As soon •- ’.‘i •
areKwel! ablaze the pit should . • > ■
ered with stripb of sheet iron an i
cracks with-earth so aa to exc.-i-.* ■
air. In a day or two the pit may ?
uncovered and a supply of char, ai
will be ready for use.
Proper Feed for Cows.
The cow cannot turn all the nour
ishment she gets from her food in:-;
milk and still have enough Left tj
build up her system and that of het
offspring. We need to feed cows that
are with calf the best kinds of feet
the farm affords and not compel then
to go through the winter on half ra
tions.
Gst After Wheat Weevil.
Did the weevil get into your whea
last year? If they did, treat the bin.
with bisulphide of carbon. Place ii
three or four bottles and set in th
upper part of the crib. Of course tak
out the corks. It does not smell goo
and will kill if Inhaled, but it does u
the weevil
Water for Horses.
Take a barrel of water to the fiefl
every morning s.nd noon for the horsefl
It’s hard in a horse to work him
.I