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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 21, 1916)
----- 1 ■!- — - . 1-1 .... ■ : ■_ CHAPTER XVII.—Continued. —10— “Groat God. how did that Injun gel In lure, Hr. Larrence?” ejaeulatei Conrod. as the candles showed him tin huddled form of the dying savage. •jhm'i ask me, Captain Conrod.” re turned the other cheerfully. “Yotti door was open when l got here and In jumped on me when I came in; ant he'd have got tne if it had not been fbi this man.” And lie laid his hand gently on the shoulder of the hysterical liguri ■crouched on the door. “Holy rattlesnakes!” hurst from tin astonished Conrod. “It’s Doe Elliott!’ David Larrence lifted his rescuer tc his feet. “Here, let’s see your face my friend.” The man looked up slowly. “Ndd Scull!” said Lnrremj^ in n ghastly whisper, and staggered back ward. * The man bowed his head again. Larrence *poke like a man in :i dream: "Scull! I have found you at last!’ •'I am innocent, I swear it!” cried ■Scull. “I never betrayed you!” The others looked from one to the other of the two men iu amazement. Where had they known each other be fore? By what name did Latxenee call Elliott? What was their secret? Tin moment was tense with waiting. David turned to the little group. "Gentlemen,” he said, “may I talk tc this man alone for a moment?” “Sure as shoutin’,” said Conrod aftoi si pause, “hut let’s get this Injun out ol here first.” He bent above the filthy body and turned the limp shoulders over. “Why, it’s that wuthless Piankeshaw come in last week to sell his skins; been drunk ever since. He'll be sobet a while, now.” With scant ceremony they dragged the heavy body with the dark red stain between the shoulder blades into the raiu. One Indian less on the wilder ness border was better luck than bad The half-shut eyes stared blankly up ward in the beating rain. “Bury him in the moruiu’.” directed -Conrod; and Scull—whom the village had known only as “Elliott”—and Da vlil Larrence were left alone together “Now,” said Larrence with deadlj calm, “tell me how you got here!” The man Scull clasped his hands 1e ruu ruij. “I left Nottingham because I heard you hail sworn to kill me. I swear tc you before God I was not responsible for your father's—” Larrenee checked the word on Scull'* lips. , “How came you here?" he repeated “I heard you had gone to America and I curae across the Atlantic to find you; I thought I might show you i was innocent. I swear I am innocent.' “l'ou lie,” returned David calmly “you lie in every word. You informed falsely on my father, and he died od the gallows because of you. You be came a British spy. You fled from Mugland to escape me; you nevei thought to find me here. Nor did i think to find you here, under an as sumed name, pretending to be a phy sician.'' I Scull looked at him in terror. t, “God!” he whispered, his lips dry with fear. A door that led to an inner room sud denly swung open and a woman stepped quickly out. * A cry of fear escaped her as she saw David towering menacingly above Scull's bowed head. She was face to face with David aud he looked at her in astonishment. “Lydia Cranmer!” The girl flung herself between the •two inen and clasping Scull iu her arms she turned defiantly toward David. “No. not Lydia Cranmer,” she cried, “but Mistress Scr.il!” “Hush. Lydia,” commanded Scull dully. “Go buck, let us end our busi ness." He swallowed convulsively and ♦stroked her hair as though soothing a child. "Go buck, dear.” “Not I. Ned t” she answered. “What does this man want? Oh, Ned, there . Is no danger, is there? Tell me, what Is wrong?” As David looked at .the two he felt the wild anger dying down in his breast, and instead there arose a feel fug of self-pity. Ah, If only a woman had thrown her arms about liis neck and faced the world for him, believing in him! An unbearable pang shot through him. His eyes were hot with llio hitter envy of one who looks into the windows of a house where love and light and warmth stand firm against the desolate world without, and ■who knows himself a homeless wan derer on the earth. When he spoke, it was in a changed voice: "Arc you this woman’s husband?” “We were married a month ago,” said Scull. He seemed almost to have forgotten David's presence and his hand caressed the girl's cheek with a strange gc-utleuess. David looked at them for a moment iu silence, thou drew a deep breath. He had made up _his mind. He was glad that he could lie merciful, to an other. though life might he never mer ciful to him. lie thrust the pistol back into tile bosom of his hunting shirt and his hand fell upon the knot of ribbon Toinette had given him. “Do you see this?” he asked, as he drew it out. Scull turned paler. He had freed himself from the girl's clasp, and sud denly his knees loosened beneath him -and he souk at David’s feet. Lydia threw her arms around liis shoulders. “The mark 1” cried Scull, raising trembling hands. David looked at the ribbon with n ^tart. “Why, yes, it is purple. But I do not show it to you as a sign that I am keeping my oath of the Brother hood. No.” As he continued his voice Crew tender; he seemed to be speaking to himself or t0 some v,slon which the Wretched figure kneeling at his feet could not see. I “You saved my life just now,” he ! went on. “I would have thanked you for ending it, as you ended the love [ of the one I loved most in the world. For the sake of that dead love I prom ise you that uo one shall know front me what you have been, what you are. I break my oath of the Brotherhood." The groveling creature at David’s feet raised a face of incredulity. "You give up the Brothers’ ven I geance?” j “Absolutely.” “You will not hold to your oath?” “I have said no.” Scull looked up at him, a radiance transfiguring his face. “God bless you. Larreuce,” he said chokingly. “You do not know what death means. You have only your own life; I have—-God help me!—two lives to live for!” Lydia stooped quickly and lifted Da vid’s hand \o her lips. She went hastily from the room. The i two men stood facing each other and ! for a while there was silence. Then I David spoke slowly: “Are you going to remain here?” Scull straightened himself up. “No! we shall go buck to England. I 1 have robbed you of everything, and you have given me everything. You do not wish to see my face again. But before I go I will tell Toinette the truth. I—” David nodded wearily and went out. A cold and dreary rain was still fall ing, but a ray of light shone from the tavern door on the upturned face of the dead Indian. David stopped and looked down upon the sightless visage for a moment and then laughed. The dreadful features were twisted into a smile as to ultimate victory, and a little rivulet of rain trickled unceas ingly from the corner of the mouth. No more of wretched life; no more of firewater! David's hand stole unconsciously to the pistol that hung heavily within the folds of his own blouse. His fingers, tightened on it and his lips drew to* gether in a harder line. . . . Why not? . . . The thing so easily, so quickly done. . . . Why not? Was there anything remaining to make him hold to life any longer? What though Blackford did believe in him? What though a hundred friends believed in him? What mattered all their friendships, their stupid greet ings, the little kindnesses of daily in tercourse? What did his dreams of great things to be done in this new land amount to? Petty dreams, petty tasks, buying and selling, squabblings over pennies, wranglings over little gains—a sordid prospect, the heritage of fools! The rain fell steadily, chilling him to the very bones. Through its gray unceasing torrent he plodded, unchal lenged in his loneliness, to his own rooms in the village. Sodden with the cold flood, sodden with quenched hopes, he sank heavily upon a chair and bowed his head upon his hands, there to sit for hours in a numb wrestling with bitterness that were beyond his power to shake off. After a long while, he rose and drew the pistol from its place—wiped the dampness from its shining barrel and gazed at it with unseeing eyes. CHAPTER XVIII. The Uttermost Instant. It was the (lay following Scull’s de parture. . David walked swiftly, deep into the leafless forest, and strode along Little Indian Creek, gurgling under its ice, to the spot where Toin ette O’Bannon had first smiled at hitn in the April noon. It was there his new life had begun. And there, kneel ing by the rocky ledge, he prayed, as at a shrine. An end of all things had come to David. His long quest was over and the surf of his passion had spent itself in foam. Had it been worth while to forgive? All that he had lived for was torn from him. Toinette would know that she had judged him unjustly; but would that knowledge bring back what Scull Looked at Him in Terror. he hud lost of her? He had been a liot-tempered fool, he had insulted her beyond forgiving. The breach had widened beyond bridging. He looked across the gulf that lay between him and Toinette and felt the bitterness of ruined hopes. He thrust his hand in to his hunting shirt and drew forth the dueling pistol he had taken from Blackford's room. For a long while he stood looking at it in silence. A light step rustled the dead leaves underfoot and he turned quickly. Toin ette stood beside him, a joyous smile on her face. “I was sent to find you,” she greet ed him astonishingly. He stared at her as though at a mes senger from the skids. Her silver laughter rang out as it had in days gone by. “Do not deceive yourself,” she' smiled. “I am no angel—I’m Toinette!” David did not believe her denial; never believed it. “Father sent me for you. He’s go ing to give a great dinner at the tav ern and you’re to sit in the place of honor. Come, you mustn't keep your cook waiting.” And she held out her hand. But David did not stir. The look of haggard suffering had returned to his face. Her loveliness was an arrow that sent all the poison of his despair once more burning through his veins. For the first time he found a voice, a voice trembling with emotion. “I cannot ... I cannot . . . please go!” She opened her eyes wide and shot a blue radiance of hurt surprise at him. Then she went swift and straight to the point, a woman uot to be put aside l*y evasions: “Indeed, I will not. You mustn't stay here alone.” He had regained control of himself, but the struggle left him deadly pale. He could not bear to face her as he spoke. “I am going away. I cannot live without you.” The words were hard ly more than a whisper. She took two quick* steps forward. Her hand fell upon his shoulder, light as a floating strand of gossamer. But he felt it and thrilled through all his being. Slowly, slowly, he raised his head and she saw his face, that he had gone into the valley of the shadow of death. In the hush of the wilderness his scarcely audible words seemed to fall on their hearts with the mWsured beating of an inexorable judgment. What did she see in the wilderness? A dry reed, shaken in the wind of de spair? But her voice rang like a song in the morning: “It is not brave to turn back from the plowing. I have heard my father say that courage should be lifted to such a height as to maintain its great ness even in the midst of miseries, holding all things under itself.” uavm snnieo. "I call the immortal truth to witness that no fear, either of life or death, eau appall me, having long learned to set bodily pain in the second form of my being. And I do now think it the act of a coward to die.” The girl had grown paler as she read his determination in his face, white and rigid as a mask. David was siteifr In the morning sunlight that dappled the little giade, ♦lie frozen branches of the trees stood motionless. A white snowflake danced across the space before David's eyes and his vision followed it up. up, into the cloudless blue beyond. In the quiet, it seemed to Toinette as if she could hear her own heart beating. David spoke again, slowly; “And if we be lieutenants of Ood in this troubled world, do you not think then that we have right to choose a new station when he leaves us unprovided of good reason to stay in the old?” “No, certainly I do not,” she said, with a rebuke lovelier because it lay in her sweetly troubled voice, “since it is not for us to appoint that mighty majesty what time he will help us; tin- uttermost instant is scope enough for him to revoke all tilings to one's own desire.” And she sealed her lips with the^ moistness of her tears, which followed still one another like a precious robe of pearls. David suddenly realized how ineffably sweet life was; wonder ful. tragic, joyous worthy of music, worthy of tears. The pistol fell to the grouud unheed ed. David took a step forward. Hut she checked him. “No,” she said, “do not tell me. Doc tor Kiiiott lias told me all. He and Lydia have gone. Forgive me, forgive me. David.' Let the dreadful past go with them: See. you have made me <'r.v—aren’t you sorry? And by this time there's no dinner for either of us.” They laughed together. They were young. "I'll get dinner for you," "promised David. “I knew a butcher's sou once upon a time.” “Once upon a time!” she repeated. "That sounds like a story. That’s the way they always begin.” And so it was the beginning of a story; but David did not tell it to her then. They went home together. At Toinette's door, little Mr. O’Ban non hailed David with a shout. “I sent my dove into the wilderness,” he said, his eyes twinkling, “but you’re I he most sizable olive branch I ever saw 1” CHAPTER XIX. The Story Begins. In the little stone courthouse on that Sabbath morning a hundred voices were lifted in the stirring music of Giardini's triumphal-hymn. Tile peo ple of the countryside had gathered to give thanks to God for the victory over their' savage foes. The vigor of the chant swelled in a stern strength which was made beautiful by the rough voices of the pioneers. In the iittle room the hymn echoed with the majesty of a cathedral chant: Come, thou Almighty King. Help us thy name to sing. Help me to praise! Father! all glorious, O'er all victorious, Come ami reign over us. Ancient of days! David felt himself thrill in every nerve; his wife's hand trembled in his and he knew that, like himself, she felt the mighty glory of life and love, of trial undergone, of good triumphant over ill, of yearnings toward the inef fable. Tears of happiness stood in his eyes. The peau of victory ceased. The minister, a man of God, rose slow ly "to his feet. He, too, felt tears rising from the depths. Love had made him the apostle of the people of the wil derness and he had knit their hearts to his with hands of humble ministry. He had never before addressed so large an audience as this. Sunday after Sun day, the ten or twelve who nmde up his little Calvinistic flock, lacking a church building, gathered in the homes of his elders, Henry Itice and James Armstrong; the foundations of Goshen chapel had been scarcely planned; but today lie found a hundred men and women watching Mm, expectant of spiritual comfort. No one appreciated better than he the sufferings, the be reavements through which they hud passed. In his meek und heroic spirit he thanked God for the high honor be stowed upon him, that to him should be given the words to address so great a company. In a voice thut rang with prophecy, lie rend aloud that thrilling call which concludes the four teenth chapter of the Gospel of Luke; and as he lifted his eyes from the book, he found resting on him the clear steady gaze of the threescore back woodsmen. “I am going to speak to you about tenacity of purpose,” lie begun, “the quality of soul which enables you to bang on to the thing you have begun until you have finished It. “Not one of you men aud women but despises a man who gives up in the midst of a fight. This feeling is u part of your very blood, for you have been brought up in the midst of dangers such as no other generation of men lias known. It is upon resistance up to the last notch thut your lives them selves depend. That man among you who surrenders imperils the lives of ait or you. iHero is not one of you whose resolution has not been tried and fried sorely by the almost insuffer able burdens of this new land. A hun dred times you have said, ‘Why did I not remain in the land which my fa thers have made safe and pleasant for me?' And a hundred times you have fought off that feeling of discourage ment. “You are about to be put to a test more severe than any you have yet un dergone. You have won the tight at Tip pecanoe; but do not be mistaken: all the pitiless warriors of the forest wilt gather again and crush you out en tirely if they can; and behind them is the power of that nation across the seas, whose tyranny our fathers have overthrown at such tremendous cost. “ 'And whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple!’ “The words are those of the greatest lighter of all. They are the words of a man who, without a single follower, proclaimed his convictions before the most hostile and unfriendly of all gen erations. The whole crushing weight of its hate fell upon him, but he clung to those beliefs to the very Jast—gave up his life, rattier than give them up. He, of all men, knew what it mean to cling to a purpose in the face of tre mendous difficulties. Yet lie says that whoever cannot equally endure the burdens of the march through life is not fit to be a man. “Thirty-two years ago a little baud of men—settlers like you, and not so many as nr* now beftjre me—followed George Rogers Clark through unimag inable hardships across the wintry prairies from Kaskaskia to Vincennes. Last week I passed by the crumbling timbers of the old fort and found their bullets sunken in the logs inside the embrasures. Some of you men iu this audience were with him in that ter rible march and daring assault. It is useless to say that we will never for get what you have done for us. Gen eral Clark is now a penniless and pal sied cripple in his sister's home. Do not expect that a republic which has no rewards for the leader will be less forgetful of tlie mau in the ranks. “You have not entered on this death lessly heroic struggle with the wilder ness with the expectation of material reward alone: you have come here from the old quiet places in Virginia, in Massachusetts, in Connecticut, in Pennsylvania and New Jersey because you have the fighting spirit in you; and you stay here because the fighting spirit stays in you. “ ‘For which of you. intending to build a tower, sitteth not down first, and counted: the cost, whether he have sufficient to finish it?’ i-est nupiy, utter he Hath laid the foundation, and Is not able to finish it, all that behold it begin to mock him, “ ‘Saying. “This man began to build, and was not able to finish.” ’ “The tower that you have begun to build is an invisible tower: a new and mighty nation. Today you sit down to count the cost of the building, to see whether you have sufficient with which to finish the vast edifice. What is the cost? The world watches you, and not only its generations of today but those unborn generations who will weigh your work to see whether it was good or bad. I know that you have counted the cost and are willing, ready to pay it: a treasure of sacrifice, a treasure of blood and wounds and dreadful agonies aud bitter tears. But you will pay it. You will pay it t<i the utter most, holding yourselves to the grim account with iron wills, forcing your selves on with unconquerable resolve. “Not of you shall it ever be said: ‘After he hatli laid the foundation, and is not able to finish it, all that behold it began to mock him. “‘Saying, “This man began to build, and was not able to finish.” ’ “For the tower which you build is not built witli bands, but with souls. “ ‘So likewise, whosoever he be of you that forsaketli no* all that he hath, he cannot be my disciple. “ ‘Salt ps good: but if the salt have lost its savor, wherewith shall it be seasoned?’ “All of you know how hard it is to get salt in this new country—how we1 have to haul bushels of salty earth from tlie spots which the red deer of the forest have discovered, the ‘deer licks.’ You put this salty earth in an ash liopper, pour water over It and catch the water In a trough after it has leaked through the dirt. And then you boil the salty water down till there is left a little of the precious mineral with which we can preserve our meats. You all know how labo rious and tiresome a process it is, and how much the salt means to the set tler. How the cattle moo for a taste of It! What would our children do without milk! “We can all understand this manner of speakiug: ‘Salt is good: but if the salt have lost Its savor, wherewith shall It be seasoned?’ "That great soldier, Christ, means to say that he looks to his followers not only to begin great tasks, hut to con tinue in them ; for there are no greater soldiers than the soldiers who light in a good cause. The mun who stops mid way iu his fight Is like salt that loses its essential quality. There is no longer any reason for its existence. Better not be at all, than to cease from being strong. For then who is left to give new strength to the salt? There Is no one for you to fall back on—you have chosen a certain work in life and you must stick it out to the end. “I want you to remember this through all the great struggles which are left before you. Today we are waiting, and waiting for the appear ance of a terrible foe. They may come to raise the war-whoop or they may come in peace. But however they may come they will find us ready, like the wise king who hath consulted and found himself ready to meet tne force that conieth against him. For you have learned to fight the greuter strug gles of the spirit. You have learned to be cool, temperate and steady, first of all; and having learned these virtues of manliness and pluck and mastery over seif, you will add to them the su preme virtue of tenacity: to keep, to hold, to grip as in a vise the purpose to which you have consecrated your selves. “And then, some day, the tower of this new and beautiful nation will stand as a dream made visible. The foundations Washington laid, and Clark and Harrison have added to; the tVAt-TcJj VWCGNT/NC-—* “I Am Going Away—I Cannot Llvt Without You." great timbers of the walls which you ; are raising Will be strengthened'by ' mighty girders which your sons will ! heave into place and fasten together j like a welded yoke; and their sons will rear the roof above, and still anothei ! generation will make it a house shut j ting out the four winds of the earth; i and your grandsons' sons will make It ' beautiful within. We shall not see that day nor reap any of its rewards; but of us shall the- unseen corner stones be made. Today is the glory of victory; tomorrow begins the clamor of toil. ‘Where is the house that ye build unto me? Where is the place of my rest?’ . . .” THE END. _ HOW THE KING SIGNS LAWS Gives Consent to Acts of Parliament by What Is Called Royal Commission. Most people will tell you that th< king must sign every act of parlia inent before it becomes law. It will astonish these people to know thai acts of parliament are never signed j by King George. When parliament passes an act, as, for example, the j recent military service act, which con- 1 scripted ail the single men, a copy on | vellum is placed in safe custody ic | ' the house of lords and indorsed by the j clerk of parliament. If the act is one concerning money, as, for instance j the budget, the vellum copy is also in j j dorsed by the speaker. How does the j king give Ids consent to an act ot parliament? Well, he gives it by whal | is known as a royal commission. All 1 the various acts that are passed at i 1 about the same time are named in this 1 commission, and the king signs this • The king must actually sign this com ' mission, but should he be, for any rea- 1 son, not able to do so, the royal sig- ‘ nature may be specially stamped upon 1 the paper. But according to the law ' this stamp can only be used “in his '• majesty's presence and by bis majes ty’s command given by word of mouth." A stamp of the king's signa ture is always kept ready for this i 1 purpose.—I’earson’s Weekly. ; ’ -J < Courtesies. Somebody has called courtesies I lie | * small change of life. Be that as it ' < may, we all get into the habit of ex- 1 pecting them, and when we do an obliging thing we hold out our hand [ ’ for our “change.” Most of us keep ac- 1 1 count hooks, into which we should not / 1 like to have others look—kept all the : * same, though written only- upon the ! pages of an uncommonly sharp mein- ! ory. What we prettily call love is too , often only a loan—not indeed to be J paid in kind, but in degree, with hand- j ! some interest. We are affectionate I and obliging and friendly, we help < somebody in a moment of dire etner- 1 s gency, and then we hold out our hand t for our “change.” We are n little un- I : easy lest it should not be generally i s known how good we have "been, and, t lest it should be hidden under a bushel, ! we take all the bystanders into our confidence.—Selected. Typographical. i Robert's father had given him a I l printing press in order to iuterest him 1 in the mysteries of spelling. It was i Robert’s task to make up a news page 1 for his father to see—and maybe to 1 reward the printer. The world pro- 1 grossed until Roumania entered the i war. The typographical difficulties of 1 the situation, with Roumania winning In Transylvania, bothered Robert, as they have many a copyreader. But Robert told his story in the top Un«L it read: Rummies Win First Round for those fond of salads Here Are Six Recipes, Affording Van cty That Is Needed in These Preparations. - / plain Cauliflower Salad.—Boil a nice cauliflower and break up into da; serve very cold with French dress ing. Beet Salad—Boil some beets and cut into dice, add salt, pepper, a little oil and vinegar, and let them stand an hour; tJien arrange in piles on plates and add a tablespoonful of capers and as many cut-up olives and serve wit mayonnaise. Fish Salad—Pick up any cold cooked fish or use canned salmon, arrange it in a pile in a dish with, quarters of hard-boiled qggs, alternating with lem on quarters around the edge and mask the fish with mayonnaise. Orange Salad—Take large, seedless oranges and cut into slices; arrange in a circle, the edges overlapping, and put a walnut half in the middle of each piece. Watercress may be arranged in the center of the dish or not, and put French dressing over all. Banana Salad—Cut bananas In halves crorrswise and lay on lettuce or by themselves on a flat dish. Sprinkle well with chopped peanuts and serve with mayonnaise dressing. Peach Salad—Drain canned peaches and wipe dry; put a spoonful of may onnaise made with cream into the mid dle of eacli one. Apricots may be used Instead of peaches. BUILT-IN BOX FOR KITCHEN Takes Up Little Room, and is Most Handy Receptacle for Necessary Wood or Coal. I am sending a simple plan fur a wood or coal box in the kitchen—one that will save many steps, as well as muddy tracks across a freshly scrubbed floor. Leave an opening in the kitchen wall .'5 feet square. Then make a box inside 3 feet high, 3 feet long, 2 feet wide, < Six inches from the back make a cov- ' or or door 18 inches wide. Put to- \ gether with hinges. Now, for the outside: Top, 20 inches wide; length, 3 feet; diagonal I height, 40 inches, and 6 inches from the back make a door 14 inches wide, i Paint or varnish to match the wood- ' work. Paint the outside like the ! house.—Mrs. Ruth Crawford in Farm j Progress. Arithmetic of Mixing Bowl. There are a number of fixed propor- i ions used in all recipes, and the fol owing are standard: One-half as much liquid ns flour for uutfiu and batter cakes; one-third as nuch liquid as flour for soft doughs is for biscuit. One-fourth as much liquid as flour or stiff doughs as for bread. One-third to one-half as much but er ns sugar for all butter cakes. One to one and a half teaspoonfuls >f baking powder to a cupful of flour 'or batter doughs. One-third ns much shortening as lour for pastry. One teaspoonful of soda to one pint >f sour milk. Bananas Filled With Cream. Remove one section of the peel from is many bananas as you wish to serve, rake out the pulp with a teaspoon and j orce through vegetable ricer. For six •ananas allow one cupful powdered mgar. one cupful of thick cream, one- j bird cupful of sweet milk beaten to ;ether, and one teaspoonful of lemon j uice. Fill the banana skins and put >» the section that was removed. Set he stuffed fruit into a lard pail, put m cover and pack in equal parts salt i md ice. After being packed one and •ne-half hours they will be ready to ierve. Ginger Puff Pudding. Cream one-half cupful of butter, add wo tablespoonfuls of sugar, two eggs veil beaten, one cupful milk, two and >ne-half cupfuls of flour mixed and lifted with three teaspoonfuls of bak ng powder, one-fourth cupful of gin ;er cut in .small pieces and one table ipoonful of ginger sirup. Turn into a 1 mttered mold and steam one and hree-quarters hours. Serve with vhipped cream sweetened and fla wed with ginger sirup and a speck of : alt. Coconut Pumpkin Pie. One pint pumpkin pulp,, one pint ;ood milk, three eggs, one-luilf cupful rrnted coconut, one tablespoonful 'utter, one-fourth teaspoonful salt ine-lmlf teaspoonful ginger, one toa poonful mace. Mix the ingredients ogether thoroughly. The white and ■oiks of the eggs should he beaten eparately. Pour into pastry-lined ins and bake.—M. M. Wright, in father's Magazine. ---—-. Codfish Croquettes. Soak one-half pound codfish over light and in morning drain and cook intil soft. This is for salt cod. Chop ine, add a little seasoning, an egg. a ery little milk and a teaspoonful of lour; shape, brush with egg, roll with 'read crumbs and fry brown in hot ard. The same rule may be used with ■ iny cold fresh fish. Separate from lone and chop fine. Proceed as above. In Place of Celery. When celery is scarce, cabbage hopped fine, with plenty of celerv nlads'Vni bC found a fine substitute la MACARONI 36 fyf Recipe Book Free SKINNER MFG.CO- OMAHA. U.SA lAioat MACA80HI fAQomr w awbuca. A Substitute. “Do you enjoy a problem play?” “Sometimes,” replied Miss Cayenne. “It’s tlie only way I know of to talk scandal without harming somebody who actually exists.” Anuric cures Backache. Lumbago. Bheumatiam. Send 10c. Dr. V. M. Pierce. Buffalo, N. Y., for large trial package.— Adv. __ Moth Traps. An acetylene gaslight, placed in a large glass globe, attracts thousands of cutworm moths, which have proved so destructive to the best ranches of southern California. A pan of oil is set below the globe, and into the pan as many as several thousand moths will often fall iq a single night. The Quinine That Doe* Not Affect The Head Because of it* tonic and laxative effect. Laxative Bromo Quinine can be taken by anyone without causing nervousness or ringing in the head 1 here is only one “Bromo Qulnina. H. W. GBOVBTJ signature is on each box. 26c. Confusing. “What I want to know,*’ said the puzzled student of politics, “is whether or not the women voters defeated Mr. Seeker. “Don't ask - me,” answered Mr. Twobble. “My wife is a suffragist and her analysis of the vote is so compli cated that I sometimes forget who really won.” TORTURING SKIN TROUBLES That Itch, Burn and Disfigure Healed by Cuticura. Trial Free. Bathe with plenty of Cuticura Soap and hot water to cleanse and purify. Dry lightly and apply Cuticura Oint ment to soothe and heal. This stops itching instantly, clears away pimples, removes dandruff and scalp irritations, and heals red, rough, sore hands. Free sample each by mail with Book. Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept. L, Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv. WITH CUPID AT THE HELM .- I Sample of Conversation When En amored Couple Set Out on Voy age Over True Love’s Course. The enamored couple were sitting entirely too close together for comfort and security on the lamp, and the sofa was turned low. He kissed her on the very* tip of the nose, a place he had never kissed her before. “Archie,” she reproved him roguish ly, “don’t be fooUsh-goolish.” And then, by the frown on his low but natural forehead she knew that Archie’s feelings had suffered. “Oh, my own big bibby-baby!” she cried. “I have hurt you!” “No, li’l goldfish," he replied fool ishly, “the hurt I feel is because I know It hurts you to feel that you have hurt me.” “No, no, ’Archie-starchy. Do not let that hurt you for a moment. My hurt is because I know it hurts you to feel that I have hurt myself by hurting you.” “My sugar-coated angel 1 My hurt Is because you are hurt over feeling that I am hurt because you feel that you have hurt me and—Oh. kid, let’s go to the movies." Which they did, and acted like a pair of goops.—Detroit Free Press. Two Wants to Be Filled. “Sit down, Mr. Stylo,” said the emi nent publisher to the tattered scare crow who had just entered his elabo rate sanctum. “I have read your man uscript, and I think I shall publish it.” “Ah!” cried the starving genius. “Du you really mean that?” “Yes. It seems to me a good hook, and I think it will fill a long-felt want.” “I’m glad to hear you say that. And. by the way, could you advance me two dollars and A half on account of my royalties?” “Oh, I think so—I think so. But why do you want two dollars and a half?” “I want to begin filling that long-felt want yon spoke of.” She Is a poor cook who is unable to make good. r " . i Childish Craving “-for something sweet finds pleasant realization in the pure, wholesome, wheat and barley food Grape-Nuts No danger of upsetting the stomach and remember, Grape-Nuts is a true food, good for any meal or between meals “There's a Reason”