Ligonier Banner., Volume 35, Number 44, Ligonier, Noble County, 31 January 1901 — Page 3

e 7 & i A %@ | i o }// ~ $Xs B ) B\ ) oy AN KAS” TAETFT a /i \\ 7 . t;/'wfi ; \;;‘ A '\\\« | LAY WY o) EBRGADIER Ji ‘ 3 GENERAL A g -&CHA%ES A 3 .10 NG = [Copyright, 1897, by F. Tennyson Neeiy.] y ' CHAPTER XXIIL.—CONTINUED. “Up to this afternoon at five mno 4race of them has been found,” said Loring. “Day after to-morrow that safe-opener should reach us. If you have influence with Col. Stevens you should urge him to have a guard at the quartermaster’s depot, even if he had to strip the fort. The general <annot be reached by wire.” “Why?” asked Folsom, looking up 4n alarm. “Yeu don’t suppose he’'d «<ome back to rob his own office?” “He is not the man to take a risk, but there are those with him not so careful, and the hand that sent Birdsall’'s gang in chase of Dean could send them here, with the safe-key. Those few clerks and employes would be no match for them.” “By heaven, I believe you're right!” ecried Folsom. “Which way are you going now?” - “Back to the hotel by way of the depot,” was the answer. “Will you go?” “One moment. Ido not travel about just now without a gun,” said Folsom, stepping within doors, and even the low sound of their voices died away and all was still as a desert. The old trader did not return at once. Something detained him—DMiss Folsom, probably. reasoned the engineer, as he stood there leaning on the gate. Aloft a ‘blind creaked audibly, and, gazing upward, Loring saw a dark, shadowy shutter at the third-story window - swing slowly in. There wasno wind to move it. Why should human hands be so stealthy? Then a dim light shone - through the slats, and the shade was raised, and, while calmly watching . the performance, Loring became aware of a dim, faint, far-away click of horse’s hoofs at the gallop, coming from the north. “If that were from the eastward, now,” thought he, it might bring stirring news.” But the sound died away after a moment, as though the rider had dived into sandy soil. Just then Folsom reappeared. “I had too explain to my daughter. She is most reluctant to have me go out at night Jjust now.” = “Naturally,”” said Loring, calmly. “And have you been way up to the third story? I suppose Miss Folsom - has gone to her room.” “The girls have, both of them—bur not to the third story. That’s Mrs. Fletcher’s room.” ; - “Ah, yes. The woman, I believe, who accidentally scared your horse and threw you?” “The very one!” he answered. “I’'m blessed if I know what should have _taken her out at ithat hour. She says she needed air and a walk, but why should she have chosen the back-gate and the alley as a way to air and sunshine ?” “Would you mind taking me through that way?” asked the engineer, sud«denly. “It’s the short cut to the depot, X understand.” - “Why, certainly. I hadn’t thought of that,” said Folsom. “Come right on.” And so while the hoofbeats up the xroad grew louder, the two turned quickly back to the rear of the big

o - : SN \ , = ’éfi, 7 . / )’ : " ] : | {l\./:‘\S” o < ‘,h,1',1?:c.-.E p *?@@E\"l ‘ i hal = [ ‘ W/ \ .“q. 4 v \‘j".‘ e’}/ el \(Z\,\‘.\)H ' ) ~ "\—" g \ l\ e ENSR [J AN - fi‘ 3 e — S % £ © & g T . E/ - \2’ > -] B L) W & o~ ‘“Don’t shoot! I'm Ned Lannion.’ frame house. *“That coming horse brings news,” muttered Loring to him- - self, as he turned the corner. “We can ~ head him off, but I want to see this gituation first.” JLooking away southeastward from the porch of Folsom’s homestead, one <could see in the daytime a vista of shingled roofs and open yards, a broad valley, with a corral and inclosures on the southern edge of the town, but not @ tree. To-night only dim black shadows told where roof and chimney - stood, and not a sign could they see of the depot. Loring curiously gazed aloft at the rear and side windows of the third story. “Theycommand quite a view, I suppose,” said he, and even as he, spoke the sash of the southedst room was softly raised, the blind swung slightly outward. Thatwoman watehing and listening again! And it - ‘was she whose sudden and startling appearance at the rear gate had led to ~ Folsom’s throw so early the morning. ~ Burleigh and his mysterious friend ~ ‘were found missing from their quar_ters just after dawn—the very morning Dean, with his treasure package and ~ little escort, rode forth from Emory on ‘that perilous mission—the very morn- _ dng that Birdsall and his murdérous gang set forth from Gate City in pursuit. . ~ And now those hoofbeats up the - woad were coming closer, and Tol- ~ ®som, too, could hear and was' listen- ~ ing, even while studying Loring’s face. Suddenly a faint gleam shot _ aeross the darkness overhead. Glanc~ing quickly upward, both men, deep g”@fzgeshadow, saw that the eastern .~ window on the southern side was ~ lighted up. Out in the alleyway low _ get clear, a whistle sounded—twice. fiaame cautious footsteps down i%w&stairs ‘Thebolt of the rear _ door was carefully drawn. A woman's form, tall and shrouded ip a long eloak, came swiftly forth and sped S s S R 8 oanien malk o the reargate,

4wo men followed. They saw her halt at the barred gate. Low, yet distinet she spoke a single mame: “George!” And without, in the alley a voice anawered: “I am here! open quick!” “Swear that you are alone!” “Oh, stop that damned nonsense! Of course I'm alone!” was the sullen reply, and at the sound of the voice Loring seemed fairly to quiver. The gate was unbarred. A man’s form, slender and shadowy, squeezed in and seemed peering cautiously about. “You got my note?’ he began. ‘“You know what’s happened?” Ty But a woman’s muffled scream was the answer. With a spring like a cat Loring threw himself on the intruder and bore him down. In an instant Folsom had barred the gate, and the woman, moaning, fell upon her knees. “Mercy! Mercy!” she cried. “It is all my fault. I sent for him.)” = “Take your hands off, damn you, or you’ll pay for this!” cried the undermost man. “I'm Capt. Newhall, of the army.” : “You're a thief!” answered Loring, through his set teeth. ‘“Hand over the key of that safe!” :

The sound of hoofbeats at the front had suddenly ceased.: There was a sputter and scurry in the alley behind. Full half a dozen horses must have gone tearing down to the east. Other lights were popping in the windows now. Folsom’s household was alarmed. Attracted by the scream and the sound of a scuffle, a man came hurrying toward them from the front.

“Halt! - Who are you?” challenged Folsom, covering him with his revolver.

“Don’t shoot. I'm Ned Lannion—just in from the ranch. Have you heard anything of Hal, sir?” - “Of Hal?” gasped. Folsom, dropping his pistol in dismay. “In God’s name, what’s wrong?”’ . } “God only knows, sir. Mrs. Hals nigh crazy. He’s been gone two days.”

CHAPTER XXIIIL

Five days later the women and childrenfrom Warrior’s Gap, most of them bereaved, all of them unnerved by the experiences of that awful day, arrived at Fort Frayne, escorted by a strong command of infantry and all that was left of the cavalry troop at the stockade. A sad procession it was asit slowly forded the Platte and ascended the winding road to the post, where sorrowing, sympathetic army women met and ministered to them. With them, too, came such of the wounded as could be moved, and at the Lhead of the little squad of horse rode Lieut. Dean, whom the post commander and several officers greeted almost effusively. - Yet almost the first question was: “Did you see any Indians?” “Not one,” answered Dean, “They seem to have drawn away from the Big Horn road entirely.. Why do you ask?” he added, -anxiously. ‘ “There were signal fires out at Eagle Butte last night, and I’ve just had a letter from old Folsom at the ranch on the Laramie! He begs us to send a guard at once and I haven't a horseman. There’s been the devil to pay at young Folsom’s place.” Dean’s face went a shade paler. “What’s happened?” he asked.

“A dozen of his best horses run off by DBirdsall’s gang, probably to replace those they lost in the flood, ana Hal himself was shot and left for dead in the hills. He'd died but for an Ogallalla girl and a couple of halfbreeds who had a hunting-lodge ou: near the Peak. There are letters for you at the office.” There were two—one from Loomis, at Emory; one from Jessie, of all places in the world, at Folsom’s ranch. This he read first.: ‘““We got here late night before last, after such an exciting journey, Marshali dear,’”’ said she, ‘‘and I can’t begin to tell you all the strange things that have happened, for Mr. l'olsom says the messenger must start for Fort Frayne in twenty minutes. That villain, Maj. Burleigh, who dared to speak ill ot you, turned out to be as bad as 1 ever gaid he was. They haven't caught ‘him yet, but they’'ve got Capt. Newhall. Mr. Folsom and Mr. Loring did that—caught him in the back yard of our house, down by the gate, and in some way Mrs. Flietcher induced him to come there, for he had the key to the safe at the quartermaster’s depot, and was going to get the money Maj. Burleigh dared not take when he fled. I can’t understand it at all, and Pappoose doesn’t like to talk about it. But Mr. Folsom was robbed of lots of money by Maj. Burleigh. Mrs. Fletcher is mixed up in it in such a queer way,sl can’'t explain now. She was nearly crazy when we came away, and Mr. Folsom was 30 good and kind to her, lett a nurse with her, and made her stay-at the house, although she wanted to pack her things and £0 to the hotel or the jail, she didn’t care whnich; but he wouldn't let her. **And right in the midst of it all Ned Lannion, who came with news before, galloped in to tell how Halbert Folsom had been missing two days, and Mrs. Folsom was crazy with fear, so Mr. Folsom left Lieut. Loring to attend to all the matters about the robbery and started at once for the ranch, and Pappoose, of course, insisted on going with him, and I would not be left behind. And here we are. Now 1 can see the hills where you had the fight and*wore Elinor’s picture, and it was right out there among them that Halbert was found. Horse thieves had run off his best horses—the same gang of murderers that, they say, planned to trap you and that you: outwitted. Oh! Marshall, was ever a girl so proud of her brother!—and they shot Hal and hs was found and taken care of by some indian people, tame ones, and one was a gi«l, Lizette, who had fallen in love with him four years ago. Wasn't is romantic? - And she’s gone again, but Hal is safe here, although Mrs. Folsom is more than half-crazy, and now old Mr. Folsom is worried to death, and says we must starce back for home to-morrow. It's seventy-five miles, and we don’t want to go at all, only I'm so eager to see you, and 1 heard--at least Mr. Loomis told me you'd be beck any -day, and he has your troop till you come, and he's so fond of you— Oh, here's Pappoose to say this must go at once.”’ 4

The colonel sat watching the young fellow as he read. “Bad news, Dean?” he queried. o “Every kind of news, sir.: It’s all a whirl. The devil seems to have broken loose in Wyoming. Let me skim through Loomis’ note.” “Dear Dean: In case the letter sent yesterday passes you on.the way, 1 add a line to say that if ever I said a mean thing about Loring when we were in the corps, I take it back. I thought him a prig when we wore the gray. He rather ‘held us under,” anyhow, being a class ahead, you know, but the way he has panned out here and wiped up Wyoming with the only men I ever knew that tried to wrong you is simply wogpderful. He’'s nabbed three of the Birdsall gang and is away now after Burleigh. The news from Folsom’s ranch is more reassuring. Hal was shot by horse thieves who were running off stock, and was found and taken care of by friendly Indians, but Mrs. Hal had an awful scare and sent for the old man, who went, of course—both young ladies going with him. They were miles ?Way before we knew of it at the fort. I tried to persuade old Pecksniff that he ought to let me go with twenty troopers to guard the ranch and scout the Laramie, and he threatened to put me in arrest. Of all the double-dashed, pig-head-ed old idiots he's the worst. 1 don't want people at the ranch to be scared; but if the Sioux only would make some demonstration this way that would give me a chance, I'd try to earn a little of the reputation that you’'re winning, old boy, and no man knows better how much you deserve it than e e :

“Your friend and classmate, HANK 1..”’ “P. B.—Lorine took ten of the troop into the Black Hills to beat up Burleigh, but he said if they struck Indiar. sj%sn,he meant to make for Fo'som’s ranch., Now, if we could only meef there!’” 4 - The sun was well dowa at the

west, The day’s march had been long and tedious, as only eavalry marches are when long wagon trains have to be escorted. Dean had not yet fully qecoveréd strength, but anxiety len% him energy. , - “If Mr. Folsom says there is need of cavalry guard at the Laramie, it is because he dreads another Indian visit, colonel. I have nine men in good shape. Our horses are fresh, or will be after a few hours’ rest. May I push on to-night?” And to the young soldier’s surprise the elder placed a trembling hand upon his shoulder and looked him earnestly into the eyes. ‘“Dean, my boy, it’'s my belief you cannot start too soon. Do you know who Lizette is? 2” -

“I've heard the story,” said Marshall, briefly. “She must have been hovering about there for some time.” . “Yes, and now her people know it, and it will rekindle their hatred. The moment I heard of thix I sent old Bat to watch the crossing at La Bonte. Not an hour ago this eame in by the hand of his boy,” and the colonel held out a scrap of paper. It was a rude pictograph, a‘: rough sketch, map-like, of a winding river—another and smaller one separated from the first by a chain of mountains. The larger one was decorated by a flag-pole with stars and stripes at the top and a figure with musket and bayonet at the bottom. The smaller one by a little house, with smoke issuing fro'n the chimney, and a woman beside it. Above all, its head over the mo:ntains pointing toward the house, its tail extending north of the bigger stream, was a comet—the “totem” or sign of the Ogallalla lover of Lizette. The story was told at a glance. Burning Star was already south of the Platte and lurking in the raountains near Folsom’s ranch. -

That night, tovyard ten o’clock, an anxious council was held. : Halbert Folsom, fevered by his severe wound, was lying half-unconscious on his bed, his unhappy wife wandering aimlessly about at times, wringing her hands and weeping. evidently unbalanced by the terrors that had beset her of late and the tidings of that awful Indian revenge along the Big Horn. Silent, helpful, almost commanding, Flinor spent the hours sometimes at her brother’s bedside, then at that of her sister-in-law when the poor creature could be induced to lie still a -moment. The burly little son and heir, long since sound asleep in his cradle, was watched over by Jessie, whose heart fluttered in dread she dare not say of what. Twice that afternoon she had seen whispered conferences between old Folsom and Lannion. She knew that for some better reason than that he was overpersuaded by Pappoose, Mr. Folsom had not ecarried out his project of sending them back to Gate City. She saw that he made frequent visits to the cellar and had e¢hanged the arrangement of the air ports. She noted that the few ranch hands hung about the premises all day, their rifles ever within reach, and that often Mr. Folsom took the glasses and searched the road to Frayne.” She saw that earth was being heaped up in places against the ranch where the walls were thin or made of boarding. She saw that water and provisions were being stored in the cellar, and she knew that it could all mean only oue thing—that the Indians were again in force in the neighborhood, and that an Indian siege was imminent. :

- And all this time Pappoose, though very brave, was so still and so intent upon her duties. Even when supper was served for the ranch peojle in the kitehen that evening. as the sun went down, Jess noted that two of the men kept constantly in saddle, riding round the buildings and anxiously: scanning the open prairie on every side. There were only six men all told now, including Folsom (of course not counting Hal, who .was defenseless), altogether too small a number to successfully protect so large a knot. of buildings against an insidious and powerful foe. ’ ‘ Darkness settled down upon the vailey, and, though calm and collected, Folsom seemed oppressed by the deepest anxiety. Every now and then he would step forth.into the night and make a circuit of the buildings, exchange a word in low tone with some invisible guardian, for, heavily armed, the employes were gathered at the main building, and the wife and children of the chief herdsman were assigned to a room under its roof. Particularly did Folsom pet and encourage the dogs, two of them splendid mastiffs in whom Hal took unusual pride. Then he would return to his son’s bedside, bend anxiously over him and lay a loving hand on Pappoose’s lustrous hair.. It must have been ten o’clock and a night wind was rising, making the occasional ery of the coyotes even more weird and querulous, whén they heard the sudden, fierce challenge of Troop-. er, the keenest, finest of the mastiffs; and instantly his bark was echoed by the rush and scurry of every canine on the place. The men on the porech sprang to their feet and Folsom hastened out to join them. The dogs had charged in the darkness toward the: northeast, and somewhere out in that' direction were now all furicusly barking. Aloft the skies were heavily clouded. The moon was banked and not a glimmer of light shone on earth or heaven. Suddenly, afar out over the prairie, beyond where the dogs were challenging, there was heard the sound of a pony's neigh, an eager appeal for welcome. and, shelter, and Folsom sprang confidently forward, his powerful tomes calling off the dogs. They came back, growling; sniffing, only half-satisfied, still bristling at the unseen visitor. “War ponies never neigh,” said Folsom. - “Who are you, brothers —friends?” he called, in the Siouy tongue, and a faint voice answered from the darkness, a pony came loping dimly into view, almost running over him, and in another minute an Indian girl, trembling with fear and exhaustion, had toppled from the saddle and clasped the old trader’s hand. ' =

“Good God! Lizette,” he cried, “you again? What is wrong?” for her head was drooping, her knees givingsway beneath her, as the poor child whispered her answer: ¢

“Sioux coming—plenty braves! Hide —quick!” . . : o Ana Folsom bore her in kis eram: within, ' : [To Be Contlnued.] ;

~~ THE HILLS OF LONG AGO. When I backward turn my eyes Dim against the distant skies, Where the hues of Memory glow, Rise the hills of Long Ago. Comrade mine, while yet we may, Let us thither for a day; : Tread the paths untrodden long, : Hear the unforgotten song; : See the faces fond that seem Gazing at us through a dream; . Clasp the hands we clasped of yore Kiss the lips of Love once more! Set against such joy as this Paltry is our present bliss! Ah, the wild, free, youthful will, And the swift, ecstatic thrill! Comrade mine, while yet we may, Let us thither for a day— Back into the wonder-glow To the hills of Long Ago! -Clinton Scollard, in National Magazine.

444444070444 : Two Dinners at Pennington’s % By Mrs. Moses P. Handy. +H++ _ (Copyright, 1600, b& the Authors’ Syndicate.) 4 LBERT WHITNEY knew that he A could not marry. He was a sensibie fellow, on the whole, and realized that it would be sheer. idiccy to ask a woman to share his hall bedrdom. Yet Albert was in love. Every Sunday in church he sat opposite Miss Giadys Pennington, and thought of her far more than he did of the sermon. e , - Miss Pennington’s father was a retired carpet manufacturer, with a tidy fortune, to which Gladys and her brother James were sole heirs.

Albert was a clerk in a wholesale hardware store and, by hard labor, earned ten dollars a week. Of this five dollars went to his landlady. The moth sighed for the star, and Albert sighed for Miss Pennington. The moth and the star were hardly further apart than Albert Whiting and Gladys Pennington. Albert had never spoken to her; she barely knew that he existed.

What, then, were Albert’s feelings when, one day, after church, Mr. Amos Pennington pompously approached him and invited him to dine at his house on the following Sunday? He blushed like a girl, and stammered out an acceptance. Fortunately, Mr. Pennington did not wait for more. The invitation which meant so much for Albert to him meant only the discharge of a rather disagreeable duty which he admired himself for performing. He would have been thunderstruck at a refusal. Every year he obtained from the pastor of the congregation, of which he had long been senior deacon, a list of the young men who were. punctual at church and summoned them to-~dinner. The good man liked to encourage piety and bestowed invitations on these exemplary young men in precisely the same spirit with which he awarded prize books for “regular attendance at Sabbath school.” ‘

The following Sunday, when Albert entered the Pennington drawingroom, punctually at two, bhe was surprised to find already there, besides the host; his wife, his son and daughter, 15 black-coated individuals with all of whom he was pretty well acquainted. The assembly reminded him of a special meeting of the “Young Men's union.” .

It fell to Albert to escort Miss Pennington in to dinner. He, poor lad, was overwhelmed with the honor. He did not know that father Pennington, who exercised a strict supervision of his daughter’s acquaintance, had chosen him as the most harmless and unassuming of the 16 young men. Albert could think of absolutely no remark with which to open conversation. Miss Penningtom entirely at ease, saw his blushes with more pity than wonder. She was accustomed to her father’s duty dinner parties and rather expected the guests to be awed. Mr. Whitney’s shyness spoke in his favor, as a tribute of respect to her father. Mr. Pennington had brought his children up to strict observance of the fifth commandment. “It is rather warm for the time of year,” quoth the young lady, breaking the ice. ' ~ Albert raised his eyes and assented. He would have done so had Miss Pennington said that it was cold. - “What nice eyes he has,” thought she. It was unusual for Gladys to notice a man’s eyes. “It was frightfully hot at the lake last August,” she said, aloud. “I think it could hardly have been warmer in town.” It wasn’t bad in town, exeept in the middle of the day,” replied Albert, bravely. ' " “So you were not fortunate enough to be away on your vacation?” . Albert laughed. “No, I have my vacations in November.” It was then October. ~ “That must be nice for shooting,” murmured Miss Pennington, vaguely. “You hunt, don’t you?” ~ “T fish a little,” answered Albert. There was another silence. Miss Pennington turned to her other neighbor. Then Albert found courage to speak to his, a young man whom he knew quite well. A November vacation was Hobson’s ‘choice with Albert. Sometimes, if trade was active, he got none at all. .He came last on the list of clerks at Jobson’s. But, when he could, he thankfully packed his bag and went to spend two weeks in the Wisconsin woods with his only living relative, a great-uncle. ‘ Great-uncle Morris was fond of the boy and good to him. His log cabin and little farm would hardly support one, and Uncle Morris held it the duty of every man to do his share of the world’s work. Albert did what he could for Uncle Morris. He bought a small stock of groceries and shipped them ahead of his annual visits in order that the expense of his entertainment might not be a burden, and ~he faithfully sent the old man the best Christmas and birthday gifts that he could afford. Uncle Morris had told him once that the farm would be his some day and sometimes, when : Albert felt despondent at his slow promotion, he pictured himselfi as living ix} the cabin, in old age, without even a nephew to visit him. The thought made him tender toward the old man, o . ~ Just as Albert was about to speak ‘to Miss Pennington, once more, he ‘heard her father’s voice: “Ms dear _dinner was devoted to remarks, part-

ly instructive and partly catechetical, from that gentleman, ‘

Nevertheless Albest went home rejoicing. He felt that he had made a great step. Thereafter, he was entitled to raise hig hat respectfully to Miss Pennington on Sunday and upon the rare occasions when he met her on the street. Moreover, as in duty bound, he made his dinner call and acquitted himself with credit, his conversation being mostly with Mrs. Pennington. Great-uncle Morris died suddenly that year, not long after Albert returned from his November vacation. It was a shock and a surprise to his nephew, éfgr the old man was still yigorous and had seemed in even better health than usual. Albert obtained leave of absence without salary and, drawing his little balance from the savings bank, hurried to Wisconsin to be present at the funeral. The attendance was larger than he had expected; he was pleased to see how many friends and neighbors came to do honor to the dead. Chief among the assembly was Judge Steinberg, of Oshkosh, who greeted Albert cordially. After the services were over, the judge accompanied Albert back to the cabin and seated himself in Uncle Morris’ chair, with the air of a host rather than that of a guest. , “Of course, Mr. Whitney, you know that you are your great-uncle’s sole heir, but T believe that you are not aware that Morris Whitney was one of the richest men in the ccunty.” “No—was he?” gasped Albert.

Judge Steinberg smiled. Like most men, he enjoyed telling a good story. “I have known your uncle all his life; we were friends in youth, and I have always enjoyed his confidence. Years ago he had an experience which caused him to lose faith in all women, and most men, but which it is not for me to repeat. He bought this farn:, which is larger than it appears, for much of it is leased, and retired to this out-of-the-way spot. It washis delight that you should love him fér himself alone, The annuity which jour mothe# received, after your father’s death, was paid by him on the express condition that she should not enlighten you in regard to his affairs. I have to cokgratulate you on the inheritance of & very considerable fortune, which is excellently well invested. I shall be pleased to act as your agent, as I was your uncle’s, but that is for you to decide.” ' '

Albert listened with dazed attention, that hardly left room .for joy, to the long list of stocks and bonds of which he was now the possessor. All of them were at par, and some of them far above it. i

“I am utterly inexperienced,” he said, “and know nothing of business, except in the hardware trade. I could ask nothing better than to have such an agent as yourself. If it is to your advantage as well as mine that you should manage the property, I am only too glad.” :

The family were at breakfast when Mr, Pennington’s eye fell on this paragraph in the Daily Conservative: “Albert Whitney, clerk in the employment of Jobson & Co., importers and wholesale dealers in hardware, is the sole heir to the estate of his greatuncle, Morris Whitney, of Door county, Wis., recently deceased. The estate,in addition tolands, amonnts to over $500,000, mostly invested in standard stocks and bonds.” He read it aloud. ‘“Albert Whitney,” he said, “surely that is the excellent young man whom we know. Imust telephone to Dr. Shepherd for confirmation. - “Hello—good morning, doctor. Albert Whitney, of Jobson & Co., is the same Mr. Whitney who belongs to our church, is he not?—l thought so. Have you read the paragraph about him in the Conservative, this morning?—l thought, you would be.—Soam 1.” ! Mr.Pénningtonreturnedto the breakfast table. “I am sincerely rejoiced,” he said. *“lt is providential that so large a fortune should come into the hands of a young man of such piety and rectitude.” Gladys looked up, pleased and interested. She thought again what nice dark eyes Mr. Whitney had. “My dear,” said her father to his wife, “we must ipvite him to dinner again and introduce him to some of our prominent people. As we did not ignore him in his obscurity, we can better afford to congratulate him on his prosperity.” At the select dinner party which followed Albert was the guest of honor, and escorted Mrs. Pennington to the table. He bore himself with quiet dignity, and Mr. Pennington took pride in the pearl which he had discovered. . The guests departed, the good man announced to his family: “Mr. Whitney is a gentleman of intelligence, as well as of integrity. It is rarely that we find so many good qualities united in the same young man.” : Gladys smiled. “I am glad papa likes him so much. I always thought he was nice;/’ she said to herself. - And the gate to Albert’s happiness stood wide open. A Preity Japanese Story. One of the prettiest of all the stories relating to mirrorsis that which comes from the far east. In this a man brings as a gift to his wife a mirror of silvered bronze. Then she, having seen nothing of the kind before, asks in the. innocence of her heart whose was the pretty face smiling back at her. And when, laughing, he tells her it is none other than her own, she wonders still more, but is ashamed to ask further questions. But when at last her time comes to die she calls her iittle daughter and gives her the treasure she has long kept hidden away as 'a sacred thing, telling her: “After I am dead you must look in this mirror morning and evening, and you will see me. Do not grieve.” So when the mother is dead the girl, who much resembles her, looks in the mirror day by day, thinking she there talks face to face with the dead woman, and never guessing it is but her own shadow she sees. And it is added, by the old Japanese narrator, that when the girl’s father learned the meaning of this strange conduct of hers, “he thinking it to be a very piteous thing, his eyes grew dark with tears, —Troy Times 4 L _‘ltalian Prisoneirs Liberated. * Nearly 13,000 prisoners were liberated on the occasion of the new king of Italy's birthday. Forty thousand others were granted reductions in

e nitip)/bii§ 48 LTSS 7 /4l PN *s ‘fi i H a 8 Ll ‘ b ‘ o w At ety ; : ¢ EVOLUTION OF BREEDS. Studying the Pedigree of Our SoCalled Native Cows Brings Out Some Odd Facts, ; Tracing the evolution of breeds is always interesting. Someone has ‘been figuring out the pedigree of the so-called “native” cow of this country and brings to light some odd facts that are worth recording.. As early as 1611 dairy cows were brought to Virginia from England. and 13 years later there was an importation into the Plymouth colony. This: was in 1624. These cows were brought from Devonshire, England, and were doubtless of the same stock as that from which the Devon breed was developed at a later period. This probably accounts for the predominance of red color in the native New England cattle. -~ Whether or not +the Virginia ’ T e sr ¥~ =N R R y S 5 »‘{N VLMY 4 ;\"{ ;’."»‘\g il ) i‘\ ‘“\\\\\ i 234 2il I \hr \m‘, A ~CWlgaia Ll " Ry iy P Q 8 75 !-'/“l)"l 1, v - ] -m— é., it RECORD-BREAKING BULL. ) (Dale, Sold at Chicdgo Stock Yards, for $1,500.) ” cows were from the same lccality we do not know for a certainty. At a little later period evidently cattle were imported into Virginia from - Spain.. These cattle were black. The Duteh, having settled New York, naturally brought cows from their own country. Some of these are known to have come from off the coast of Holland: That was before the development of fixed breeds even in Holland, but we may fairly infer that they were related te the progenitors of the Dutech belted cattle. Delaware was provided with cattle from Sweden, and it is said that from Denmark were brocught the cattle that became famous in New Hampshire. Coming down to revolutionary times we find that cattle had, at that date, been previously imported from Great Britain and Ireland in eonsiderable numbers. Some of these, ~e know from tradition, were white Durhams, especially white Durham bulls. The general mix-up of all of these breeds, which subsequently took place, gave us the almost endless variety of form and color now seen in American cattle. |

FEEDING DAIRY COWS.

The System in Vegue at the Minne- . sota Experiment Station Is ! Said to Be Perfect.

The herd of milch cows at the Minnesota Experiment station is one of the most profitable in the country. In a report one of the professors tellshow they are fed: : e Few people have any idea how carefully we watch the physical tone and feeding capacity of every animal in the dairy department of the- university herd. A stranger passing along in front of the cows when they .are finishing their evening meal. and. seeing how clean they lick out the manger, not leaving as much as could be put on the end of a penknife, would conclude that the cows were not being liberally fed; in fact, that they were half starved. And as conclusive evidence that such were really the case, he would point at the clearly defined ribs, sharp hips and backbone, thin thighs and necks, and probably remark that he would not have such a scrawny animal in his barn. And yet, if anadditional pound of grain were added to their ration probably’ half the cows would go off their feed before the close of the week. - - Our barn is open to the public, and. scarcely a day passes when there is not a visitor there inspecting it. We feed twice a day and challenge anyone to find in the mangers of the 40 cows a cupful of food, grain or roughage, after they have finished their meal. Once in awhile, one not feeling just right will leave a little, but this is removed at once, and generally by the next feeding time she will need the usual amount. No food should be left in the mangers from one feeding period to another. Cows should be kept away from food between meals. - QUITE THE FAD NOW. Laying Cement Floors on Boards Is a Practice Coming Into Gen-. : eral Use, ot Sometimes conditions will not permit a cement floor to be laid direct1y upon the earth. Floor timbers and boards can be laid and a cement floor put directly upon that. The plan . = (Zmon b~ - : 3 ' S usmmm———— | RAPR . ~ ' CEMENT ON TIMBER. : shown in the illustration will \be found excellent. Lay the floor ti bers and on these put boards, leaving a space of an inch between eagh. A Dbatten beneath these cracks will keep the soft cement from running down through them. When bhardened, the cement will hoid much better for these filled eracks.—Orange Judd Farmer. Sptera e 4 - Food for Fruit Trees. Wood ashes, if not leached or exposed to the weather, are good, but a heavy coating should be given, net less than a barrel to the square rod. Dissolved bone-meal and muriate of potash in about equal proportions ‘make an excellent manure.- An'application at the rate of 500 pounds to the acre is sufficient. Tobacco-stems are very good, because they mfi**g potash, phosphoric acid and nitroShel sl heeie el il ‘BOlis.~—H., 5. van ueman, in nurai Naw VYorkks: %%

VALUE OF TURNPIKES. Improved Condition of Country Roade | Has Helped the Cotton Plant= ers of the South. . ‘The building of of turnpikes, whick has been active only of late yeavs over the entire southern portion of the United States, and which has brought about much improved roads for public conveyance in all sectioms, and notably in the’ territory immediately contiguous to Memphis, has resulted in the planters and country merchants sending in a much larger percentage of their cotton on their wagons instead ‘of turning it over to the railroads for transportation. There is nothing that is so beneficial to the planters of the south as good roads for the easy marketing of their produce, and the farmers within a radius of 30 to 40 miles of Memphis have - learned that these roads represent a great deal of saving to them on their cotton crop im that they make it possible for thems to -send their cotton into the city without too much strain on their teams and without too much wear and tear on their wagons. At the same time it is a reasonable proposition that since the roads have beem improved as they have the planters and the merchants.dn the small towns

who wish to market their cotton at this point can have much larger loads than they could before the turnpikes were extended and multiplied as they have been within the last decade.

In the early history of the cotton trade “of this city almost the entire crop of this district was marketed on wagons, the railroad facilities at that time amounting to almost nothing. The wagons offered the only solution of the question of getting their’ cotton tp this ecity, and, although there were no turnpikes, the cotton was brought here and large loads of groceries and provisions and other mnecessaries of plantation life were ecarried back. :

With the growth of the extensive network of railroads entering Memphis quite a change took place. These meant the solution of the problem of marketing cotton, and the wagons were largely relegated to the rear. The prices of cotton were high and the amount paid in freight for transportation infinitesimally small compared with the value received for the staple when sold. The farmers, the planters, the merchants, all jumped at the conclusion that the railroads were best, that the wagom method was too slow, and that it represented too much expenditure in the way of time and the wear and tear .of the running gear of their wagons and only a small portion came in this way. ~ } But the reduction in the price of ;cottoh within the last few years and -the fact that transportation rates were not reduced in proportion to the )value of the staple made those own‘ing cotton in this district, within a ’certain radius of the city. cast around for a new solution of the difficulty with which they were face to face. And the building of the turnpike proved the solution for which they were -looking. These roads made it possible for larger loads to be hauled, for less wear and tear on the wagons, for less strain on the teams, and for quicker time, and the farmers felt that they had the railroads beat. Turnpikes have been gradually in{creasing in the neighborhood of Memphis for the last 15 years, and withe 'thes,e the -people living dlong these roads have gradually increased the amount of cotton coming to this city by wagons. The turnpike lately ex‘tended .to Colierville, Tenn., has caused the merchants and owners of cotton in that town and between here } and-there to bring almost their entire holdilgs to this market on wagons, 'while before that time the bulk of ‘the crop found its way to market on ‘the railroads passing those points. ‘The same is true of Holly Springs ‘and the Hernando distriet, and other instances could also be given, bu# these will suffice. "The turnpikes have made it possible for the holders of cotton to fight the railroads on their rates by acting ‘entirely independent of them im bringing their cotton in on their wagons. The latter is much the slower way, but there is generally some sacrifice necessary to bring about reforms of any kind, and the farmers and planters along the turnpike roads do not mind making the fight whenever they find it necessary. “ The turnpikes and the railroads have both come to stay, and, since the latter are being -gradually extended and are continually tapping new ter+ ritory, the . percentage of cottom brought in over the turnpikes, as compared with that transported by the former, is steadily * increasing. The higher prices of cotton promised the farmers this year may make them willing to pay the freights, but with the low prices, judging from the expérience of the last two years, there will be a marked increase in the amount of cotton finding its way to this market on wagons.—Memphis Scimitar. : , .Fat Percentage in Milk, o The farmers who supply milk to creameries are usually paid in proportion to the butter fat in the milk. According to this plan a cow that .gives less milk than another may be the more profitable because her mille contains a ilarger percentage of butter fat, but the cow that yields mille largely also gives a profit in the skim: milk, which is used for feeding pigs. ‘The dairyman who sells to the cream~ ery is therefore interested ini;k@ breeds that give rich milk, and it will pay him to raise his calves from a select breed, in order to bring his herd up to the highest standard of effi- _ Good Roads in New York, There is every reason to believe that Westchester county, N. Y., 1 vilk shortly have 60 miles of macadamized boulevards extending throug’ vh the en~ tire length of the county. The new roads will be greatly used by coach= ing parties and automobiles, "an many Wesichester _millionaires 3 general ;pood e S N