The Syracuse Journal, Volume 22, Number 16, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 15 August 1929 — Page 7

I The BLADE i of PICARDY By- : fred McLaughlin : • Copyright by , The Bobba-MerrUl 00. W. N. U. Service CHAPTER X—Continued —l2— Dolores cried out In fear—for I cnust have appeared a terrible being —and Pasquai put an arm around ber shoulders. There was no fear in .the Indian’s face. “What is it?” he -asked. “Ah, Pasquai,* said L with a hopeless attempt at smiling, “is this Sun•day?" “Sunday?" His dark eyes bored in■to ma ' “Aye—that you should take Dolores for a ride?” “Por Dios,” she gasped, “it is Pancho I” “Senor,” said Pasquai, “ah—senor!" With great labor I tore the damning placard from the tree and, folding It carefully, proffered it to Pas<jual.' “I have played an evil piece of deception upon you, my friend, and you offered your life in my service.* I held to the wheel of the cart to keep from falling, for I was very weak indeed. “You deserve some reward and 1 deserve some punishment. If yon deliver me to Colonel Lamadrid at the Cuernavaca garrison he will see to ft that you receive a thousand pesos.” “And they will bring you up before the court for murder, senor?” “They will; they will bang me, Pascual, but It makes no difference, my friend, for 1 am dying anyway.” “Oh!” cried Dolores. “But you have been my friend, senor, and friendship cannot be taught—nor sold.” “Yet a thousand pesos, Pasquai, is .* thousand pesos, and you might do much with it Besides, I intended to •surrender.” “It is nothing, Pancho,” said Dodores softly, “a thousand pesos is nothing.” Yet that amount of money, in a land where the wage of a man is less than half a peso a day, was a fortune. “Do you mean—?** 1 cried, aghast “If you are sick, senor,” said Pasquai, “or wounded, we will take you in and care for you. because we love you; but there is not silver enough in all these hills to make us give yo» ■over to the French.” Now my weakness overcame me; their faces disappeared tn a mist of tears, and,, reaching out blindly, 1 found their friendly hands and held -to them as darkness descended upon me. One morning, when I came back at last from that dim borderland where -dreams are made, I found Dolores ■standing by my bed. 1 tried to arise -and discovered that the strength that has ever been my pride was gone. “How long has it been, Dolores?” “Nearly a month.” Her face bright•ened. “But you are better now; soon you will be out again.” So I waited, and later Pasquai -came. His tine eyes glowed when be that I had "awakened. “You have made a grievous biun•der, Pasquai,” said L “for, in aiding one, you have put your life tn danger, "because the French —" Bfe laughed. “We do not know who you are, senor, we are only ignorant Indians, trying to coax a meager living from this farm; and an old broken man comes to us in the night, asking for food and shelter and care. ;Shall we let him die?” Pasquai had rented a little farm of -corn and cane and fruits of many kinds—that lay along the river a mile or more to the south of Cuernavaca The Identifying uniform of mine* and the printed notice calling attention to my crime, had been hidden with the greatest care. The weeks of my convalescence went slowly enough, yet they went; and, one day, I found myself, dressed as the Indian farmers along the river a.e dressed, following a plow and the “calico" pony on Pasqual’s piece of land. I helped him gather his corn and I learned to swing the cane knife as deftly as be might swing it. My hair was kept purposely long, and the heavy beard concealed most •of my face. The crude garments covered the lines of my body, and I had practiced the bent stooped posture and the dragging shambling walk -of aft aged man until that Impersonation had become a natural thing. The weeks:that I lived in the home of this good couple, working day by day to pay 'for the food that I ate, were Hiappy weeks indeed. The substantial fare, 'the simple life, the steady outdoor employment and the long nights of sleep brought back my strength and added a tithe or two. Ever the lure of La Anita held me; never a day passed but her fair face came to me. She walked with me. in spirit through the forest; tn the fields she talked <to me, and In my sleep I sometimes beard her calling: “Frnncois—Francois!” and I woke up answering her, for -she called as ♦hough she needed me. Because of my longing to see, and to talk to fellowmen, 1 began to watch the road, and to stop a traveler now and then to chat a while. I learned from a passing soldier tn the service of the emperor that the pur suit of Captain de Vtgny was still on, and that even boats from the various ports were being watched. One day I saw. through the tow cane that 1 was cutting, a figure on the road that >piqned my fancy. He was hearded. bowed, his walk was the dragging walk of age, and he led an ever laggard burro with an over whelming load 1 made my way to Use -»nd watched him. for some-

thing faintly familiar about the man kept beating at my brain. I had seen Mm, I knew him. . . . Mon Dleu —Madrella I He turned Into the gateway that ted to the home of Pasquai, and, slipping the short cane knife into my belt, I made for the shelter of the corn. 1 remembered that Dolores had taken the pony and gone to Cuernavaca, so Pasquai would be alone at the house. Hid Madrella come for me, or had he, by chance, merely stopped on his way to the camp of Benito Juarez for a drink of water and a word er two? A strange exhilaration possessed me, long dead and forgotten desires awoke within me again. 1 thrilled to the game. The mantle of age fell away from me! I was De Vigny and he was Madrella —and the world was far too small for the two of as I i was grateful for the sturdy employment that had engaged me. and for the long nights of sleep and the substantial food that had rebuilt me rfnd strengthened my muscles again, because I was going to need them in this, my last fight with my arcb-en emy. Silently I slipped into the back door of the bouse, and. listening, knew from the sounds of their voices that they were in the patio. “A drink of water" —Madrella was speaking—“is a little thing, yet the blessings that He stopped short tn that hypocritical sermon that he was about to deliver and turned a calculating eye upon Pasquai. “Have I not seen you before, senor? Did you not wortr for Manuel, of the Hotel Montezuma—bringing hay from the hills?” Pasquai nodded. That he had not recognized Madrella was evident, for his posture was not one'of defense nor his words those of evasion. “Then yon are Pasquai,” said Madrella, and I could not fail to get the menace in his tone. “Yes, senor, 1 am Pasquai, but— T‘ “And you climbed into a window of Manuel’s hotel one early morning, finding two men fighting there; is that not so?” Pasquai took a long time to answer. Now he knew Madrella, of course. “Are you dumb? Answer me, doltt” “1 found two men fighting, senor and 1 kept one of them from shooting the other. Had he succeeded be may have had regrets.” Madrella laughed harshly, “a kindly thought indeed! And did you know Pasquai, that the man who wtelded the stool was Captain Vigny, of the French?" “1 do—now," said Pasquai. “And that he murdered his friend, another officer?" “A pity!” “Do you know that a thousand pesos has been offered for him—or even for his body?” “A deal of money, senor." "You know all this, Pasquai?” The Indian thought a long moment. “I do not ‘believe all of it, senor, for he is not a man who would murder his friend.’? Ma<irel la’s face was grim. “He is not a man, Pasquai; you say be is not? Then you have seen him—you know—” The Indian launched his tithe body as Madrella’s right hand—bearing a flaming pistol—whipped from a voluminous coat. Madrella was never a man to be eaught oft guard. Pasqual’s clutching fingers missed their mark, and he fell headlong to t-he packed earth that was the floor of the patio. Now anguish tore at the chords of my heart. Pasquai—fine honest Pasquai—had offered up his life for me! And Dolores . . . Name of G —d —what could I tell Dolores? Rage possessed me, red rage—a blind fury that shoajk me like a palsy. I trembled with the fervor of a sudden hatred; the old, long-forgotten lust for killing overwhelmed me again. This man had brought about the death of Pasquai, my friend, he had wrecked my career, my life, had made a hunted thing of me—a murderer, a deserter —had killed the love that the Senorita Arrellanos had for me . . . As he stood, pistol tn hand. I stepped into the patio. He raised his eyes. “Well, old man, is this your master?” Then he hadn’t sought me after all! “I have no master,” I said. “Humph . . . truculent." He laughed a little. “Does another man live in this house? Answer me quick ly before I break your back!” “Only Dolores and Pasquai and I have lived in this house—and my back is hard to break, senor.” “Rattle!” said he. “A falling leaf should make less noise. Has a French officer been here? Don’t lie to me lest I lay this gun across that useless skull of thine! When was he here and whither did he go? Speak up!" He came close to me and pushed the pistol under my nose. I struck his wrist sharply, dislodging the weapon from his hand, for the blow bad surprised him. I kicked the gun across the patio before he had time to recover his wits, then I waited, fully prepared for any attack he blight care to make. He swore softly. “You are not so old, senor.” “Not so old.” I agreed, “thatJ have forgotten any of the things tfigt you have done to me." “Mother of G—d I” he gasped. There was a touch of awe, the shock of a great surprise—and consternation—in his voice; and, I think, a little fear too. His groping fingers found the handle of a cane knife, and closed upon it. New the familiar, confident smile came back to bis face; the expectant, professional grimace that I had first noticed, when, with a sword in my hand. I had faced Mm tn La Anita’s library. “You have been here, captain, all these weeks? Here in sight of the Cuernavaca garrison, under the very nose of (folonel Lamadrid—and Lopez using the arms of the Empire and ot the Republic In a desperate effort to find you! Droll. Francois, you are too clever; a grievous pity the em peror cannot use you.” “He may yet.” said I, “some day.' “Not unless he is able to call to his assistance the hosts of the spirit world, for when you P-ave this place you go feet first.” “Mftyhap.” said L

Be raised the cane knife and studied It with a critical eye. My own knife at my belt was hidden by the rude coat that 1 wore. “You would use that, senor?” I asked, “on a defenseless man?” “Why not? Your death is what. 1 want, and the easiest and safest way will be the most desired. You have humbled me before the woman I love, senor, and that—to a Spaniard—is unforgivable.” “And you have made of me a fugitive.” 1 said, “a deserter, a murderer; you have killed the regard that a gracious lady might have bed for me. For all of those things, as well as for that cowardly attack upon me when 1 had no weapon, I could have forgiven you, but for that”—l pointed to the prostrate form of Pasquai —“for that there is no forgiving. He was my friend; be jeopardized his own safety to serve me. and, at last, he offered up his life to save me. You are a thing of evil, senor? and this fine world will be a better place without you." Be took a step toward me, sudden passion flaming tn bls face. “Shall I slash you, Francois, or will a simple tierce suffice?” “Suit yourself,” said L drawing the bidden weapon from my belt He voiced a gasping curse and threw himself upon me. I met his dashing attack with uplifted blade and followed up my parry with a sweeping blow so swift that—had he not dodged—his head would have been severed from his body. He came on again, but more carefully, more craftily than before. 1 assumed at first a defensive attitude. If he chose to fatigue himself in attack then my game of parry and wait would serve me well. And, keeping away from the four walls that hemmed us in, I waited, parrying hopefully, desperately, my eyes ever on that flashing blade of bls. Our knives glinted in the sunlight, giving off sparks and sounds of vicious rasping as parry met cut or tierce. As the battle raged back and forth across the narrow court I imagined that his strokes bad less of power behind them, the swift lunges of his gleaming blade became a little slower, his panting breath more labored and unreal; the fire in his bloodshot eyes began to dim, and a furtive loolc of fear came in its place. Now a wild exhilaration touched my brain. He had lost —and knew it I His strength, his courage, his skill, his will to win had failed him, and, “Pick It Up, Madrella;*Pick Up Your Knife.” as he moved back—ever back —before my sudden offensive I thought I saw in his face the terror of approaching death. I laughed aloud. “You will break my back, senor—eh, you will lay that gun across my useless skull? You would save me for the noose? Ah—senor, it is not poor, defenseless Pasquai you are facing now; nor Lestrange, who fought under an ominous cloud of treachery; neither is it Cupido, who tried so hard and failed; nor Duroc, brave soldier of France, who met death at your hands. It is none of those, Madrella, but they will be avenged. “Carraca!” he gasped. “Do you know —everything?” “I saw you kill Lestrange, senor." Now he came at me with Insane’ fury—slashing, wildly, thrusting swiftly. charging fiercely—but It was the supreme effort before the end, for, in a very few seconds, be was retreating again before that deadly wall of steel that I built up tn front of him. 1 gave myself over to the business of killing. Yet he parried, and staggered away, and parried again—keen, clever, scientific to the last He dodged a sudden thrust tost his balance, stumbled over the body of Pasquai, and fell, his eane knife hurtling through the alt'; then I leaped upon him. blade upraised. Even In the act of striking I remembered that he was unarmed, so I held back that coup de grace. “Pick it up. Madrella; pick up your knife. I cannot strike an unarmed man." He moved back slowly, cautiously; his body’ was bent over and he groped behind him blindly for the weapon, his eyes on me and my upraised knife. His right hand appeared suddenly, and 1 was amazed to see—not the gleaming cane knife—but the gun. which he aimed at my heart. If be hoped to frighten me with the menace of that pointing pistol, he must have received a grievous shock, for, dropping the knife. 1 leaped upon him The fingers ot my left hand closed over the weapon and my right hand found his wrist. “If you prefer a bullet to the blade, senor—the bullet It shall be!” Bring ing to beat all the strength at my command I forced the barrel ot the weapon upward and then toward my adversary. Much of bis strength had spen? Itself In vain charges against my careful parrying and defense, and though he strained tils muscles to the utmost tfic barrel of that pistol came nearer r-et neflior—to his heart.

THE SYRACUSE JOURNAL

1 thrust the muzzle ... against his chest, and. holding it thus drew back the hammer with a care ful thumb. Apparently he had given up. “Good-by, Madrella." I said, my eyes six Inches from his. I pulled the trigger. At first I failed Jo realize what bad happened, for the hammer fell with a futile click and something crashed against my jaw with tremendous force. The gun bad failed to fire and he had Mt me. He struck again and I closed with him, reaching blindlv I felt the straining tendons of bis throat and put my fingers around ft. The knife had failed, and the gun had .failed. We would see now what the weapons that nature had given me eould do. He kicked, be clawed at my wrists, at my fingers, he writhed, he gasped unintelligible curses, be choked. I dared not look at him. I pressed my ; head against bls chest and put all the power of my muscles tn those clutching fingers that sank —ever deeper—into his throat. 1 was mad, for no sane man could have done wljat I was doing; mad with a maniacal bloodlust, raving In a primitive urge to kill, living over again some Instinctive hatred ■ that had come i down to me through the ages. Mon Dleu! I held on until his tired arms fell useless, until his feet ceased to kick, until his head lolled aimlessly, and his limp body crumpled like a rag. He sank to the hard ground, where ’ he lay still, with never the quiver of a muscle; and 1 stood over him, i watching—waiting. And as I waited it came to me that 1 had promised to kill him with my hands, and I got no joy from the thought. CHAPTER XI Prugiere Again Now I directed my attention to Pasquai. and discovered to my great joy that he still lived. The bullet had barely grazed his skull, rendering him unconscious. He opened his eyes and made feeble attempts to get to his feet, which, with my assistance, he finally managed to do. He leaned against the work bench for support, i studying the silent figure of Madrella. “He —shot me, senor?” “Yes, Pasquai." * “And you killed him?” I nodded. “What with, senor; the gun?" I shook my head. He laughed shortly. “The senor has regained nls strength. What will we do now? Something will have to be done with him—it; the garrison and—and the jefe at Cuernavaca . . Does he look very much like you, senor?” Now I got the picture In the in j dian’s crafty brain. “So much like me, Pasquai. that 1 hardly know which of us is dead.” “Others then will be even less certain." There was a ehance, 1 knew. Captain Vigny was a deserter from the French army, and that tn itself was sufficient to hang him without the charge of murder, which—with Ma drella dead—would now be impossible to disprove. His capture by the French would mean his death —swift and certain. That I knew, for always Colonel Lopez would stand between me and the emperor; there would be no hope of clemency, no opportunity to reach the ear of his majesty with explanations. Surely then it would be the height of folly to maintain the identity of Captain Vigny while—free —he remained a fugitive, and—captured —he faced the noose. “Pasquai.” said I. determined at last to take that fatal step so fraught with potent circumstances, “yonder lies the body of Captain Vigny. The Empire has offered a thousand pesos for him alive or dead. Shave him and get him Into that uniform of mine, then take the placard which tells the story of my crime to the Cuernavaca garrison and ask there for Lieutenant Brugiere. See none other. Tell him privately that the body of Captain Vigny lies at your home. Come back with him; Insist that no one else accompanies you.” “It is easy, senor: it is all too easy.” While he was thus engaged I went through the wide hallway to the back porch which offered a view of the valley, where I sat. Voices and the thudding of horses’ hoofs awakened me from a strange reverie. Pasquai and Dolores In the cart approached, and behind them rode Brugiere. I retraced my steps through the hall and sat in a shaded corner of the patio, waiting. Brugiere entered the opened way into the court. The work-bench had been cleared arid the body of Madrella —covered by a rude cloth—lav upon IL Dolores came through the doorway and. seeing the still figure on the bench, ran to it—heedless of the rest of us—and dropped to her knees beside it. “Pancho." she cried, “ah—Pancho mio— we have loved thee!" Her unhappiness was more than I could bear. I got up, walked over to her, and laid a hand upon her shoulder. “Dolores, do not give thyself —" “Pancho —is It Pancho? I do not—" Brugiere whirled upon me. “Sacre!” he gasped. “Name of a name—what sort of game is this you play?” He took me roughly by the shoulders. “Who are you—ancient?” Now I smiled into his flaming face. "Who am I? Is this your gratitude to me, Brugiere. after I have opened up to you the wine cellar of the fat Manuel ?” (TO BE CONTINUED.) Use a Fork Now Gone Is the generous lake of juice In which vegetables used to be served. Gone are the funny little fleets of “side dishes” that used to find harbor near our dinner plates. Gone, therefore, Is the necessity for the question, ‘When we eat vegetables, shall we use a fork or a spoon?” For nowadays vegetables are usually served with no juice, andxare served on the dinner plate, either In combination (as a vegetable luncheon or dinner) or with the meat And then, of course, we use the fork, or the knife and tork. li we have adopted the European way of eating We should always use forks, ton for asparagus- -not fingers, for It realty Is too “drippy."—Mr*. Alexander Kina In Delineate*

y*»e***»»***S**3*****»<*SS i; the « SILVER LINING (® by D. J. Walnh.l THE disappointment had eome so swiftly and unexpectedly that Aunt Jerry was still a bit bewildered trying to assure herself if it was reality and not a horrid nightmare when Madge landed for her summer vacation. It would seem almost providential to have rhe girt come from college just at the time, but Aunt Jerry was suffering too much physical path from her sprained ankle and too much mental anguish over her greater disappointment to feel thankful for anything. “Oh, Aunt Jerry.” Madge burst into the sick room in her usual boyish manner. the manner her aunt had been criticizing so forcefully to the family doctor. “You poor dear, how are you feeling now? If you only knew. Doctor Evans, how she has sacrificed to give Gordon his lessons, always looking forward to the day be would sing his first solo in a big church. And now when she was all packed to go nnd hear him she had to fall on those horrid old basement stairs and sprain her ankle. Isn’t it too terrible?” Madge put out an impulsive hand and patted the thin fingers on the coverlet. She wanted to throw her arms around her aunt and give her a big bear hug. bur something about Aunt Jerry had always seemed to hold the girl’s outburst of affection at arms length and make her feel left out and alone. The postman’s whistle sent her fly Ing from the room again and Aunt Jerry turned to the old doctor with a gratified look as much as to say. “There, what did I tell ybu?” ‘‘She really is a dear at heart. I know.” conceded Aunt Jerry, feeling instinctively that the doctor’s opinion of the young girl he had doctored from babyhood, did not exactly coincide with her own. But she’s altogether too boyish. J really feel all this gymnastic stuff isn’t Just —Just ferni nine, you know. She’s simply crazy about them all. basket ball, tennis, skating, and now her last fad is radio. But I drew a sharp line there. She’d much better be learning to darn and crochet the way I did when a girl instead of listening to the crazy Jazz they get through the radio. They’re no good. I tell you, no good at all.” With a tremendous little hurst of feeling Aunt Jerry drew her handkerchief quickly across her eyes. “I suppose I’m' foolish.” she went on after a pause, “hut you know when Sister Carrie died and left me with the two children how happy I was to find Gordon had a voice and how I’ve done without to have it trained. I—l did so want to hear him sing his first solo tn a big city church. I wanted to hear the pipe organ and feel that my hoy was a part of all the bigness and was singing his song for me out of a grateful heart.” Doctor Evans finished bandaging the foot and stood a moment looking down at the sufferer, feeling for some words to offer in consolation But for the first time ‘n the many years he had known her he felt there was nothing he could do to allay her mental distress His work must deal only with the physical discomfort. “Maybe if we try real hard." he fumbled, “we may find a silver lining. Who can tell ?” At thotfoot of the stairs the doctor was confronted by a tiny but determined figure with sparkling eyes and a secretive finger across her lips. Motioning him info the dining room, she closed the door and began at once: “Doctor. I’ve started something I can’t finish. I siinply must have your help.” “Shoot ahead, young lady.” he laughed softly “It certainly starts out interesting enough." After a few minutes whispered consultation. the doctor tiptoed through the hall toward the front door again and stole out to his waiting car. t Sunday morning rose clear and warm. Even Aunt Jerry’s tired eyes brightened as Madge trundled a wheel chair to her bedside, explaining that the doctor had ordered byway of tonic that she be wheeled into the guest room, where they would proceed to have services. There was something unusually buoyant about the girl as she spoke. And Aunt Jerry very condescendingly allowed herself to be helped into the chair and wheeled into the next room, wondering what new caprice had taken hold of the child As Madge threw open the door to the large room Aunt Jerry gave an exclamation of genuine surprise. For the room, usually so forbidding with Its drawn shades, sparkled with sunshine; while flowers, great bunches of .tljqui. were everywhere; Madge ex plained afterward they were sent by neighbors who wanted to share in the surprise. But for the time. Aunt Jerry just sat and stared, taking in the spicy fragrance with a pleased look on her

Islands Given Over to . Species of Wild Life

it is recorded that between the east coast of Africa and Madagascar is an Island inhabited solely by dogs. Ttn name, says the Detroit News. Is Juan De Nova. Jt is stated that in the old days of the sail East Indiamen and Portuguese sailors used to slop at this island, which was uninhabited, foi fresh water, fruits and turtles Domestic dogs of every breed curried on some ot these boats often escaped to the Island and were left behind. Today the descendants of this mongrel horde have turned wild and have taken full possession of the island. This story calls to mind the number of islands in the Great lakes that are fully and completely possessed by various species of wild life. Gulf rock, lying off the north shore o:i Isle Royale, is one. This great rock, of some five acres in extent thrown up out ot the bottom of Lake Superior, has been the home of thousands of herring gulls, undoubtedly for ages. Durirg the nesting period every foot of the Island is lotted with nests and crying young.

thin face, too delighted to even ask a question. For just a minute, however Then as suddenly the pleasure fled from her face and she half rose in her chair and pointed an accusing finger at the long mahogany case on the low window seat, its great loud speaker standing out defiant and bold. ' “Who, who, said you cotffd get that thing?” she began. “Wait,” whispered Madge, her cheeks flaming scarlet. “Please, don’t scold for Just a -minute.” Dropping on ber knee before the in- i strument, she clapped on the beud phones and swung the dials Into place. All the was conscious ot net aunt’s look of grim disapproval boring into her back. For a moment or two there was silence In the room as the girl waited for the announcer to finish speaking. Then with a triumphant little laugh she rose to her feet and switched on the loud speaker. Organ music—the wrath suddenly died out of Aunt Jerry’s eyes, “Why. I—l didn’t know. It's like a church choir. Isn’t it?" Madge nodded. “It is a choir,” she whispered. “Listen." All interest now. Aunt Jerry leaned i back in her chair and closed her eyes. ; Maybe she had been a bit hasty in ■ condemning. Anyway, it was a pleas, ant diversion for the time. Organ music again, soft, rolling music. “Why, it’s the prelude to the song Gordon was to sing. I know it, oh, so well. Maybe he is singing it now in the ffig city church so far , away," she began. Then of a sudden Aunt Jerry’s eyes came open with a snap. “It’s Gordon’s voice,” she shrilled “Oh, I kuow it is. But how can it be?” Madge dropped to the low stool at t her aunt’s feet. “It is Gordon’s voice,” she said “He is singing it all for I you. for 1 telegraphed him we would I be listening in." Then as the last notes faded away Madge looked up ’ into the older woman’s face with a contrite expression. “Aunt Jerry, will you forgive me? 1 know you hate these j new things. I made the set all myself i in my spare moments at college. And ; —and”—a little more slowly as she doubted the reception of her words — “I had to put on my knickers and 1 climb a tree to untangle the aerial.” For answer Aunt Jerry leaned down and planted a kiss on the tousled boyish bob. “I don’t quite understand it all just yet.” she said, ‘ but we’ll have lots of time while I am getting will to go into it together.” Then, “there’s tha doctor’s ring. Better run down and let him tn. I’ve said some things I want to take bacli.” — Telling the World Jean was Henry’s small niece and i this was her first visit. On Sunday the service at church had kept her enthralled. “Do people who want to get married have to risk the minister to tell everyone?” she asked when they came out. “1 should think Mr. Thomson must he awfully glad Miss Day is go- ■ ing to marry him at last, don’t you. j Uncle Henry? He must be so tired of asking her.” Henry gave an audible gasp. “I suppose he must, Jean. But who I told you ail this?” “The minister! Weren’t you listen- j ing? He said: ‘I publish the bands of marriage of Richard Thomson and ' Mary Day. This is the third time of asking.’’ Silver Fox Distinct Breed There are distinct breeds of black • and silver foxes. Silver foxes are a freak of nature, but the breeding ot them has been carried to such a point J that they are now an established breed. Silver foxes are worth much I more than black foxes owing to the i fact that red foxes can be dyed black ■ whereas there is no way of camouflaging silver foxes. The raising of silver foxes has been carried on for close to forty years. Who’s to Be Boss? The ambition of many young girls is to gain the mastery over the men they marry. In Sweden, the bride tries to see her groom first, aud puts her right foot in front of his during the ceremony. She also takes care that she stands so close to him that nothing can squeeze between —not | even a ray of light I In this way she thinks she solves the problem of which one shall be “masterful” in the home. Olive Needs Special Soil The region in which the olive may be successfully grown for the commercial production of fruit tn the United States is not as great as for most frost-hardy fruits, and has been confined to portions of California and Arizona, although the trees will live and hear some fruit in portions of all the southern tier of states of this country. Another Myth? It is usually believed that our troops in the Revolution wore no uniforms or if they d’ they were nl ways in rags. It is another of the myths that have become our heritage. —Woman’s Home Companion.

There are parts of the Beaver group of islands in*Lake Michigan that are completely dominated by common terns. Little Crane island is the home of hundreds of deer during the period the fawns are born. The does swim across tlie channel between this Island and the mainland before they are ready to give birth to the fawns and they remain there until the youngsters are able to swim to the mainland, in this way the danger of attack from wolves .and coyotes during the criti cal period is eliminated. Maisou ’sland, lying six miles out In SagiuAw bay, is an island dominated ' by ground rattlesnakes, it is ho trick to land on the shores of this Island and within a few minutes return with a dead rattler, if you possess sufficient nerve. Man Wqrth While The man that counts is the man who makes himself felt as a force for decency, a force for clean living, for righteousness.—Roosevelt;

Current WitZ7 THE FINISHING TOUCH *T am sending you some manuscripts," wrote a young and ambitious authoress. “1 also inclose a letter of Introduction my clergyman, one from my Sunday-school teacher, and a paragraph from our local paper, announcing my adoption of a literary career. Is there anything else I can send you to interest you tn my writings?” “Dear Madam," wrote the editor In, reply, “You need send me but one! more thing—a good short story I"— I Montreal Star. WAS DOMESTICATED - Mi dll// UHI - “She’s quite domesticated. 1 hear. Knows. how to eook and bake and everything.” “Nothing of the sort. Why, she couldn’t even cause a traffic Jam." Playing the Game The game of politics may end In lust a woeful wreck. If you should mark the cards, O friend. Or try to stack the deck! How Does She Do It? Mr. Goodthing—Here’s your two bncks for a palm 'eadlng. Go to it. Madam Zizzl—Look at me. You should always follow the advice of thin, dark ladies. You have a trusting and credulous nature. You have recently parted needlessly with a small sum of money and will soon be persuaded to give up more. But don’t regret it. It will be put to a good use ABSENT MINDED , a 4/s' wIRm — ' c " Wfl “Jack is awfully absent “How so?” “He scratched his wife and kissed a match the other night" « Silent Partnership There are many bridegrooms who On marriage quickly sour When they see that they're impor* Tant as ‘he H in hour. A* Ordered “Great Scott! What on earth has tflat fool of a Jeweler been playing at with thfc ring?” exclaimed a young fnan, gazing at the engagement ring in his band. “What’s the trouble?” asked his friend. “Why, I told him to engrave ‘From A to Z’ —on the inside of it and he put In the whole blooming alphabet” Ever Feel That’r Way? “You’re engine’s missing,” remarked the passenger. “I know it,” growled the motorist, “and I wish the whole darn car was, so I could collect on my theft insurance.” Waiting I Waiting! Guest —How long have you been working in this case, waiter? Waiter—Only one week, sir. Guest—Oh! Then 1 must have ordered from some other waiter. Disappointment Ahead Minister (christening child)—We will hope to see this child grow to fine, brave manhood—name thi* child. Mother—Muriel, sir.—Baptist Journal Practice Makes Perfect Mrs. Newlyrich (to bubby)—Now be careful, George, at Gottrocks' dinner tonight Don’t eat with your knife. George—Don’t worry, Amanda, I’ve et with my knife for 30 years and never cut myself. No Necker Mae —So your date last night was * fiat tire, eh? Faye— Say, that boy might Just m well have lost both his arms In the war as far as any free use he makes of them is concerned. Evidence “Are you sure that your husband went shooting? He brought back no game.** “That is what convinces me he went shooting.” y