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TW YALE EXPOSITOR. THURSDAY, MARCH 19. 1914. feMRSHAL MARY PAYTDND 6lPilAN ANDREWS' Aumof? THCrwrcr tribute-, mr rcrrtr? TrtFAdur?r,rTC. RLU5TI?ATI07(5 ILL5WORTM YOVNG cofirrsj er Af ?? i cofiiv 1? U 19 SYNOPSIS. Francois ltoaupre, a peasant lnbr of hre year, after an amusing Incident In which Marnlml Ney flgurK, is made a 'lvalir of Krance by the Kmperor Na poleon, who prophesied tl.nl the boy mittlit one day he a marshal of France under another Bonaparte. At the of ten l-Yanrols visits General Huron tlas pard (ioiirgaud. who with Alixe. his seven-year-old daughter, lives at the Chateau. A soldier of tht Kmpire under Napoleon he tires the hoy's Imagination with ftfilcs of his campxiKns. The hoy heronies a copyist for tla general and learns of the fih-ndslilp between the gen eral and Mar)iiis Zuppl. who campaigned with liie general under Napoleon. Mar quis Znppl and his son. 1 Metro, arrive at the Chateau. The general agrees t care for the Marquis' son while the former goes to America. The Mantilla asks Kr.tn ro!s to he a friend of Ids son. The boy w.demnly promises. Francois goes to the Chateau to live. Marquis V.appi dies leav ing 1'ietro as a ward of the general. Alixe. IMetro and Francois meet a strange bov who proves to he Prince l.ouls Na poleon. Franeoi saves his life. The Ken oral discovers Francois loves Alixe. and extracts a promise from him that he will not Interfere between the girl and IMetro. Francois goes to Italy as secretary to IMetro. Queen TTortense plans the escape of her son l.ouis Napoleon by disguising him and Marquis Xappl as her lackeys. Francois takes Manjuls Zappl's place, who is HI. in the escape of Hortense and louis. I ressed as Louis' brother Fran cois lures the Austrian from the hotel al lowing the prince and his mother to es ape. Francois Is a prisoner of the Aus trian for five years. In the castle owned by Pletro In ltalv. lie discovers In his guard one of PMro's old family servants, and through him sends word to his friends of Ids plight. The general, llxe and Pletro plans Francois" escape. Fran cois receives a note from Pletro explain ing In detail how to escape from his prison. Alixe awaits him on horseback and leads him to his friends on board the American sailing vessel, the "I.ovely T.ucy." Francois, as a guest of Marry Hampton, on the "Lovely Lucy." goes to America to manage Pietro's ' estate In Virginia. Lucy Hampton falls in love with Franco!. Prime Louis Napoleon in America becomes the guest of the Hamptons, where he metis Francois. Lucy Hampton reveals her love for Fran- Is after the latter saves the llf of Harry Hampton and Is himself Injured in the effort. CHAPTER XXVI. The Finest Things. Endurance, Francois' own negro boy, hrought a note to Roanoke house on a morning five days after. It read: "My Dear Miss Hampton: "The doctor has given me permis sion to ride tomorrow and I wish to ride to Koanoke house before all oth er places. Will mademoiselle see me? Will mademoiselle permit me to Bee her for a short time alone? I await anxiously a word from you, and I am your servant, "FRANCOIS BEAUPRE." Mademoiselle sent a fair sheet of paper with a few unsteady scratches across It, and sat down to live over it was accomplished. The colonel had ridden to Norfolk for the day had Francois known of that, one wonders? Lucy, waiting in that small stately study with the dim portraits and the wide vague view across the fields of the James river, heard the gay hoof beats of Aquarelle pound down the gravel under the window, heard Fran cois' deep gentle voice as he gave the horse to Sambo, and waited one min ute more, the hardest minute of all. Then the door had opened and he stood there the miracle, as it seems.at such moments to a woman, possibly to a man of all the gifts and qualities worth loving. He had made his precise bow, and she had heard his voice saying gently: "Good morning, mademoiselle," and the door was closed; and they were alone together. In a flash she felt that it could not be endured, that she must escape. She rose hastily. "I'm sorry I must go; I cannot stay " But Francois had laughed and taken her hand and was holding it with a tender force which thrilled her. He understood. She knew he understood the shame and fear of a woman who has given love unasked; ehe was safe In his hands; she knew that. With a sigh she let her fingers rest In his and sat down again and waited. 'Dear Mademoiselle Lucy," said the deep kind rolce, "my first friend in Virginia, my comrade, my little scholar" Why did Lucy grow cold and quiet at these words of gentleness? Fran cois was sitttng beside her, holding her hand in both his, gazing at her with the clearest affection in his look. Yet she braced herself against she did not know what. The voice went on with its winning foreign inflections, its slip of English now and then, and its aever-to-be-descrlbed power of reach ing the heart. "See, mademoiselle," said Francois, "we are too real friends, you and I, to have deception between us. We will not pretend, you and I, to each other V it not, mademoiselle? Therefore I shall not try to hide from you that I heard that day those words so wonder ful which you spoke to me so unwor thy. I have thought of those words ever since, mademoiselle, as I lay ill with this troublesome arm; ever since all the time. My heart has been full of a gratification to you which cannot be told. I shall remember all my life; I shall be honored as no king could honor me, by those words. And be cause you have so touched me, and have so laid that little hand on the heart of me, I am going to tell you, my der comrade and scholar, what is most secret and most sacred to me." In as few words as might be, he tol5 her t the peasant child who had been llfteJ out of his poverty-bound life with such large kindliness that no bond which held him to that poor, yet dear life had been broken; "aiio had been left all the love of his first home and yet been given a home and a train ing and an education which eet htm ready for any career; he told of the big-souled, blunt, Napoleonic officer, the seigneur; of the gray, red-roofed castle, with its four round towers; of handsome silent IMetro, "and of the unfailing long kindness of them all. Then, his voice lowered, holding the girl's hand still, he told her of Alixe, of the fairy child who had met hlra ou that day of his first visit and had brought him to her father, the seig neur. He described a little the play mate of his childhood, fearless, boyish in her intrepid courage, yet always ex quisitely a girl. He told of the long summer vacations of the three as they grew up. and the rides in the Jura val ley, and of that last ride when he knew that he was to go to Italy next morn ing, and of how he had faced the seig neur and told him that he loved his daughter and had given her up then, instantly, for loyalty to him and to IMetro. And then he told her of the peasant boy in Riders' Hollow in the gray morning light after the night of his escape and how, by hand on the bridle and seat in the saddle, and at last by the long curl of the black lash es he had known the peasant boy for Alixe. Lucy Hampton, Ifstening, was so thrilled with this romance of a life long love that she could silence her aching heart and her aching pride and could be with a painful sick effort but yet could be, utterly generous. There is no midway In a case between entire selfishness and entire selfless ness. The young southern girl, wound ed, shamed, cruelly hurt In vanity and in love, was able to choose the larger way, and taking It, felt that sharp Joy of renunciation which is as keen and difficult to breathe and as sweet in the breathing as the air of a mountain top. Trembling, she put her other lit tle hand on Francois' hands. "I eee," she said, and her voice shook and she 6miled mistily, but very kind ly. "You could not love anyone but that beautiful Alixe. I I would not have you." And Francois bent hastily, with tears in his eyes, and kissed the warm little hands. The uncertain sliding voice went on: "I am not ashamed that I said that to you. I would not have said it not for worlds. I thought you were killed. I didn't know what I said. Rut I am not ashamed. I am glad that I am enough of a person to have known the finest things and" her voice sank and she whispered the next words over the dark head bent on her hands "and to have loved them. Rut don't bother. I shall get over it." The liquid tones choked a bit on that and Francois lifted his head quickly and his eyes flamed at her. "Of course you will, my dear little girl, my brave mademoiselle. It Is not as you think; it is not serious, mon amie. It is only that your soul is full of kindness and enthusiasm and eager ness to stand by the unlucky. I am alone and expatriated; I have had a little of misfortune and you are sorry for me. It Is that. Ah, I know. I am very old and wise, me. It would never do," he went on. "The noblesse of Virginia would rise in a revolution if it should be that the princess of Roa noke house gave her heart to a French peasant. I am come to be a man of He Bent Over Her Hand. knowledge " And he shook his head with as worldly-wise an expression as if one of Guido Rent's dark angels should talk politics. He went on again, smiling a little, an air of daring in his manner. "Moreover, Mademcrt&elle Miss Lucy, there is a (airy prince who awaits only the smallest sign from you." Lucy smiled. "No," she said. And then, "A fairy prince In Virginia?" "Ah, yes, Mademoiselle Miss Lucy. Of the true noblesse, that one. A fine. big, handsome prince, the right sort "Who?" demanded Lucy, smiling still. "Of such a right sort Indeed that it is no matter ah, no, but perhaps Just the thing to make one love him more, that he is lame." "Harry!" Lucy's smile faded. "Rut yes, indeed, mon amie," and Francois patted the little hand with his big one. "Henry, Indeed. Henry, who is waiting to kill me for love of you; Henry, the best truest fellow, the manlleBt bravest fellow. Who rides like Henry? Who has read all the books in all the libraries like Henry? Who is respected by the old men, the great men, for his knowledge and his thinking and his statecraft almost- like Henry? Who has such a great heart and brain and such fearless courage as Henry?" "You are very loyal to your friends," Lucy said, half pleased, half stabbed to the soul. "Certainly. What for is gratification worth, otherwise?" Francois threw at her earnestly. There were a few Eng lish words too much for htm still; gratitude" seemed to be one. He stood up and his great eyes glowed down at her. "Mademoiselle," he said, "two women of earth, my mother and Alixe, are for me the Madonnas, the crown of women," and his glance lifted to the celling as if to heaven, without poBe. unconscious a look no American could ever have worn. "And, volla, mademoiselle, my little scholar will al ways 6tand next to and close to them." He bent over her hand and his lips touched It long and tenderly. "Is it right between us, mon amie? Are we friends always? It is indeed so ""for ljfe with me." v. And little Lucy felt a healing peace settling on her bruised feelings and heard herself saying generous words of friendship which healed also as she spoke them. Then, "I must find that savage boy Henry, and beseech him to spare my life," spoke Francois at last. "My life is of more value today, that it is sesses asure friend In Mademoiselle Lucy," he said and smiled radiantly. And was gone. "He said that Harry loved me! What nonsense!" Lucy whispered to herself. And the broken-hearted one was smiling. CHAPTER XXVII. Once More at Home. In fewer words, with less told, Fran- cols' straightforwardness metamor phosed the angry lad Harry Hampton into a follower more devoted than be had been even in the first flush of en thusiasm for his rescued prisoner. Again the boy dogged his footsteps and adored him frankly. And Francois, enchanted to be friends again with his friend, wondered at the goodness and generosity of the people of this world. It is roughly true that one finds life in general like a mirror; that If one looks Into It with a smile and a cordial hand held out one meets smiles and outstretched hands In return. Through all his days it had happened o with this child of a French village. So that when the day came at last when he stood once more on the deck of the Lovely Lucy, loaded with her cargo of tobacco for foreign ports, Francois felt as if he were leaving home and family. The long green car pet of the rolling lawn of Roanoke was crowded with people come to tell him good-by. All of his soldier boys were there, the lads trained by him, one and all ready to swear by him or to die for him. Lucy and Harry stood together, and the servants were gathered to do him honor, and people bad ridden from all over the county for the farewell. His eyes dimmed with tears of grate fulness, he watched them as the gang plank was drawn up and the sails caught the wind and the ship swung slowly out into the Btream. "Come back again come back again," they called from the shore. Francois heard the deep tones of the lads and the rich voices of the ne groes and he knew that Borne there could not speak, even as he could not. So he waved his hat silently, and the ship moved faster and the faces on the lawn seemed smaller farther away, and yet he heard those following voices calling to him, more faintly: "Come back again oh, come back again!" And with that the negroes had broken into a melody, and the ship moved on to the wild sweet music. Way Down Upon de S'wanee Rlbber, the negroes sang, and the ship was at the turn of the river. The stately walls of Roanoke house, the green slope crowded with figures of his friends, the sparkling water front the current had swept away all of the picture and he could only hear that walling music of the negroes' voices, lower, more fit ful; and now It was gone. He had left Virginia; he was on his way to friends. And for all his joy of going, he was heavy-hearted for the leaving. The weeks went slowly at sea, but after a while be had landed, was in France, was at Vieques. He had seen his mother, with her hair whitened by those years of his prison life a happy woman now, full of business and re sponsibility, yet always with a rapt look in her face as of one who lived In a deep inner quiet. He had talked long talks with his prosperous father and slipped Into his old place among his brothers and sisters, utterly refusing to be made a stranger or a great man. And over and over again he had told the story of his capture and the story of his escape. At the castle the returned wanderer picked up no lees the thread dropped so suddenly oeven years before. The general, to whom the boy seemed his boy risen from the dead, would hardly let him from his sight; Alixe kept him in a tingling atmosphere of tenderness and mockery and sisterly devotion, which thrilled him and chilled him and made him blissful and wretched in turns. The puzzle of Alixe was more unreadable than the puzzle of the sphinx to the three men who loved her, to her father and Francois and Fletro. The general and Francois spoke of it guardedly, in few words, once In a long time, but Fletro never spoke. IMetro was there often, yet more often away in London, where the exiled Maz zlni, at the head of one wing of Ital ian patriots, lived and conspired. And other men appeared suddenly and dls appeared at the chateau, and held con ferences with the general and Fran cois in that large dim library where the little peasant boy had sat with his thin ankles twisted about the legs of his high chair, and copied the history of Napoleon. These men paid great attention nowadays to the words of that peasant boy. "As soon as you are a little strong er." they said, "there Is much work for you to do," and the general would come in at that point with a growl like distant thunder. "He is to rest," the general would order. "He is to rest till he is well. He has done enough; let the boy alone, you others." Rut the time came, six months aft er his return, when Francois must be sent to visit the officers of certain regiments thought to be secretly Ronapartlst; when he, it was believed, could get into touch with them and tell them enough and not too much of the plans of the party, and find out where they stood and how much one might count on them. So, against the general's wish, Francois went off on a political mission. It proved more com plicated than had seemed probable; he was gone a long time; he had to travel and endure exhausting experiences for which he was not yet fit. So that when he came home to Vieques, two months later, he was white and trans parent and ill. And there were some of the mysterious men at the chateau $1 mm His Voice Was Full of Passion and Pleading. i to meet him, delighted, pitiless. De lighted with the work he had done, with his daring and finesse and suc cess, without pity for his weakness, begging him to go at once on another mission. The general was firm as to that; his boy should not be hounded; he should stay at home in the quiet old chateau and get well. Rut the boy was restless; a fever of enthusiasm was on him and he wanted to do more and yet more for the prince's work. At this point two things happened: Fletro came from London, and Fran cois, on the point of leaving for anoth er secret errand, broke down and was ill. He lay in his bed in his room at the farmhouse, the low upper chamber looking out through wide-open case ment windows, their old leaded little panes of glass glittering from every uneven angle looking out at broad fields and bouquets of chestnut trees, and far off, five miles away, at the high red roofs of the chauteau of Vie ques. And gazing so. he saw Pletro on old Capitalne, turn from the shady ave nue of the chestnuts' and ride slowly to the house. With that he heard his mother greeting IMetro below In the great kitchen, then the two voices the deep one and the soft one talking, talking, a long time. What could his mother and IMetro have to talk about so long? And then Pietro's step was coming up the narrow stair, and he was there, In the room. "Francois," Pletro began in his di rect fashion, "I think you must go back to Virginia." Francois regarded him with startled eyes, saying nothing. There was a chill and an ache in his heart at the thought of yet another parting: Pietro went out. "I have a letter from Harry Hampton. The place needs you; the people want you; and Harry and Miss Hampton say they will not be married unless you come to be best man at the wedding." Francois smiled. Pletro went on again. "Moreover, boy, Francois you are not doing well here. You are too useful; they want to use you constantly and you are ready; but you are not fit. You must get away for another year or two. Then you will be well and perhaps by then the prince will have real work for you. And you must have strength for that time. Your mother says I am right." With that his mother stood in the doorway, regarding him with her calm eyes, and nodded to Pietro's words. 80 it came about that Francois went back shortly to Virginia. On the day before he went he sat in the garden of the chateau with Alixe, on the stone seat by the sun-dial where they had sat years before when the general had seen him kiss the girl's hand. In that unbrotherly way which had so surprised him. "Alixe," said Francois, "I am going to the end of the world." "Not for the first time," Alixe an swered cheerfully. "Perhaps for the last," Francois threw back dramatically. It Is hard to have one's best-beloved discount one's tragedies. And Alixe laughed and lifted a long stem of a spring flow er which she held in her hand, and brushed his forehead delicately with the distant tip of it. "Smooth out the wrinkles, do not frown; do not look solemn; you al ways come tack, Monsieur the Pad Penny; you will this time.. Do not be melodramatic, Francois," Francois, listening to these sane sentiments, was hurt, and not at all Inspired with cheerfulness. "Alixe," he said and knew that he should not Bay it "there is something I have wanted all my life all my life." "Is there?" inquired Alixe in com monplace tones. "A horse, per ex- emple?" He caught her hand, disre garding her tone; his voice was full of passion and pleading. "Do not be heartless and cold today, Alixe, dear Alixe. 1 am going so far, and my very soul is torn with leaving you all." It takes no more than a syllable, an inflection at times, to turn the course of a life. If Francois had left his sen tence alone before that last little word; if he had told the girl that his soul was torn with leaving her, then it is hard to say what might have hap pened. But "you all" he did not wish then to have her think that It meant more to leave her than to leave the others. Alixe readjusted the guard which had almost clipped from her, and stood again defensive. "I won't be cruel, Francois; you know how we all are broken-hearted to have you go." Francois caught that fatal little word "all," repeated, and dimly sow its significance, and his own responsibil ity. Alixe went on. "I wonder if I do not know what it is that you have wanted all your life?" Eagerly Francois caught at her words. "May I tell you Alixe, Alixe?" "No." Alixe spoke quickly. "No, let me guess. It is it is" and Francois, catching his breath, tried to take the word from her, but she stopped him. "No. I must tell it You have wished all your life" Alixe was breathing rather fast "that I should care for Pletro." A cold chill at hearing that thing said in that voice seized him. Very still his eyes down, he did not speak. "Is Is that ltr There Is an angel of perversity who possesses our souls at times. He makes us say the unkind thing when we wish not to; he tangles our feet so that we fall and trip and hurt our selves and our dearest and behold long after we know that all the same it was an angel; that without that trouble we should have gone forever down the easy wrong way. We know that the perverse angel was sent to warn us off the pleasant grass which was none of ours, and by making things dlsasreeable at tho psycho logical moment, save our bouIs alive for right things to come. Some such crosswise heavenly messenger gripped the mind of Alixe, and ehe said what she hated herself for saying, and saw the quick result In the downcast misery of poor Francois' face. And then the same cruel, wise angel turned his attention to Francois. "If she thinks that, let her," whispered the perverse one. "Let it go at that; say yes."' And Francois lifted mournful eyes and repeated, "That you should love Pletro yes that Is what I have wished for all my life. CHAPTER XXVIII. Summoned. On the morning of May 9, 1840, the sun shone gaily In London. It filtered in intricate patterns through the cur tains which shaded the upper windows of a house in Carlton gardens, and the breeze lifted the lace, and sunlight and breeze together touched the bent head of a young man who sat at a writing-table. A lock of hair had es caped on his forehead and the air touched it, lifted it, as if to say: "Re hold the Napoleonic curl! See how he is like his uncle!" Rut the pen ran busily, regardless of the garrulous breeze; there was much to do for a hard-working prince who found time to be the hero of ball rooms, the center of a London season, and yet could manipulate his agents throughout the garrisons of France, and plan and execute a revolution. It was the year when the body of Napole on the First was brought from St. Helena to Paris, and Louis Bonaparte had resolved, in that steady mind which never lost its grip on the reason of being of his existence, that with the ashes of the emperor his family should come back to France. For months the network had been spread, was tightening, and now the memory which held Its friendships securely al ways, took thought of a Frenchman living In Virginia. As soon as his let ter was finished to his father the pen flew across the lines: "The sword of Austerlltz must not be In an enemy's hands," he wrote to his father. "It must Btay where it may again be lifted in the day of dan ger for the glory of France." Ills let ters were apt to be slightly oratorical; it was moreover the fashion of the day to write so. He raised his head and stared Into the street. It was enough to decide his expedition for this summer that General Bertrand, well-meaning, and ill-judging, had given to Louis Phil lips the arms of the emperor, to be placed in the Invalldee. Every mem ber of the Bonaparte family was aroused, and to the heir it was a trum pet call. He could hardly wait to go to France, to reclaim that insulted sword. He wrote on, finished the letter to the exiled king, his father, a gloomy and lonely old man whom the son did not forget through years spent away from him. Then he drew out a fresh sheet of paper, and his faint smile gleamed; for the thought of this adherent Ln Virginia was pleasant to him. "Chevalier Francois Beaupre," he headed the letter, and began below, "My friend and Marshal of Some Day." He considered a moment and wrote quickly as If the words boiled to the pen. "The baton awaits you. Come I make an expedition within three months, and I need you and your faith la me. Our etars must shine togeth er to give full light. So, mon ami, Jolh me here at the earliest, that the em peror's words may come true. "LOUIS BONAPARTE." Across the water, in Virginia, two years had made few changes. On the June day when the prince's letter lay in the post office of Norfolk the last of the rosea were showing pink and red over the gardens In a sudden breeze. The leaves of the trees that arched the road that-led to Roanoke house were appy green, just lately fully spread. and glorious with freshness. Their shadows, dancing on the white pike. were sharp cut against the brightness. And through the light-pierced cave of shade a man traveled on horseback from one plantation to another, a man who rode as a Virginian rides, yet with a military air for all that. He patted the beast's neck with a soothing word, and smiled as Aquarelle plunged at the waving of a bough, at a fox that ran across the road. But If an observer had been there he might have seen that the man's thought was not with horse or journey. Francois Beaupre, riding out to give a French lesson to Miss Hampton at Roanoke house, as he had been doing for four years, all unconscious as he was of the letter awaiting for him at the moment in Norfolk, was thinking of the event to come to which that letter called him. "Lucy! Oh, Lucy!" A voice called from the lawn, and in a moment more tho colonel was upon them. "Lucy," he began, "somebody must arrange about the new harnesses; my time is too valuable to be taken up with de tails. Uncle Zack says they are need ed at once. It has been neglected. I do not understand why things are so neglected." "I have seen to it, father. They will be ready in a week," Lucy answered. Then the colonel noticed Francois. "Good day, chevalier," he spoke con descendingly. "Ah by the way" he put a hand Into one pocket and then another of his linen coat. "They gave me a letter for you, chevalier, knowing that you would be at Roanoke house today. Here It is" and Lucy saw a light leap Into Francois eyes as they fell on the English postmark. And Lucy spoke quietly again. "I did ask you, father, but you did not see to it. and they were necessary. Sc I did It." And then, "chevalier, read your letter. I see It is a foreign one." "Will mademoiselle pardon?" At that moment an uneven step came down the slope and Francois flashed a smile at Harry Hampton and retreated to the other side of the summer-house with his letter; while the colonel, murmuring complaints about harnesses, went strolling up the shadowy, bird-haunted lawn. Harry Hampton stood by his sweet heart with a boyish air of proprietor ship, radiant, as he had been through these two years of his engagement. "I have It," he announced. "Don't you want to see it?" "Walt, Harry;" the girl glanced at Francois. But the lad caught her waist. "Look," he said, and opened his free hand and a plain gold ring glittered from it. With a quick move ment he slipped It over the little third finger. "There," he said, "that will be on to stay pretty soon, and then Uncle Henry shall not badger you about har nesses. He has made me wait two years because he needed you, but I won't wait much longer, will I, Lucy? Next Wednesday that Is the wedding day, Lucy." With that Francois turned around. Hie face shone with an excitement "You Have News What Is It?" th Girl Cried. which could not escape even preoccu pied lovers. "What Is it, chevalier? You have news what Is it?" the girl cried. For a moment he could not speak. Then: "Yes, mademoiselle, great news," he said. "The prince has sent for me. And I am well and fit to go. 1 have lived for this time; yet I am grieved to leave you and Harry, my two old friends." "But, Francois, you cannot go before Wednesday," Harry Hampton cried out "We cannot be married without you." And Francois considered. "No, not before Wednesday," he agreed. That last French lesson in the summer-house on the banks of the smooth flowing James river was on a Satur day. On Monday the Chevalier Beau pre rode over from Carnlfax and asked to see Miss Hampton. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Women and Exercise. Most women, whether they be fleshy or thin, walk far too little. The wom an who tends to be fleshy should walk for at least an hour every day, and do It regularly and systematically. As she gets accustomed to the exercise she should increase the number ol miles ehe walks a day until ale is do ing five in I lea. MAKES HARD WORK HARDER A bad back makes a day's work twice as hard. Backache usually comes from weak kidneys, and if headaches, dizzi ness or urinary d borders are added, don't wait get help before the kidney disease takes a gripbefore dropsy, grav el or Bright' disease sets in. Doan's Kidney Pills have brought new life and new strength to thousands of working men and women. Used and recom mended the world over. AN ILLINOIS CASE Q. I. Parr nd. 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You will then be eoavlneed mat w.iuousia aboes are aoao- uuny eafoodaaomar matna xxo ai aujoer prioes. 1 be only OiU at we pore. TAKE NO UBtVTITUTI. feaalee wttaoet W. L. Paailaa' aaaM im are aal fur mm la yaur vlchilir. erorr rel frwa factory. Bbom for arary eiabe in family at all omn, aoauf Ave, Wiila for lilaMratas ratalof .hnwlnr How to ararr by mall. w. L. HUUULAI SIS Spark Itnrt, Brecktea, kf .1 vvirp WESTERN CANADA NOW i aiiij. The opportunity of securinsr free homestead of 160 acres each, and the low priced lands of Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta, wm soon have passed. Canada offers a hearty welcome to the Settler, to the man with a family looking for a home; to tha farmer's son, to the renter, to all who wish to live under better conditions. Canada's grain yield in 1913 is the talk of the world. Luxuriant Grasses give cheap fodder for large herds; cost of raising and fattening for market is a trifle. Alia auin 1 caiuvu iui iwm4, y Milk and Cheese will pay fifty per cent on tne investment. Writ fnr litm hiro nd nartie ulars as to reduced railway Jf&Z rates to superintendent of Immigration, Ottawa, Canada, or to M. V. Mctnnes 170 Jsffsrson Ave Detroit, Mich. Canadian Government Act. SPECIAL TO WOMEN The most economical, cleansing and germicidal of all antiseptics Is A soluble Antiseptic Powder to bo dissolved in water as needed. As a medicinal antiseptic for douches In treating catarrh. Inflammation or ulceration of nose, throat, and that caused by feminine Ills it has no equal. For ten years the Lydia E. Pinkhara Medicine Co. has recommended Pax tine In their private correspondence with women, which proves Its superiority. Women who have been cured say It Is "worth Its weight la gold." At druggists. 60c large box, or by malL The Pax ton Toilet Co, Boston Mass. Your Liver Is Clogged Up That's Why You're Tired Oat of Sort! Have No Appetite CARTER'S LITTLE LIVER PILLS will put you right in a few cays. They d CureCon-55 stipation, Acs. DVILfUIIVll, W Biliousness, Indigestion and Sick Headache SMALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL TRICE. Genuine must bear Signature CONSTIPATION, COLDS OR DANDRUFF Iftr HOW TO CU WITHOUr 0HU6S CoapUta arraiaMni lataar tm aach aac., aw or ataaipa twa, tyc.t tkadira lor ane. TlmaiaaA pUaaad. Monrrback U dMatiai. Intaraanoaal Itaua-taaa Haallk laaL, UaM. ag. ava N. St rhUariatpiua, fa. PATENTS S XV n Imom K. rlmi a, WmIw ttnn.DC Huofcafra. Hlt Jaat raauna. $25 Vf CClf I V rartlerjUrsrM. J. J. Mad I ran, II LEAL I 4tteH. Park At, Buffalo, K. Y. READERS papr dr-afir. bur anrlblna adrsrtiaed In It nlnmiii aVmiM Inal.t trrwM. h.rlnir ahtl tH ask lor, rsfuslns; all aabutatss or Imitations. 2 IJH'lHl.HaEE Baal Com Brra. Taotra Uood. Uaa la Uma. SoM fcr Drocrlata. -Tii 1 iii ill iiiii . 1 rM aT . mm TO arTTT I rl Wm wlJiaiuVT4iaifjiiurntnriif ii