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IJU',SV THE MESSAGE - By Mildred Caroline Coodridge. c (Copyright by W. GChapman.) 1 "I can't go through with it!" groaned a haggard, desperate-faced fiian on one side of a garden wall. "Oh, you beautiful world!" lisped a fhild in an invalid chair on the other ide of the wall. The man was Robert Dale, a city jnerchant. He sat in the shade of a i .& AS&3gfir jd.S. I 'b0M I The Last Ditch Seemed Reached. ftree near the ruins of some burned adown residence. Despair was in his heart, his eyes were full of the misery of a tortured spirit, f, "There are only two ways," he ,muttered darkly. "There is bank ruptcy, but that reads disgrace, and I could not bear it. The other is this!" He drew from his pocket a loaded revolver and gazed at it fixedly. He had come out to this secluded spot in a quiet village to end it all with a pistol shot. A proud man, a crushed man, the last ditch seemed reached, and he set his lips grimly. The little child was Flora Easton, a sweet-faced, angel-eyed girl of ten. The chair was drawn up close to a rustic table. Upon this were writing materials. As she took up a pencil, one could see from the slow, weak and erratic movements of her hand that she had only an imperfect con trol over its muscles. Poor child! Young as she was, Flora had known both pain and sor row. She had seen her loving par ents broken hearted over the sudden death of that other flower of the fam ily, her sister, for whom now her lit tle mourners clad in black, the crick ets sliding through the grass, each evening piped for her a solemn mass. Then Flora, too, had been stricken. On the rare golden threshold of joy out girlhood she had been deprived of the use of feet and hands. A patient father, a loving mother had brought to her aid all that money or medical skill could-effect. It was the grand heroic spirit of the little one herself, however, that had won half the battle. "Fine!" was little Flora's accus tomed cheery reply when asked how she was getting along. "Never say die!" she had even taught- the pet parrot to cry out. In the fervor of the optimism she had adopted as the creed and sustenance of health broken life. She shed sunshine every where. And daily, first with the movement of a single finger, each hour gaining some ground in groping her way back to her old activity. On this especial morning her brave little heart thrilled, as for the first time she found that she could use her hand to write a-word. Hitherto even th$ effort to produce a single letter had been a hard task. Her eyes sparkled, lier soul seemed to burst l&mAj-AtJtAl&liA, J&iS)gJxJVAi n-iA..VftAbM.