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By CHARLES GARVICE Continued "Look at me, Verona,” he says, gently, kissing her hair as he speaks. "I have seen the priest.” “Yes,” she says, softly. "And—and—he says that w© must wait; that he cannot marry us—' Wit a sudden start she shrinks from him, pale and terror stricken. "Cannot?” she breathes. “Then — then—l must go back.” "No—no!” he interposes, passion- : ately, soothingly. “Don't be fright- j ened, darling! Go! No, that isimpos Bible!” "Impossible?*' sue echoes, faintly. "But—if the father .ays—” Then suddenly the truth, the whole reality of the situation breaks upon her. and, with a low cry. she bounds from him, and hides her face in her hands. Hal goes down on his knees and draws her hands to his lips. “Verona,” he pleads, "my darling, don't —don't be so frightened! 1 could not keep it from you. I would not. But you must not be frightened. You make my heart ache to see you look so white and terrified Listen, dar ling. There Is no occasion for alarm. It is all my fault. I didn't make In quiries I was so set upon getting you away from them that I didn’t think of what was to follow.” With a low cry she withdraws her hand, springs from him, and sinks into a chair. Almost beside himself. Hal bends over her, pouring out en dearments and earesses, and implor ing her to be calm. But the simple, trusting nature has taken qlarm, nor at him, her lover, but circumstances, and all Hal's passionate pleading sweeps over her as the wind sweeps over the hilltops. Suddenly she springs to her feet, and looks at him, the tears stream ing down her pale cheeks. “No.” she says, “It was my fault. It was 1 who did not think. T—l must go hack.” and she moves -to ward the door. "Stop—stay! For Heaven’s sake, wait and listen." says Hal, catching her arm. "Verona, oh, my darling, can you not trust me?” Bale and distraught she stands, torn both ways. “Yes," she says, “but I must go!” and gently pushing bis hand from her arm, she opens the door. Almost as she does so there comes a clattering of hoofs, and. with a cry, Hal catches ber in his arms. “Thank Heaven!” he cries. “Stop, be calm! Verona, darling, look!" and as a light step Is heard outside the door, be opens it, and discovers Jeanne—Jeanne, pale and trembling, her riding habit dusty and stained, her brown-gold hair half-escaped from under her hat. With a cry, Verona files to her. To say that Jeanne looks surprised is very Inadequately to describe the stare of amazement with which sbe regards Verona in her arms, and H' leaning against the table and wiping the perspiration from his excited face. “Is it possible?” she exclaims, in a low voice. “Is It really you. Prin cess Verona?” “Yes." says Hal. answering for the weeping girl. “Yes. It is Verona. Jeanne, and—and tfon’t be angry and look so astonished. 1 knew you would come. 1 felt sure of it! Jeanne, you are a brick!” “Yes. no doubt." says Jeanne, rather confused, sinking Into a chair, and drawing Verona beside her: "but— but—l don't understand!" she says, bewildered and perplexed. "Why are you here? Why is Verona here? How did you come here? Was there nn accident? Why didn't you hire aeon veyanee and get hack somehow?" “Why. Jeanne," he says, “you don’t mean to say you don't understand We didn’t and don’t mean going back.” Then Jeanne comprehends, and the color flies to her pale face, as in stinctively ber arms loosen around the slim figure nestling against her in graceful abandon. “You have run away.” she says; “1 see. But—hut why do you want me?” It was only a reasonable and to be-expected question, and Jeanne puts It with both eyes wide open, and a look something like indignation. Hal looks from one to the other; then he stoops and raises Verona, who clings to Jeanne for a moment, and t’ en allows him to take her to the sofa. Hal comes hack, and in a few hurried sentences explains the dilemma. “What could I do?" he says. “T couldn’t leave her hero for days and nights together, and—” “Hal.” says leanne, Interrupting him* with the first touch of severity he has ever seen in her face, “you have, done wrong—very wrong! You have done more harm than you Just now can realise. She must go hack!” "Never!” says Hal. Then he tells her how the count has planned to carry her off to Rus sia. “Pshaw!” sayf Jeanne; "that sort o i thing goes on in novels, hut—” “It Is true, every word of It." says Hal. "Think. Jeanne? Put yourself in her place—wouldn't yon run away if you knew you were to he made a prisoner of. and < arriod to the end of the world Against your will*? Oh, Jeanne, I thought you would nave felt for her, if not for me!” Jeanne is touched, ar.d the tears start to her eyes as she looks from one to the other. "But what can I do?” she asks, se riously. "And —and you don't know at what a cost I have obeyed your summons, Hal. We start for Eng land tomorrow.” ''What!'' gays Hal. jumping up al most to the celling—he has been sit ting on the table "What! you start for England. Hurrah! Don’t you gee, Jeanne? How dull you are! Of course Verona goes with us. Nothing be'.er could have happened, Ixtok up, Ve rona!" and he goes down on his knee to her; ‘Took up! We all go to Eng land tomorrow!” Verona looks up. Very pale is she. and still frightened; and at sight of the nobiy-sweet face, so tearful gnd agitated, ail Jeanne's worldly wis dom departs. With a word of endearment, she goes over to her, and puts her arm around her, and comforts her as only a woman can; and in a few minutes Verona is herself again. “But you, Jeanne? You must not stay. What will the marquis say?" Jeanne smiles rathe? 1 constrainedly. What, indeed, will the marquis say? Hal. who had been kicking his legs from his perch on the table, Is struck by another idea. "Look here!” be says, rather rue fully: "1 tell you what I'd better do. I'd better ride back to the castle, and explain afTalrs. "Why not let Georg*- go?” suggests Jeanne; but Hal has some conscience. "Jmposslblfe; he has been too hard at it all day. No, I'll go, and b© hack as soon as I can; then you can remain with an easy conscience, Jeanne, eh?” It is the wisest suggestion that can be made, and Hal, with a sigh, pro ceeds to put Its aitoption into opera tion. "Mind,” he says, filling his pipe and looking wistfully at Verona, "you are both to go to bed, and to make your minds easy; Vane and I will ar range everything, and no one need he any the wiser. Look here —i ve got it all cut and dried, Jeanne! You and Vane can go to ihe boat in the ordinary way, and Mrs. Fleming can come here and go with Verona! No thing could be easier or more safe, if we keep quiet!" "Yes,” says Verona, In a low voice; “if—if—they do not find me before we start!” Hal winces, but only for a moment. • We've got. the bays,” he says, quietly, "and we start at daybreak - to morrow—l shall be hack before then And now I'll go.” Jeanne rises. "I will go and see about our rooms,” she murmurs, and so leaves the two alone together for a minute or two There are two rooms, a door com municating between them, and tne landlady promises to make ready the second one—the first is already pre pared—for Jeanne. “Will milady permit me to offer ber a selection from my wardrobe?” she asks, respectfully. But Jeanne declines. In her own mind she has resolved to ride back to the castle at the break of day, and will not lake off her habit. When she goes down again, Verona is standing at the window peering out at the night, and the clatter of n horses hoofs denotes that Hal has already started. Suddenly there Is a knock at the door, and George appears. Master Hal desires me to say, my lady, that 1 should be In the stable If you wanted me." he savs, respect fully. Jeanne smiles with a look of sat isfaction. "Very well.” she says. “So we are no* left all alone, dear,” she adds, putting her arm around Verona. "You are not angry with me, dear Jeanne?” "Angry, no!” says Jeanne, tenderly. "Who could be angry with you, t wonder?” "I am glad of that,” says Verona, simply; “I feared that you would, perhaps, think that I had done wrong! But what could I do? and oh. Jeanne, I love him so! He ij so brave and strong, and yet so gentle with me! I could not—could not let them take me away from him! And when ae hade me come with him 1 obeyed; if he were to tell me that I must go to the end oT the world* I must go. 1 love him so, Jeanne.” She says this and more, with her dark eyes upturned to Jeanne's, and with t'ne simple straightforwardness of a child Jeanne bends and kisses Iter. "Hal ought to be i very happy!” she says, with something like a wistful sigh, "very happy at winning such love, Verona; and I —l am very happy, too And have you thought of the future, dear? Do you know—of course he has told you—that he is very poor. not noble like yourself?” "He is poor, ves," says Verona, qui etly. “But not noble?" and her face flushes proudly. "There is no one Holder on the face of the earth. 1 would rather be his —his wife than be Queen of Italy.” And he would rather you were his wife than he should be King of Eng land!” says Jeanne. "Is that wine? I'm fearfully thirsty.” "Let me ghe you some." says Ve rona. and she darts to the table and sets a glass, kneeling at Jeanne's feet as she drinks it. "You look tired, dear," she says ”1 am. rather.” says Jeanne, sup ’ pressing a bexy weary sigh; and she is: but not tired with her ride. “I think we had better get to bed. ns you have to he up early tomorrow ” I "When 1 awake in the morning.’ says Verona, with a little wistful sniihN “1 shall think it alia dream—” , "Until ■ Hal comes bAck, s&ys Jeanne, archly. With old-world politeness, the land lady and 'qer daughter precede their guests up the low flight ofstai-s, and throw open the bedroom door. One of the rooms open onto the balcony. 'Til have this room,’’ she says. "Let me stay with you.” murmurs Verona: but Jeanne, who does not in tend to sleep, and is anxious that Verona should. laughingly refuses. "What, and break those good peo ple's 'neartg by refusing to use the pretty room they have got ready for you? See, we will have the door ajar, and to all in cats it is one room. And don’t be frightened if you wake and see me standing beside the bed watching over you.” By a course of judicious soothing and loving banter. Jeanne at last gets her way, and Verona, worn out by excitment and emotion, lies fast asleep, and Jeanne, who has sat be side her until the dark eyes droop and close, arises and returns to her own room. Wearily g v e sinks onto a chair, and, pushing her hair from her forehead, tries to draw the tan gled skein of the day’s events into order. She herself can scarcely per suade herself that it is not a dr-am. and that she will not awaken pres ently to find herself back at the e*- tle in her own room. All is still within the house, so still that the rustle of the leaves on the vine that climbs and covers the balcony sounds on her ears like the distant swL'h Of the s©a as It flows softly at the foot of the cliffs. The cliffs! the dear old house! “1 shall see It soon. In a day or two,” she thinks, and ber head droops. With what unutterable feelings she had left it; what anticipations of de light and happiness had accompanied her farewell, and now —with a long sigh, Jeanne covers her face in her hands, and the tears trickle slowly through her white fingers. Where was the love that had promised to bring her such happiness? For one short day it had lasted, then the long night which promised no re turning day. A tear drops onto the skirt of her habit, and Jeanne starts: not since the night of her wedding day has she wept; pride has dried up her tears and kept her heart sore and aching, but now, in this wayside inn, she can weep. Is it because she feels so lonely ? Is It because distance, actual, tangible distance, is between her and the man sbe loves, making the gulf which always stretched be tween them more distant and em phatic. With a sudden effort, she arises, and goes to the window. It li. her last night In Germany; and It Is spent away from her home tn a wayside inn. She smiles sadly. “Will they have missed me?" she thinks. “No, they will think I have gone to my room, and Hal will be there and explain everything. If he had missed me, would he have cared? No, Vane's love has gone from me. forever! ” Half mechanically she opens the window and steps out on the bal cony. It is warm inside the house, and the night air blows cool and re freshing on her hot brow. “I wonder what time it is?” she thinks, and her hand goes to her watch-pocket; but in her hurried de parture Fleming had forgotten to give her a wateh. "Darkest before dawn, they say,” she thinks, looking wistfully at the black ridge of hills which she can just see in the horizon. ‘‘lt must be near dawn. My last night. Why does Vane go back so suddenly—so mysteriously? and why did he look and speak so sternly? What are they doing now? They have all gone to bed by this time, or very nearly. Hal has reached the eastle, and is telling Vane that I am here —at Dur bach. Will he be angry?” Then her thoughts fly off to Ve rona. “Poor child —how -little she makes of her danger! .Vrapped in her love, she gives scarcely a thought to the count. At this moment he may he on her track, and then what shall 1 do?” Instinctively she goes back into the room, and bends over Verona's bed. With a sigh, almost of envy, Jeanne sets down the light. Peaceful as a child’s, the beautiful face lies upon the pillow, the, lips half-parted with a smile. "Dreaming.” says Jeanne, turnlrg Some New Stars Hmong Golf <Homen cfulia. Hiy •Vt'v York. June 12.—A spv,ia! es- > fort by the executive committee to rouDti up the sluggards resulted in one of the largest fields that have graced the event in \ ears turning up at the links in the Montc’.-u- Golf j club for the eleventh annual cham pionship tournament of the Women’s Metropolitan Golf association. Miss j Georgian* Bishop, of Brookiawn. and at the door and looking back at her. "Love's young dream. So I dreamed one time—not so long ago—and have awakened.” With another sigh she closes the door and goes toward the balcony to shut the window. As she does J®! as her haxd is on the latch, she hears a faint sound in the distance. Listening for a moment, with aus-" pended breath, the sound develops into the thud—thud of a horse. CHAPTER XLII. Jeanne’s color comes. “It Is Hal! No! Too soon, unless he has turned hack.” Instinctively she thinks of the count, and glances toward the inner room: If it should be he, what should she do? While she ie vainly trying to decide on some line of action, the sound suddenly ceases, and, with a sigh of relief, she closes the window. “A few hours longer.” she thinks, “and the dawn will have broken. Hal and Vane will be here, and—” here her anticipations cease; she Is too tired po indulge in conjecture. Suddenly there comes through the flutter of the leaves a repetition of the thud-thud, and this time more dis tinct. With a start, Jeanne holds her breath and listens, as before, until the sound dies away. But Jeanne cannot rest inside the room; it seems like a veritable prison, hot, stifling, and peopled with creatures of her over-strained imagination. At one mo ment rises before her the voice of the count, angry, ac-using, demand ing at her hands the runaway Verona; at the next, Vane, haggard ant' stem, appears to overwhelm her with pas sionate reproach and blame. With a hot. uncertain hand she j opens the window again, and bends : over the balcony. But not a sound i reaches her ear, save the sough of the wind among the leaves, and the rustle of ihe vine at her feet. There then falls upon Jeanne that vague, indefinable dread which all of us have felt at some time or other— a horror of the alienee, a longing for I’ome sharp and sudden sound, though it be the sound we are dread ing to hear —anything to break the horrible tension of the overstrained neryes. Restless, battling against this name less terror, Jeanne argues with her self. She Is not alone; in the next room, not a dozen paces distant, lies Verona; the people of the house are close at hand; and, above all, within call lies George, whose devotion can be relied on. And, after all, what has she to fear—what has she to fear? With a quivering laugh, she goes back into her room. Opposite the window is a large mirror, set in an old, carved frame—one of those pieces of antique which would fetch hun dreds of guineas. As Jeanne crosses the room, she catches sight of her figure in this mirror, and starts at the pale face which looks down at her. “Afraid of my own shadow,” she j says, half aloud. "Where has my ; courage gone?” And. with an effort, she goes up to the glaa and arranges her hair, try | ing to call up a smile on her pale lips. "Three such nights as this,” she laughs, “and all the beauty which poor old Fleming is never tired of talking about would be fled. Ah. and who would care?” She sighs, and is about to turn away, when suddenly her heart seems to turn to stone; for there in the j glass before her is reflected, not only herself, but someone else, and that | with a man’s face and figure. For a moment Jeanne thinks her ! senses have deserted her, the next ; she turns and springs to the window. As she does go, a man drops on one knee at her feet, and speaks her name. “Jeanne!” Wth a low cry, Jeanne shrinks back, still instinctively trying to olose the window. “Jeanne,” says tthe voice again, “for Heaven’s sake do not ’ook ter rified! Do you not know me? It Is ; I—Clarence!” ! "Clarence— Lord Lane!” gasps Mrs. C- T. Stout. Richmond County Country clnb, both of them previous holders of the title, tvere notable ab sentees. but to offset 'his there was a new star in the field, in the persou of Miss 1,. B. Hyde, of the South Shore Field club, of Bayshore, L, 1., the runner-up of the Southern Flori da championship, who was snaking her debut iss a metropolitan gather ing Miss Julia Mix, Englewood, was Jeanne, and she staggrs against the window-frame. “What—what are you doing here?*’ His handsome face Is pale and agi tated with suppressed excitement; his riding-coat covered with dust, and his band, which rests imploringly on her arm, is tom by the brambles and un dergrowth through which hr has rid den. Jeanne looks down at him. panting in her effort to recover composure, and with wild, haif-fearful question ing in her face. “But why are you here?” she' re peats; “has—has anything happened at the castle? —the count—does he know ” It Is to be questioned whether Clar ence hears her disjointed interroga tions: his soul is In a whirl, his eyes drink in hastily the pale beauty of her face; one thought, one idea has taken possession of all his senses: he is alone with her —alone with the women he has loved so long, and now loves with a passion that over whelms and roasters him. "Jeanne.” he says, and his voice sounds dry and harsh, when he would have It soft and tender. “Jeanne, are you angry with me for coming? Did you not expect me?” “Expect you?” says Jeanne; “no, 1 did not expect you. How did you discover that I was here—wno rent you—why have you come?” To be continued. Eliminating the Revolver. What is the use of having a revol ver, at home or anywhere else? Set abokt it, to think up a situation in which the use of a revolver would be desirable or justifiable. If you hear a burglar in the house, would you get your revolver and sneak out In tne hall to get a pop at him? Why that would be inviting the greatest danger possible. Should you see a burglar climbing out of your window and try nig* to skip away, would you shoot? Possibly, but not with a purpose to hit him fatally. Or if he is coming in, would you shoot or yell, or throw a chunk at him? If you shoot It wouldn’t be to kill, but there it the risk. No one wants to have hanging i 1 his memory the fact that be killed a man, even if he did It in self-defense when he would be justified. But the main idea about this matter is that the keeping a revolver for burglars, footpads and thieves, simply embold ens a person to enter upon a danger ous experiment. There D more harm and danger in keeping a revolver than in being without one. The revolver, therefore, ought to be outlawed. It would be well enough to consider whether the having a revol ver in one's possession should not be made a finable offense. What a deal of crime it would prevent if the law were enforced! Just think of it. why do we want revolvers scattered among the people? Nobody can tell. —Ohio State Journal. Montreal and Quebec A veritable edition de luxe among railroad pamphlets has been issued by the Grand Trunk Railway system to proclaim amongst tourists the glories of the cities of Montreal and Quebec . The brochure is beautifully printed and generally arranged in the artistic style of earlier days, when the ornamentation of a volu/ie was regarded as an important incident to its representation or reaading mat ter. It gives an interesting descrip tion of the two most interesting cities in, Canada, with many illustra tions from photographs. Sent free to any address. Apply to W. S. Cookson, fl 7 Loan & Trust Build ing Chicago. Lesuon From the Past. The army in Flanders was swearing dreadfully. “They're talking of abolishing the canteen!” roared the soldiers. Fearing **>at the next thing would be- round robin from the officers in denunciation of embalmed beef, the Board of Strategy hastily yielded the point and permitted the soldiers to have Milwaukee beer and diluted Cincinnati whisky. . Miss L 3. . ■ also forward to defend the title she | won last yeaar at the Nassau Country | club links, and she and Miss Hyde, as it turn 'd out. were the players on w hom devolved’the pace-making for j the field. Both returned cards of j ninety, which tied them for the wed i al. one stroke ahead of Mrs W. Fel [ lowes-Morgan Baltusrol, who suc- I eeeded in covering the second half | of the course in 4i. MEASLES MAI LEAD 10 TUBERCULOSIS HEALTH OFFICER OF OHIC CITY SOUNDS A NOTE OF WARNING. ALSO SHOWS TERRfr.LY CON TAGIOUS CHARACTER OF CONSUMPTION. Cincinnati, June 12. —That measles is often the forerunner of tubereulo sis is> the declaration of the local health officer, Dr Landis, in his weekly report. Dr. Landis sounds a note of warning to physicians as well as the public generally in the hand ling of cases of measles. He says in part: “The profession kfiows the fre quency w ith which measles is followed by consumption, but of the hundreds who have had this disease during toe past winter a number are almost sure to develop tuberculosis of the respiratory tract. The frequency with which this disease follows upon the heels of measles cannot be ex plained upon the theory of coinci dence. In some cases it doubtless prepares t’ne soil for the bacillus; in others it puts new life into a latent focus. “Last week 45 cases of consump tion were Reported, with 13 deaths. If this good work on the part of the doe*ors is kept up throughout the year it will give the de*.-tment sur veillance over some 2,000 cases. A case was reported during the past week which illustrates the grave re sponsibility resting with the profes sion. Several months after ‘mov ing,’ a man. who had always been in good health, came down with con sumption. Investigation on the part of the family physician revealed the fact that the previous tenant had con sumption. To those who do not be lieve in germs this means nothing or is at most a trifling coincidence. "Another physician tells of four private secretaries who contracted consumption one after the other and died. They worked for the same em ployer, who had a chronic cough and expectorated promiscuously about him on the floor. Another instance is furnished by the death of four young railroad clerks within a period of three years of this disease. They were employed in the same office in which worked an elderly clerk with a chronic cough and who was careless of his sputum.” JAPAN TURNS TO BEEF. New Policy Adopted in Belief it Will Inc.-ease People’s Stature. It is rather startling after all that has been said and written regarding the rice and fish diet of the Japanese to learn that their government has established large farms with a view to obtaining sufficient cattle for slaughter, so that each day some flesh food may be distributed to their sol diers, says the Sait Lake Tribune, it has been heraled far and wide that the many reasons for the wonderful victories of the Japanese armies dur ing the late war with Russia lay in the great stamina and endurance of the little yellow warriors, who heretofore had lived exclusively on fish and rice. So this new policy of the Mikado s advisers will cau.e much surprise and also considerable regret among the advocates of vegetarianism. This new measure L part of a plan which, so it is hoped by the authori ties. will result in increasing the height of the race. The superior stat ure of the white races has been the envy of ihe natives ever since the in vasion of the former into the islands, and much consideration has been given to means of lengthening their own bodies. So now a flesh diet is to be tried. A number of observa tions give color to the hope that it may prove effective. Thus the tribe or clan of wrestlers, who are of con siderable importance in Japan and who there live almost apart from the rest of the people and whose diet con sists largely of meat, present individ uals of a gigantic stature. Under the ancient regime, the eat ing of fle. h was regarded with great horror by the whole population. The nobles aione tasted at times the flesh of the wild boar, as a fitting end to an exciting hunt. But within the last twenty-five years the consumption of meat has spread among the people, until now in the streets of the cities booths are to be found in plain view, where for a small sum generous por tions of boiling beef or of horseflesh can be bought. The Europeans ana the Americans who have lived in Japan for thirty years or so, or those who revisit that land after a long absence, testify that even now this partial introduction of a meat diet has modified the physical appearance of the laboring classes. The men are less pale and more muscular. It ap pears also that their stature has been considerably increased, at least among; the coolies and military. On the con trary, among the artisans and other workers of sedentary habits, w ho con tinue to Live on rice and vegetables, we find, as heretofore, many individ- j uals of exceeding small stature. A Persistent Calle.*. “I lunched with Winston Churchill is London.” said a journalist, “during his remarkable campaign. This bril !\vnt young cabinet minister, with | his American blood through h-s moth |er and his ducal Mood through his father, praised Amercan journalists. “He gave me an example of our I perseverance. Not le-s than forty [ seven American correspondents called !on him at the board of trade offices for an interview one week on the American tariff, anu as none of them had sufficiently good credentials he refused to see them. ' Finally a co-respondent came wit* a Utter from Mr. Lloyd-George, and him Mr. Churchill saw giadly. 'Do you know,' he said to the young man, 'that I, have refused to see forty-seven of your compatriots on this very subject?’ “'I ought to know it.’ the corres pondent answered, ‘for I'm the whole forty-seven.’ Philadelphia Bulletin. A Sheep’s Remarkable Sagacity. A well-known Australian naturalist writes in the Wide World Magazine* “Whilst in a Victorian township re cently, I had the privilege of photo graphing a sheep which had achieved quite a reputation, and which, under similar conditions, would in primitive ages probably have been held sacred. The sheep is usually supposed to be the most stupid of animals, but these ar<* the facts of this particular case. A beautiful child, four or five years old, was stricken down by a serious illness. Upon missing the child, its inseparable companion, the sheep at once commenced a systematic investi gation of yards, barns, and roads. Meeting with no success, the anxious animal ultimately entered the house, bleating inquiringly, pushed open the door of the once merry little iai's bedroom, and approached the bed, where it showed obvious signs of de light that its perseverance was at last rewarded After that the faithful creature watched regularly at the front door, bleating eagerly for en trance. Sad to relate, the little lad died. The sheep seemed to know that something unusual had occurred, and, when a length the coffin was placed in the hearse, followed behind it among a crowd of mourners, and re fused to be turned away from the cemetery gates. When the coffin was lowered in the grave the animal stood disconsolately beside it, feebly bleating. The grief-stricken mother assured me that she believed no mourner, comparatively speaking, grieved more deeply for the child than his pet sheep. TWO COWS MODE PER EIGHTY ACRES EIGHT MILLION HEAD WOULD THUS BE ADDED TO THE CHICAGO ZONE. The Chicago Drover’s Journal re cently; published an editorial contain ing some unique and timely ideas. The west is no longer able to supply feeding cattle to the farmers of Wis consin, Missouri, lowa, Illinois, Indi ana and Ohio, except at almost fat steer prices. The situation is grow ing more acute each year. There must he a greater effort toward home pro duction of beef steers. Within 500 miles of Chicago, east, west, juui south, is an area equal to four .'mil lion iarms of 80 acres each, and the argument is that an average of two more cows could and should be profit ably produced on two million such farms. These extra cows with their* offspring would increase the present! production by eight million head. “Where is the farmer who owns a SC-acre tract, who by practicing a little economy, could not raise at least two head of beef cattle more each year for practically the same cost of the present output” is asked. “The very foundation of agricult ural wealth is corn and cattle and the economy of farming demands that 75 to 80 per cent of the corn crop be fed to cattle and hogs.” Because farmers consider the price of feed too high and quit cattle, "there is now a great er stock of old corn on hand than it the past decade.” It is urged that if more corn is not fed to cattle its price will de crease and finally reduce the price of land and that the proposed in crease of two cows per 80-acres would mean salvation of husbandry. Consumption <ff live stock is increas ing faster than production while feed is being grown in larger quantity than is needed by beef animals. AIR BETTER THAN MEDICINE. Medicineless, knifeless cures are giving life and healih to children in the higfa Alps of Swiferland. There Dr. Henri Rollier, of France, has a chalet buiit with three walled rooms, the fourth wall being the open air. The boys’ dormitory is like a large veranda, where the dhildren He naked on their brass beds and play. The girls do likewise in their similar dor mitories, and when boys and girts play together they satisfy eonven tionalites by a mere breech clout. Withered legs, arms, hip disease, bronchia) weaknesses, anemia, nerv ous afflictions, tuberculosis of lungs and bones, rickets and many other maladies all respond to the sunlight sanatorium. I>r. Rollier teaches that if we can live in sun in the pure air and can breathe properly nothing else mnch matters. That is why in the dead of winter, with thermometers shiveriagly low. Dr. Rollier’s little pa tients do not shiver hut are as warm and happy out in the cold without clot hes a® the city child covered with unhealthful blanket*. Almost every disease is due to bad blood. And there is only one way to purify the biood and that is pure air. If the air that enters the lungs has been filled with dirt the Mood that comes to be cleansed goes out worse than it came in. pad breathing not only destroys the physical health, but also the mental. Children afflicted with adenoids become dull, some times criminal. Their blood is poi soned by their ir.outk breathing, the adenoids t 'rmicc a complete obstruc tion to nose i/eathing. And tip *e 1 the cause of degeneracy.