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Some Good Magazine Reading.
. - IN . . OMAN’S WORLD. Many a homemaker intends during the autumn, to refurnish a room or to trans form it from the ugly and the common place to something beautiful to look up on, but it is impossible to gain this re sult without planning the entire treat ment beforehand and realizing, above all things, that tlie walls and floors are the first consideration. If you have certain things you wish to put in the room or a certain style of fur niture which you wish to bay for it. and know how you want it to'look when fin ished, keep that furniture and general effect desired in your mind's eye, and then choose your wall treatment so as to give the best background and so that it will accentuate the good poipts of the room s contents. For a bedroom the colors and patterns on the walls shos.ld be restful, producing a quiet effect. There should be no spot tiness, no possibility of thespattern run ning in lines to weary the eye. But a plain paper makes a better back ground than a»:y figured hanging, be it the costilest, and as all bedrooms, not usually large, are cut up by several win dows, leaving little wall space against which to hang pictures and brackets, the plain paper wi’ll be found far more pleas ing than a background on which, per haps, three large roses and a half dispute the decorative rights with a statuette cr a water-color. Rose color and silver make a combina tion most dainty and charming for a bed room, .or pale green and silver, while a touch of gilt may be. used effectively in stead of silver, such as a gilt picture ran. Plain papers are made to resemble cer tain goods, the grain and color of the ma terial being exactly copied in the paper, and some pretty papers are made to imi tate old tapestries, not expensive and in excellent taste, for a little reception room. There are. too, moire papers of delicate tints, made to represent silk. For dining rooms leather papers touch ed up with metal may be used, but three colors seem to dominate—red. green and yellow—each of which makes a good background, according to the kind of furniture placed against it. Oak with the red paper and mahogany with the green or the yellow. In the halls lattice paper looks well, and these have rather large floral de signs, with the lattice showing here and there. It is said tlrat the old pictorial wall papers are coming back with the revival things ancient and quaint. One remembers a huge old bandbox stowed away in an ancestral country house which is covered with the most fascinating wall paper—an indescribable blue ground with Elizabethan trouba dours playing a guitar on the terrace of a castle and. a great peacock strutting about. This might be effective in a large hall, but imagine a room actually paper ed in this deeply, darkly, dreadfully blue paper, and several hundred troubadours twanging their guitars if you wished a quiet effect in a bedroom decoration. After a long and hard struggle for supremacy the bare floor with rugs has become the established fact, and solved the problem in favor of sanitation, beau ty and easier hoasework. although the bare floor, like the carpeted one, has to be kept clean at the price of energy and watchfulness. Quite a good second best to the hard wood floor, waxed and polished, is the stained or painted floor, if the cracks have been filled with a pulp made by boiling shredded newspapers in strong alum water, a task the amateur can per form to her entire satisfaction. Dishwashing, though, has long ceased to be the bete noir that it was in the era e£ iron pots and-heavy pans. Manufac turers have not vied with each other in vain to produce stew pans and other cooking receptacles which shall represent a minimum of weight and a maximum of wear. And although they have not yet reached this much-desired result, they have made long strides toward it. Aluminum utensils gave great promise, and, when they first appeared, were as light in weight as it is possible to con ceive of metal articles being. But they were of short endurance, because their thin surfaces became dented so easily. Aluminum utensils now are made with metal of a heavier body, and are conse quently more practical, although not so easily handled. ©ne of the most satisfactory wares is an enamelling on steel. Dishes of it are light in weight, easily kept in condition and neat in appearance. The old idea that poisons are used in the manufacture of certain agte and other enamelled wares is said to be no longer true, although in the days of their first use such conditions did exist. But it is obviously unsafe to employ a dish for cooking from which the enamel is scaling or flaking. With the ever-useful and highly practical iroti dishcloth and a plentiful use of sandstone and alkaline preparations, in which the market abounds, the white or gray linings of the cooking utensils are easily kept from be coming discolored. . • * • Everybody—that is, everybody who -assumes that life i? worth living—takes a bath at night, but-a good many people feel too many duties pressing insistently upon them to stop for & hath *hen they rise in the morning. And yet tile mo ment when she lifts her head from the pillow is the worst in the day to man) a woman, especially in the hot weather. She feels languid and “headachy,” leth argic and carries dull eyes and face to the breakfast table. A cold shower bath and a brisk rub would brighten her eyes and enable her to begin the day with a smile. h'ailing the shower, a plunge bath will serve, and if this be inconvenient, a brief sponge at the washbowl will set the blood circulating to clear the heavy head. Then drink something immediately on rising. A quantity of cold water is beneficial. Some people get a better effect from a glass of hot water with half a lemon squeezed in it. The principle of the early morning drink is that it W’ashes out the stomach, which during the long hours of the night becomes coated with mucus. It tones up the digestive apparatus and gets it ready for w-ork. Then, if ■ the woman puts on perfectly clean clothes and gets hve minutes in the fresh morn ing air outside, taking full, deep breaths, she will feel like a different creature. This may sound like a good deal of time for a busy woman to spend at the begin ning of things, but it will not amount to more than fifteen minute extra. There are few people who are not af flicted with blackheads. The best way to get rid of them is constant and tireless application. The face should be washed three or four times a day, and at night warm water should be used with soap, rub gently but firmly, and wipe dry with a soft, old towel. Then rub with h silk handkerchief. This treatment, kept up for months, will insure success. There are quicker ways, However. The general method for treating black heads is to steam the face until every unimpeded pore is in an active condition, and the contents of the inactive ones are softened. Then gently squeeze each lit tle black spot until it come3 out of its resting place, using the finger-nails, pro tected by a fine handkerchief; or, better still, press the spots with the end of a hollow watch-key which has a broad rim around the opening, when the little plugs will come to the surface with no sur rounding irritation. The bare finger nails are said to poison or greatly irritate the skin. Anoint each spot as soon as it is cleared with vaseline or olive oil, rubbing the unguent in very gently. When the spots have been thus treated, lather the face well with fine soap and very warm water, rubbing the affected portion quite vigorously for some min utes. Then wash off every particle of the soap or lather, and then rub with a soft, rough towel. • * • The majority of flowers begin to wither after being kept in water for twenty-four hours. A few may be reviv ed by giving them fresh water with a pinch of saltpetre in it; and even quite withered flowers can be restored by plac ing them in a jug of boiling water deep enough to cover at least one-third of the stems. When the water has cooled, the flowers should be bright and erect again. They may now be inserted in fresh cold water, after having shortened their stems by about an inch. Thin petaled, white and light hued flowers, however, do not revive so completely under this treatment as deep hued, thick petaled blossoms. A raw egg is an excellent tonic and is very strengthening. If prepared in the following way it is really a delicious drink:—Put the yolk of an egg into a dish with a teaspoonful of orange or lemon juice, and beat lightly together with a fork. Put the whites on a plate, and add a pinch of salt; then, with a broad bladed knife, beat it to a stiff froth. Now, as lightly as possible mix all together in the dish; then as lightly transfer it to a clean tumbler, which it will nearly fill if properly made. It must not stand in a warm place, as it soon becomes liquid and loses its snowy look. Any fruit juice may be used in place of orange or lemon. • * • The all-white petticoat is no longer a much befrilled affair. Flat embroidery is used instead of lace insertions and ruf fles on the best skirts. The deep flounce is finished with an embroidered scal loped edge, and either embroidery or flat applications of lace fill in the space given over to decoration. When it comes to hosiery designed especially for evening wear the pen fal ters, for incrustations, lace medallions, sparkling jeweled paillettes and dainty hand painted designs render such femi nine accessories truly exquisite. • * • A little turpentine dissolved in warm water is the best thing with which to wash window giass, mirrors or glass globes, says the “Delineator.” A little al cohol will also do wonders in brightening glass. Turpentine is excellent for wash ing sinks. * Pretty dressing tables have returned to favor, the Pompadour being the favorite style. The draperies are in blue and pink, pink and green, or bine and mauve and a large silver iooking glass is an ad dition to the luxurious effect. • * • A foreign way to cook oatmeal sub stitutes milk for water in the eook'ng process. This method adds not only to the nourishing quality of the food, but imparts a delicacy that quite transforms this breakfast dish. BEDS AND PILLOWS r Pructicnl Hints For Nightly Comfort and Daintiness. As almost one-third of the time is passed in bed it is desirable to have a comfortable one to lie on. This sage observation leads the New Idea Mag azine to further remark as follows: Old fashioned feather beds are still found in many country homes and are highly prized by their owners, but they have been entirely superseded in city bouses b^ the hair nfattress. No mattress filling is so comfortable and durable as horsehair, and none is so ex pensive. The wool mattress usually sold contains flyings, scraps and even rags torn up and pucked in. They arc usually quite comfortable at first, but soon become hard, and unless there are good springs underneath them they make a very poor bed. Mattresses that are made in two sections are prefera ble to the full sized ones for large dou ble beds. Feather pillows that are in constant use should be aired at least once a month; pinned to a clothesline and beaten with a whip, then left ex posed to the fresh air for several hours. A shady place should be chosen, be cause sunshine is apt to draw the oil out of the feathers and give them a disagreeable smell. An excellent plan for preserving bed ticks from dust and dirt Is to Inclose them In a case of unbleached muslin. Make this slip a little larger each way than the tick and sew it up on both sides and at the top. Hem the lower edges, work five buttonholes at regular intervals on one side and put the but tons on the other side to correspond. This slip can be removed and washed when needed, thus keeping the bed clean. Cover the pillows in the same way, put the white muslin slip over it, and the stripes of the ticking will not show through. Pillows that are in constant use re quire a thorough cleaning every year. Empty the feathers out into an old tick or sack, tying them securely. If the ticking of the pillows is new, do not fade the colors by boiling it, but put it in a strong suds made by dis solving any sort of washing powder in hot water. Allow it to soak for fifteen minutes and then rub it on a wash board or in a washing machine 'and pass it through a wringer. Prepare a second suds and proceed in the same way, rinsing through two clear waters, turning it the wrong side out and hang ing it out to dry. The proper size for pillows is about j 21 by 27 inches. An Antnmn Shirt Waist. This neat flannel shirt will be found a useful fall garment. The orthodox square yoke receives the fullness at the back, while the front is set into PLAKNEIi WAIST FOB MOI1NIKO 'WEAK. j small tailor tucks, with Inverted plaits from the shoulders, ornamented with mitered straps. A deep, square yoke lining, hooking up the front. Is first arranged, on to which the left front to some two Inches beyond the center of the shoulder plait is set, the right front, with one side of the plait and its mitered strap, hooking over to meet it. Uhls yoke lining keeps the shirt straight and shipshape. A Well Filled Darter Drawer. Have a duster drawer and keep it .well filled. Mrs. Smith makes all of her flour sacks up into these useful ar ticles and says she never has less than a dozen at a time and many times has double the number. She hems them nicely. They are washed and ironed with the rest of the laundry work, and when she wants to dust the furniture, wash and wipe the lamp chimneys and globes she opens the drawer and feels an added respect for herself every time Bhe shakes out a nice, clean duster. With many housekeeper? "any old thing” will do to dust with. Mats For Piano Key *. Mats for piano keys are used in some houses to keep the dust away. They are made of a long strip of white cloth or Roman satin, with a musical staff worked all along in black filoselle, with a few bars of a tunc worked with black velvet notes. Jewelry Koto*. The oval form seems to predominate In latent sleeve links, and some very beautifully wrought gold ones are set with uilsmated gems. The latest fob fashion for ladies is to wear a tiny watch as a pendant, with the upper end of the fob hooked into the bett in chatelaine style. Turquoise,- topaz and amethyst are favorite jewels for umbrella handles. Shallow, wide crescents of pearls In many shades form Uncommon pins. ▲ revived feeling for the monogram seems to manifest ltmlf, ^ - • THE FARM -IN- -X THE HILLS A TALE OF MYSTERY. BY FLORENCE WARDEN. Copyright, 1899, By Florence Warden. Masson, bewildered alia dazzled by the change Into light and warmth, al' most staggered when he found himself once more on a level floor. The farmer had advanced to the fire and, bending to warm his hands in the blaze, said a few words to the old woman. They formed a question, Masson knew by the tone. But he could not understand It, as It was in the Welsh language. As the farmer’s thin, muscular hands were stretched out over the flames Masson caught sight of a ring on the little Anger of his right hand which caused him to shudder with a horror Which chided his blood. It was an old fashioned ring, of sin gular design. Ita a broad band of gold deeply and heavily chased was set a circle of plain gold half ah inch wide, in which was an amethyst of a deep purple color. A most singular ring, not to be mis taken for another; old fashioned, quaint, clumsy, handsome, with an old time beauty of good workmanship and of old association. For Reginald Masson recognized It as a ring which had belonged to his own grandfather, a ring which his brother Granville had worn always on the little finger of his left hand. CHAPTER V. A HOUSE OF MYSTERY. Reginald Masson could not repress an exclamation when he recognized his brother’s ring on the fanner’s hand. He came a step nearer, still with his eyes steadily fixed on the jewel, until at last he touched It with his trembling finger. The fanner, who had watched him in some surprise, frowned and drew back as the other advanced “I beg your pardon,” said Masson quickly, “but—the ring on your finger —I—I—have only seen-one like it be fore-" As he spoke he came a step nearer still and seized the farmer’s hand. His own agitation increased as he examined the ring more closely and assured himself beyond a doubt that it was indeed his brother’s. "I—I— Will you tell me how you got it? You must forgive the question. You will for give it when I tell you that when I last saw the ring it was upon the hand of my own brother.” His feelings had by this time pos sessed him so strongly that he dropped the hand of the farmer, which had remained passive and cold in his, and supported himself for a few moments against the wall by the fireplace. The awful fears as to his brother’s fate which had filled his heart for so long had, upon this strange discovery, reached the point oS acute agony. Al though he felt, be knew, that he had need of all his coolness, of all his self possession, to get at the heart of the mystery upon the borders of which he found himself, neither feeling nor knowledge helped him in that first aw ful moment. “My brother! My poor brother!” His lips formed the words, but did' not utter them. He was unable to see or to think. The pitiful consciousness that the ring was now nothing but a relic of the dead unnerved, overwhelm ed liim. The farmer’# husky voice roused him afte* the lapse of a few seconds. "It’s very strange, sir; very strange, If what you say should turn out to be true,” said he, less brusquely than be fore. “But, for sure, It’s a most un 'COmmon ring, and It’s true I haven’t had It long, nor I can’t tell who had it before me.” j Masson had roused himself already from the despondency and despair Into which the first sight of the ring had thrown him. As he tUrhed toward the farmer the latter took the ring from [ his Anger and put It Into the trembling hand of his guest “Maybe,” went on the farmer, “you’ll ) see some marks, If you look at it close, ' by which you may tell for certain one i way or the other.” Reginald nodded. “I can identify It beyond all shadow of a doubt,” said he In a broken voice. “It was left to my brother by my mother’s father. How did It come into your possession?” “I’ll tell you all about it, sir, present ly, when you have seen my daughter," said he. “But meantime you’re wel come to keep it, sir, till you’ve heard all there is to tell about 11 When you have heard that, you’ll be able to say for certain, I expect, whether the ring was your brother’s. This way, sir, piease. The matter of the ring, singular as It 1 was, seemed to hare but little interest | for him, so deeply, absorbed was he in anxiety for his daughter. But It was not unnatural that he should appear to look with something like suspicion at a guest who had made so strange a claim. As Masson advanced, there fore, toward the inner door, which was held open for him to pass through, the farmer watched him narrowly with his keen black eyes. And Masson, returning his gaze, was more Impressed than before by a coun tenance which changed so rapidly in its expression from despair to curiosity and back again to despair. They passed into the back room, formed by the remaining portion of the refectory. U .WAS evidently used j as a washhouse, bakehouse and as a | oiaca of atonuMuunt os s lirine room, I wimwHimiiMWKSiKiMiMmxau The walls were characterized by tne same free use of whitewash as in the big kitchen, a beautiful arcade witti clusters of slender pillars on the left hand side, which time had defaced but little, having been included in this modern “restoration.” In one corner was a rough wooden staircase, with a small landing at the top. On each side of this was a door, and, having ascended the stairs with the farmer, Masson followed him into a large room at the back, where there were two small beds and a few pieces of substantial old fashioned furniture. There were some strips of drugget on the clean floor. There were curtains of bright turkey red over the win dows, of which there were two, look ing west. A fire was burning in a small grate on the right, and the whole loom showed the cleanliness and care which had been noticeable in the kitch en. On the top of a chest of drawers the farmer pointed out a little medi cine chest. Only one of the beds was occupied, and as the farmer led the way toward It the girl lying In it turned her head quickly and fixed upon the stranger a pair of large, glittering eyes. Masson took the chair beside the bed which the farmer placed for him and looked at her by the light of a candle which her father brought across the room from the mantelpiece. While he made his examination the girl continued to stare at him fixedly, and as she did so her brows gradual ly contracted’ with a slight frown. Not a word had been uttered by any one of the three. At last the farmer spoke. “Well, sir?” said he in a tremulous voice. Masson looked up quickly and was touched to the heart. Down the farm er’s thin, swarthy face the tears were streaming like rain. “She’s very ill, ain’t she. sir? My poor Gwyn.” “She’s ill certainly, but you mustn’t give way like that,” said Masson. He had taken the girl’s hand and was feeling her pulse. The moment he spoke he felt a strong tremor run through her, and, glancing at her quickly, he saw that the strained, in tent look with which she had previ ously regarded him had changed to an expression of terror. Still she did not utter a sound. Perceiving that for some reason which he could not divine his patient : looked upon him with fear, if not mis trust, the young doctor hastened to leave the room after uttering a few more reassuring words, each one of which seemed, however, to have the effect of deepening the impression of horror with which he appeared to hare Inspired her. When he reached the door, Masson threw, in turning to leave the room, one last glance at the girl. She had raised her head a little, the better to watch him, and her lips were moving rapidly, as if she were forming words with her mouth which something with in hade her not to utter. So much struck was he by this atti- : tude of his patient that he turned to her father and said in a low voice: “Is she always shy and afraid rff strangers? My coming seems to alarm her terribly.” “No, sir,” answered the farmer. “Gwyn’s not »o shy, considering she lives in the wilds.'’ The girl was still watching with the same feverish intentness, and Masson, He had taken the girl’s hand and tea* who began to fear that this horror or aversion on her part would interfere with his chances of success with .the case, went back to the bedside In the hope of finding some words to say to her which would put him on a more favorable footing. But on seeing him approach, she sank back on her pillow and closed her eyes. He stood for a few seconds looking at her face, which was that of a well grown, handsome girl of some. 18 or 20 years, with masses of black hair, and then, as she kept her eyes resolutely shut and still uttered no word, he withdrew without disturbing her. At the door, however, for the second time, he saw that ahe had raised her head to watch him go out. A STRANGE MIDNIGHT VISITATION. The fanner scarcely waited to d$s« tha door of the room feeling her pulse. CHAPTER VI. lng the doctor. “Will she get over It, sir? Will she get over it? It’s no use deceiving me, sir. I know she’s very ill. But—will my dear get over It? Or will she—Will she” His voice faltered and died away. Great drops of sweat stood upon his forehead. He clutched the doctor’s arm in a grip of iron. “We must always hope for the best,” began the doctor. ^ut at these doubtful words the farmer spurned him with so much vio lence that it was only by a quick move ment that Masson escaped being flung down the stairs on the tiles of the out house below. “I beg pardon, I beg pardon, sir," cried the farmer, contrite immediately, as he held out a beseeching hand to ward the guest he had a/moment be fore treated so roughly. “But if you knew how I feel, what it would mean to me if—if my girl—my bonny girl was to die”— Again his voice shook so much that it was almost inaudible, “you’d forgive me.” He was trembling so much that he staggered and held on by the rough stair rail for support. Masson, who had gone down two or three steps, looked up with warm pity into his drawn and quivering face. “Indeed,” said the doctor, “I am tell ing you the truth when I say you have no need to give up hope. Your daugh ter is very 111, there Is no denying that. But she is young. She has a fine phy sique, and we may well hope to pull ner tnrougn. » “What do you call the fever, sir, that she’s got?” “Pneumonia.” “Ah! That comes of cold, don’t It?” “Yes.” “That’s got by being out in all weathers, looking after the live stock when I was ill myself. Poor Gwyn! My poor little Gwyn! If you knew what she was like, sir; what a sun sine she is about the place, why you wouldn’t be surprised at my taking on so!” “Do you leave her alone up there?” asked Masson. “No, sir. I was up with her myself all night, and her granny’s been with her all day, till Gwyn herself sent her down stairs to got my tea for me. And tonight it’s her brother’s turn, only he’s afraid, the Blockhead!” “I’ll do the watching tonight. But I should like you to tell her who I am; that I’m a doctor and that there’s noth ing to be alarmed about. She seems to be afraid of me.” “Whj\ yes, sir; I noticed it myself. I’ll speak to her. And thank you kind ly, sir, for your offer. I won’t refuse, for you’ll know what to do for the best, for sure, and you wouldn’t let her die, a young thing like that, If you could help it, sir; that I know.” “Of course not. But you have more to hope from her youth and strength than from anything I or any one else ,can do.” | “And now come, sir, and have a bite of something yourself. You must be starved, after all these hours in the cold. Come, sir; come, and you’re heartily welcome to the best we’ve got.” Transformed into the most attentive of hosts to the guest who was ready to try to save his daughter, the farmer drew Masson into the kitchen, where another figure, that of a thickset, heavy looking lad of 16 or 17, now com pleted the strange party. He was sitting cowering over the fire in his rough shepherd’s dress, and when told by his father to lay the table for supper, he rose clumsily, pulled his hair by way of salutation to the gue$t and shambled awkwardly toward the dresser in obedience. “This gentleman,” said the farmer, introducing Masson, “is a doctor, and he’s promised to sit up with your sis ter, Tom. So you can make yourself easy, you can go to bed yourself and snore yourself hoarse.” Tom raised his head at this intelli gence, and it was evident that he was muci} relieved in his mind by it. He saluted again and quickened his pace as he laid the cloth on the table. The old grandmother meanwhile sat by the fire in exactly the same position as when Masson had first entered the house. And she watched the stranger in exactly the same way as before, moving her eyes, but not her head, and looking, now that he was less dazzled by the lights and able to take a better view of her, more like a witch than ever. The farmer, whose sense of hospital ity had grown keen with his gratitude to the doctor, now insisted on his com ing up stairs again to his own room, taking off his overcoat and his wet boots and putting on a pair of carpet slippers belonging to the farmer him self. This bedroom, which was over the kitchen, contained two beds, like the other, and was furnished in the same plain and solid manner. An absence of the few small pictures and ornaments which had relieved the severity of the back room was the chief point of dis tinction of the apartment occupied by the farmer and his son. Everywhere there was the same exquisite cleanli ness; everywhere the same prevalence of whitewash. Here, as in the other rooms, the old windows had been filled up with bricks and mortar, and new ones, small, mean, latticed, had been Introduced into the depths of the old monastic walls. Masson hurried down stairs after the farmer, eager and anxious to learn the history of the ring which his host had promised to tell him. He feared, however, from the indif ference with which he had treated the subject that the farmer could have but little to relate. If he had known of a tragedy connected with the fate of its late possessor, he could not have hand ed the relic so readily, so calmly, to the first man who came to him with a tale about it. On the other hand, it •earned nrobahls that Masson’s In- j THE WEELITTLES IN THE TYROL 'r’Y-ROL. Coftrw/I -j-fze Hsit/y ToF’etesM. J.dd.y poser <rr <r yYerr. FIN’D THE PEASANT WOMAN. qulrles would set fAe farmer thinking and that gratitude for services-render ed to his daughter might make him 1 ready to do his best to assist the doc tor in his researches into the mystery. It was not until after supper was over, however, that Masson got a chance of speaking upon the subject so near to his heart. The old woman had disappeared; had gone up to Gwyn, so the farmer explained. The three men had the meal by themselves. Nothing was now good enough for the stranger, whose first appearance had been made so unpropitiously. The farmer and his son both waited upon him, pressed him to do justice to the well spread board and treated him with the utmost deference and cour tesy. There was a fourth piatg upon the table, which Masson supposed to have been placed for the old woman. How ever, when supper was half over, the farmer rested his knife and fork for an instant on the table and asked shortly: “Where’s Merrick?” Tom, who was chary of his words and who seemed also to speak English with difficulty, shook his head. “I declare,” went ou the farmer, whose appetite had been so much af fected by his anxiety for his daughter that he ate but little, “I’d forgotten all about the fellow. Hasn’t he been in?” “In and out again,” answered his son laconically. “When he heard”— Tom turned his eyes slyly and shyly in the direction of the guest and said uo more. The farmer turned to Masson. “Too shy, the great oaf, to come in when he heard of a stranger being here, sir!” said he. “Another son of yours?” asked the doctor. “No, sir, but my hand on the fartn. He and me and Tom does it all, ’cept ing for the help we used to get from poor Gwyn, and a extry hand or so in the lambing season and to get in such poor crops as we have up here. And now, sir, if you please to smoke, will you light up your pipe and take this chair in the corner?” Supper being over, Tom cleared the table in the same awkward manner in which he had laid it, and then disap peared, with half a loaf of bread in one hand and a heaped up plateful of meat in the other. “They’re pals, those two,” said the farmer, jerking his head back in the direction his son had taken, as he went j up stairs himself to take another look at his daughter. “Always hang to gether, do Merrick and Tom.” And the farmer shut the door be tween the kitchen and the washhouse with a nod to Masson which was meant as an apology for leaving him to himself. Let alone, comfortably seated in the large armchair by the glowing fire which was built up of peat and logs, the young doctor stretched out his legs in a moment’s blissful ease of j body, a moment’s triumph of the frame over the spirit. Worn out by .the long day’s climbing and struggling, straining of the eyes and stress of the mind. Reginald Mas son snif inert, motionless, with all his faculties benumbed, in a delicious,, drowsy sense of peace. For a moment I even his desperate anxiety about his j brother’s fate was dulled. He sat back With his head on the old red cushion, hearing the roaring and whistling of the wind without listening to it, the hissing of the hard snow showers against the window panes, and the crackling of the fire as the flakes came down the chimney and, melting as they fell, reached the glowing logs which spluttered a'd then burned the more fiercely for the moisture. He closed his eyes, and presently, lulled by the warmth, the comfort, worn out by fatigue both of body and mind, hg sank into a doze. Without waking he found himsell* undergoing a curious experience. He felt or dreamed or fancied that he was dying and that the mourners who were to ac company his body to the grave side were bending over him, waiting for the end. He thought or dreamed or fancied that they grew impatient; that they called each other’s attention to the | wind which was rising and to the storm which was beginning to rage and nuinsuMd that thar must malt a haste, make^fcste. He heard ^oe murmurs with sum* faint surprise, but without any sensa tion so vivid as horror or fear. And then he thought that ,a hand was laid upon his chest and that it crept closer and closer to his face. At that point he thought that he cried out and sat up. And then the murmurs ceased, and the hand was withdrawn. Then he started up and staggered and looked around him, with the icy grip of a great terror on his heart. lie knew he had been asleep, and lie saw at once that his slumber must have lasted some time, for the fire had died down, and he was cold. A great draft of chilly air was blow ing in from somewhere, and he per ceived that the door in the side wall by which the lad Tom had gone oat had been left ajar. On the clean floor in a direct line to and from this door were footprints, still quite' wet. The candles on the mantelpiece had been blown out before they had burn ed down appreciably lower than they had been at supper time. But the most uncanny discovery of all was that on the floor beside the chair in which he had been sitting there were some biscuit crumbs and a tiny fragment of torn envelope. With quick suspicion Masson thrust his hand into that one of his coat pock ets which had been the most easily ac cessible and, pulling out the contents, found that the scrap of paper exactly corresponded with the missing cor ner of a torn envelope he carried there and the crumbs with a broken biscuit Worn out by fatigue both of mind and body, he sank into a doze. he had brought from the hotel at Tre coed. The rest of the pocket’s con tents were equally valueless, and noth ing had been taken away. Nevertheless he felt a chill run through his bones at the certain knowl edge that some person or persons had come into the room while he slept and had begun an examination of his pockets, which would probably have resulted in robbery if he or they had not been disturbed. Robbery! Would they have stopped at that? % For, putting up his hand to his neck, he found that the white silk muffler, which he had wound about his neck in place of his wet collar, had been un tied. (To be continued.) The English 3achslor. Women will notice particularly that th« marriage rate among the loaders of Eng lishmen is very low just now. says “Mod em Society.” It is the age of bachelors. The Premier is a bachelor, and, indeed, the first bachelor to attain that position since the'time of William Pitt, Lord Kitchener, our most notable soldier, and Lord Milner, our most prominent admin istrator, are both unmarried; so, too, is the Bishop of London, who is r.ct far from being the most prominent man in the church. France has long been cursed with petticoat influence in politics, and we have had some experience of the plague of women behind the scenes at tha' War Office. The triumph of the Foiy Great Bachelors seems to point to a quiy and effective Revolt of Man! \ Lord Kitchener lias notoriously a prer-, crence for unmarried officers. The pref erence of the young women of England for unmarried officers is equally notori ous. It will he interesting to see which will win.