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ibc ^iUiston ©rajihit R. H. Copeland, Publisher. WILLISTON, N. DAK. JUST TO KEEP. I'a cot a lot n' things at my house Just to keep. I's got atop 'at's busted, AD' a dog 'at's lost tier hair. An' a doll 'at's made o' woosted— But his head an' tall ain't therel An' I got a ol' tin swistlc, What my gromraa give to me, An' a reg'lar shootin' pistol! Yes. sir! Big as big can be! Think such things ain't good tor socicthlnt Well, I like 'em just a heap: If they nin't no good for nothin", Why. got 'em just to keep. Th' other day, when it was rainin', Bess an' me played hide and seek, An' I hid up in the attic, Where I heard somefin' go "skreek!" Bet I's scared! But 'twa'n't no goblins— Only my ma sittin' there By a ol' chest full o' flxin's .'At I ain't seen no one wear Was a lot o' little dresses, All in pink an' blue an' white: My ma she'd been cr.vin' on 'em, An' she hugged me awful tight! When I asked her why she's cryin',' What it was 'at paade her weep. She says: "Xothin', darlin', nothin': Just some old things—just to keep." mt—Charles F. McClure. in Chicago Post BARBARA'S DOOR-MAT. BY JULIA K. LOT IN. N O A S stood on the white a a a brightly-pa in boat, tapping her foot impatiently. "What on earth a a girl?" she com] plained. "We shal be late." Margery laugh ed. "She is moan ing over tli at hid eous twine mat of hers. Don pulled out a great piece of it, and I stumbled over Don while he was strangling him self with the cord, and ripped out an other row." "That mat," said Aunt Dorcas, in a resigned tone, "will be the death of me. I shall steal it some day and throw it overboard. I would, indeed," she added, "only Barbara is too valua ble a servant to lose." At that moment a broad-shouldered German girl strode from the kitchen. She snatched up a pair of oars which were leaning against a tree and ap proached the shore, her face black with wrath. In the distance the wild howling of a small dog- disturbed the serenity of a peaceful day. "What have you done with Don?" questioned Aunt Dorcas, meekly. "I haf tied him to a string," replied Barbara, grimly. "Dot tog, dot Don, dot wicked hund! tear my fine mat. It costen me one, two, tree tol lars, a'ready once. This time I lick him." She tossed the oars into the boat with a great clatter, and lumbered in after them. As she settled herself on the thwart, Aunt Dorcas whispered: "Now she will sulk all the way to the landing. I wish the boat were large enough to accommodate yoTi, dear. I only hope you won't be lonesome." Then she added, in a still more guarded tone: "Don't unfasten Don until we are out of sight, for he would be sure to follow us he always does if he can, and Barbara would be in a towering passion. Poor fellow! How he cries he knows w,e. are going on the water. Once I found him wait ing on Gull's Rock. He Barbara threw the oars into the row locks with a bang, and Aunt Dorcas stepped quickly into the boat. "You will have mother with you when you come back," whispered Margery, encouragingly. Then she stood and watched the .small vessel glide swiftly from the beach, the oars flashing angrily in and out of the glistening water as the sul len German woman bent to her task. She waited until the boat slipped be hind Gull's rock. The ebbing tide left IT WAS AUNT DORCAS' LITTLE SKIFP. this mass of worn white stone stand ing high and dry against a background of dark water, but the incoming waves would submerge it completely. When the boat was lost to sight, Margery awoke to the fact that Don was protesting more vigorously than ever against his imprisonment.' "I am glad they left him," said the girl, "for this is the most deserted place I was ever in." Margery was certainly right. It would have been difficult "to find a more lonely situation. Not a dwelling in sight not so much as a puff of smoke in any direction to indicate tht pres ence of a human habitation. Though this was her first visit to Aunt Dorcas' seaside cottage, the isolation troubled Margery very little. Don almost devoured her in his grat| itude at being released. He was a beautiful white spaniel, quite as much at home in the water as on lq,nd. He accompanied Margery on her tour of inspection, and amused her greatly by chasing the awkward fiddler-crabs as they scuttled away into the sea at their approach. Time passed rapidly and pleasantly. and when the hour drew near for the boat's arrival, it occurred to Margery to prepare tea for the returning party. Entering the precincts sacred to Rar bara, she pulled the shining copper kettle forward on the spotltss stove— everything was in the highest state of polish and threw out little glints and sparks of light. Upon the snowy floor lay the immense twine mat which had cost Barbara untold hours of toil to knit, and was the apple of her eye, but Don's pet detestation. For some rea son, deeply hidden in his canine mind, he had determined that Barbara's mat should not remain on Barbara's kitch en floor. The small ball of raveledrout twine, which the German woman had as y*t not found time to reknit, lay tucked under the mat. Don sneaked slyly in at the open door, seized the ball between his sharp teeth, and dashed off toward the beach, with Margery in hot pursuit, while stitch by stitch the wonderful mat melted away, like mist before the morning sun. Margery caught the dog at last, and, pulling the twine from him, had begun to administer a severe lecture, when suddenly the words died on her lips, for her eye caught sight of an empty boat, riding lightly upon the water not many yards distant from the shore. It was Aunt Dorcas' little skiff, and the girl's heart almost ceased beating as she watched it swing idly to and fro, and asked herself what horrible thing must have happened. Don raised his head and uttered a quick, sharp bark. Margery's troubled eye traveled over the smooth expanse of water toward Gull's rock. Then she gave a great cry, for the sinking sun fell upon three femalfe figures huddled together on the very summit. She understood all. There was a grand view in the surrounding coun try from this spot, and Aunt Dorcas was in the habit of landing every new comer there, when the tide served, and pointing out the various beauties. This time the boat must have been carelessly secured, for it had evidently floated away unobserved until it was too late to recapture it. Gull's rock was not more than a quarter of a mile distant, and Margery could easily discern each separate figure. Her mother and her aunt stood together, their arms entwined and behind them towered Barbara, with the oars over her shoulders. Now and then she put the oars down and waved both arms wildly in the air and then Margery could hear that she was shouting for help. At first the girl was only slightly troubled. She be gan to try to recall in which direction their nearest neighbor lived. There was not another pair of oars on the place, and she certainly must send some one to take the boat back to the stranded party. She was wandering up and down rather vaguely, when she noticed that the waves were run ning in rapidly, and that each one, as it curled over and receded, encroached a little farther upon the sand than its predecessor. Margery will never forget that mo ment for all at once she remembered that Gull's rock was d$ep under water at high tide, and that the tide was run ning in now. Why had she wasted so much time? She mu6t run for help but where? The nearest house was half a mile away. Each time she turned toward the rock she saw that the water was creeping slowly and surely toward the summit, and the girl clasped her hands in despair and sobbed aloud as she realized her help lessness. Don's bright eyes were fixed upon the spot, too, and every now and again he would run out into the water and' utter a sharp little bark of per plexity, and then return to gaze up into Margery's face. The girl paid no attention to the small creature, but in her misery she wandered backward an.d forward, wringing her hands and moaning. Presently her foot became entangled in the twine of Barbara's mat. As she bent to free herself a thought darted through her mind. "Yes," she said aloud, "it is our only hope, our only chance." The next moment Margery was in the shining kitchen, and had seized the remains of the mat and was drag ging it down to the beach while Don, quite wild with joy, gyrated and gam boled around her, snapping and tug ging at her burden. With trembling fingers the girl pulled at the cord it was stout and strong, and raveled out smoothly and swiftly. Then she tried to calculate the distance from the beach to Gull's rock, but her agitation and fright were too great. The women stood in the same place, and the water seemed now to lap to their feet. Margery waved her hand and called. She heard an answering cry, but it sounded so faint and despairing that she did not trust herself to look again so, calling Don to her, she stroked his pretty head gently and said: "You must go, Don. You must try to reach them." The dog gazed up into her eyes with absolutely human intelligence, as though he understood the workings of her mind, while she fastened an end of the twine through his collar. Then she bent and kissed the silky, white head. At that moment, owing to some change of the wind, Barbara's voice sounded shrill across the water: "Help, Help!" "Go! go! Don, go!" exclaimed Mar gery, wildly. The dog without a moment's hesita tion seized a portion of the twine in his mouth, and dashed into the surf. He breasted the waves boldly, while Margery, stilling her trembling hands, I bent all her mind and skill to the ravel. ing of the great twine mat. Fortun ately it still ran smoothly. Row after row,melted away, and still little Don's head appeared and disappeared over I summits of the small frothy waves. I The sun had set, and the three fig ures upon the rock stood as silent and dark as bronze statues against the primrose-colored sky. Suddenly Don disappeared. Margery looked' right and left, but could not see him. Then her courage gave way. and she sank upon the sand and buried her face in her hands. She was aroused into ac tivity again by a shrill bark, and a scream in a woman's voice. Don had reached the rock in safety. Only a yard or two of the twine re mained in the girl's hand. This she fastened securely to the painter of the boat, which had meanwhile drifted in and lay almost at her feet, throbbing and trembling, ap the waves broke against its side. Running out waist-deep into the water, Margery shoved the boat before her then, warned by a wave breaking over her shoulder and drenching her to the skin, she hastened back to the beach. For some minutes, which seemed like hours to Margery, thtfboat remained stationary, and the girl's heart sank lower and lower. She called herself a wretched fool for not having gone at once for help. She started to run along the shore—where, she knew not, only she could not stand idly by while the water closed"^over those she loved best on earth. It was more than she could endure. He# feet felt like lead, and she staggered as she ran. She had gone but a little way, however, when, glancing over her shoulder, she perceived that tBpboat was moving from the shore. Do have accomplished his errand of and have been understood. SI) down on the sand and, with? hands, prayed softly, while lowed the course of the frail ve It moved merrily on, now £Vncing along with a light, jerky movement, now sailing straight ahead buipres ently the darkness of coming night shut everything from her sitrht, and Margery again covered her eyes with her hands. Hours, dreadful, hopeless hours, seemed to have passed, when her ear was gladdened by the thud of Si oar against the rowlock! She dared not believe it, but at last she ventured to raise her eyes and saw the flash of the dripping blades, and with frightened gaze counted the dim forms in the ap proaching boat. One, two, three an impatient whimper announced the presence of Don, the rescuer, the fourth in the boat. Then the girl's strained nerves gave way, and she flung herself upon the sand and wept as she had never wept before. A cold, wet nose was thrust against her cheek, and she sprang to hej: feet to find Don frisking about her, his MARGEKY SHOVED THE HER. Barbara came next, her broad face wreathed in smiles, and an immense coil of twine over her arm. "And see!" she said: "I have saved the good fish line cord. I make another mat. May I keep it, please?" "Oh, that," faltered Margery, "is—1 hope you won't be offended, but that twine was your mat." "My mat!" screamed Barbara, "my mat, that it take me the whole winter to make! Oh, you are a wicked girl! 1 leave this place to-morrow." And stalking into the kitchen she slammed the door behind her. "The ungrateful, stupid woman!" whispered Aunt Dorcas. "Let her go. It is too disgusting." For many days the most absorbing topic of conversation in the seaside cottage was the rescue from Gull's rock. Barbara, though she consented to be bribed to remain, never forgave either Margery or Don for destroying her be loved mat much to Aunt Dorcas' dis may she immediately began anjther, and in her leisure moments sat knut tering over the stitches like sonifcub stantial German Fate. But thos watch the fabric increase benea fingers are quite convinced that never serve so useful a purpose a former one.—Demorest's Magazin A .Natural Curiosity. "Charley, dear," said Mrs. Hunni mune, "I don't think that I take enough interest in things that men care for. Won't you tell me something about baseball?" "Of course. Anything that 1 can." "I've noticed that sometimes when a club gets beat it's because the umpire doesn't do right." "Yes." "And sometimes the weather isn't right" "Yes." "And sometimes because the audi ence doesn't do right." "Yes." "Well, Charley, dear, what I want to know is what have the players to do with the game?:'—Washington Star. —A lady of genius will give a genteel air to her whole dress by a well-fancied suit of knots, as a judicious writer gives a spirit to a whole sentence by a single expression.—Gay. —His Business.—"You ought to see that fellow strike a balance." "I sup pose he's a bookkeeper?" "No, he's a professional juggler."—Detroit Free Presa. PITH AND POINT. —He—"You reject me because I am "poor." Heiress—"Say, rather, that you are poor because I reject you."—Boston Transcript —Miss Amateur—"Are you musical, Prof. Bisten?" Prof. Bisten—"Yes but if you were going to play anything, don't mind my feelings."—Sing Sing Courier. —"It seems to me," observed Criticus, "that Scribber's book reads as .though he were addicted to the bottle." "Yes," assented Wagg. "To the mucilage bottle."—Harper's Bazar. —The Recipe.—"How did Woodby White get his reputation for being bright?" "Why, by promptness. He's always the first to say 'chestnut' when somebody essays a clever observation.' —Washington Star. —Mrs. White—'V^nd do you mean to say that you and your husband al ways agree about everything?" Mrs. Black—"Always except, of course, now and then when he's out of humor or pigheaded, or something of that sort."—Boston Transcript. —Mean, Even Then.—Mr. Flushley— "Do you know that Jazblin beats his wife almost every night in the week?" Mrs. Flushley—"No, does he?" O, the monster!" Mr. Flushley—"O, I don't know about that you see he plays a much better game than she does."— Roxbury (Mass.) Gazette. —"Proverbs was largely the ruin of me," said Mr. Everett Wrest. "How?" asked the sympathetic citizen. "Take, for instance, that one about the race not bein' to the swift. I guess that there has made me lose more money on 4-to-l shots than would burn a wet dog."—Cincinnati Tribune." —Wife—"Why, Charles, what do fbu mean by burning our old love let ters?" Husband—"I have been read ing them, my dear, and it occurred to me that after I die some one who wished to break my will might get hold of them and use them to prove I was insane."—Harlem Life. —"Uncle George," said the little boy from the country, "are these the build ings they call sky-scrapers?" "They are, Tommy," answered the city uncle. Tommy took a comprehensive look overhead. "The sky does need scrapin' here pretty bad, don't it, Uncle George?" he rejoined.—Chicago Trib une. 1—This BO^C^^toBE silky coat dripping wet with water. The keel of the boat grated upon the sand. In another moment Margery was in her mother's arms. "Oh, how you must have suffered, my poor little girl!" she murmured. "You are a treasure!" exclaimed Aunt Dorcas. "We had given our selves up for lost. We are wet through to the knees, but that doesn't matter. How did you ever think of it? And that darling Don! Come here, both of you, and'be kissed!" original paragraph from Ed itor Ham's fecent New York letter is going the rounds of the country: "I would not give one good, wholesome, hearty, rosy-cheeked Georgia girl who can swing a pot, whistle a tune and kick a dog all at the same time for all of these military mummies between Battery park and Harlem suburbs."— Atlanta Constitution. —First Gentleman (entering the apartment of second gentleman)— "About a year ago you challenged me to fight a duel." Second Gentleman (sternly)—"I did, sir." First Gentle man—"And I told you that I had just been married, and I did not care to risk my life s».t any hazard." Second Gen tleman (haughtily)—"I remember, sir." First Gentleman (bitterly)—"Well, my feelings have changed any time you want to fight let me know."—House hold Words. —"Helen," said Mr. Whykins, who somehow never gets hold of an idea until it is old, "I have a good one for you. I think you'll appreciate it, osly you must not let it make you angry." "What is it, Henry?" "What's the difference between a woman and an umbrella?" "The difference," she an swered serenely, "is that a man isn't afraid to take an umbrella with him werever he goes, and that he. doesn't try to conceal the fact that it's' above him when a real emergency arrives. That's the principal difference, Henry." —Washington Star. DOES HEREDITY EXPLAIN THIS? May Be Paychological Phenomena or Only Coincidence*. What is the occult influence of here dity? An English girl not long ago visited a loan collection of old portraits. She was an orphan, and despite her condi tion of worldly affluence, often com plained of the loneliness of her posi tion. As she passed through the gallery one especial portrait attracted her at tention, and she returned to it more than once, although her companion saw in it nothing but a commonplace painting of a middle-aged man in the costume of the latter part of the last century. "It is such a nice, kind face," said the girl, rather wistfully. "I think my father misrht have looked like that if he had lived!" 'As most of the famous pictures were ticketed, they had bought no cata Ipgue, but before going away Miss X. purchased one at the entrance and made a last visit to the picture, for which she had felt so strong an attrac tion. To her surprise she found opposite to its number her own name, and found on inquiry that the original was in} deed one of her direct ancestors. Another odd coincidence or psycho logical Dhenomenon, whichever it may be. happened a few years ago to a southern politician and capitalist, whose family is one of the oldest in the state. He was examining the ancient ar chives and letters which had been stored away in musty trunks for years, with a view to collect and publish whatever might be historically valua ble and interesting. To his amazement he came across a letter, yellow with age, which waa written in his own, rather peculiar, handwriting and signed with his own name, with his own characteristic sig nature exactly, but which had been actually penned by one of his fore bears a hundred years ago.—N. Y. Trib une. A Douhtrul Onestlon. Jack Uppers—Say, Scadils, could you lend me a hundred? Scadds—That's not the point, don't you know. I could lend it, but could I get it back?—Texas Sittings. DOMESTIC CONCERNS. —-Rica^fcrffins: Take pint of aof^ boiled ri2®? teacupful of fresh milk, three well-beaten eggs, a tablespoon ful of butter, and as much wheat flour as will make a thick batter. Bake in muffin rings in the oven or on a grid dle.—Prairie Farmer. —Gems: Fill half a cup of molasses with boiling water. Put one teaspoon ful of soda into half a cup of hot water, mix and add one and a half cups of Graham flour and half a tea spoonful of salt. Bake in gem tins fifteen minutes.—Western Rural. —Rhubarb Jelly: Stew about one pound of rhubarb till tender, with enough sufrar to taste. Pass it through a sieve, and adi one ounce of gelatine dissolved in half a pint of water. Color with a little cochineal, and pour into a mold. This is a very pretty sweet when garnished with strips of angelica and whipped cream.—Leeds Mercury. —Cranberry Tarts: Stew the cran berries in a very little water until they are well done. Rub them through a sieve. Season them with plenty of sugar while hot, add a little spice if the taste is liked, and let it get quite cool. Line small plates with puff paste, and put on a rim of the same fill the plates, and bake until the crust is done.—Boston Budget. —Foamy Omelet: Yolks of five eggs beaten stiff, add five tablespoonfuls of milk, season. Take a spider the size of an ordinary tea plate, put in a bit of butter when it is hot and bubbling pour in two tablespoonfuls of the egg, or enough to cover the bottom of it. Cook two minutes. Place in the oven to dry about a minute. Put back on the stove, spread one-half with two tablespoonfuls of the whites beaten stiff, fold over and serve.—Chicago Record. —Fried Salt Pork: Cut in rather thin slices, and freshen by letting lie an hour or two in cold water, or milk and water, roll in flour and fry till crisp (if in a hurry, pour boiling water »n the slices, let stand a few minutes, drain, roll in flour and fr g.4M" before) drain off most of the grease from frying pan, stir in while hot one or two tablespoons of flour, about half a pint of new milk, a little pepper, and salt if not salt enough already from the meat let boil and pour into the gravy dish. This makes a nice white gravy when prop erly made.—Farmers' Voice. —Birdsnest Pudding: Pare and core as many apples as will set in the dish, fill the holes in the apples with white sugar and grated lemon-peel. Mix as much custard as will fill the dish, al lowing seven eggs to a quart of milk, and season it with sugar and lemon or peach water. Fill the dish quite full, set it into a pan with a little water, and bake it one hour. Serve with cold or wine sauce. It is very nice without any sauce, but in that case it should be made rather sweeter, or the apples should be scalded in a little sugar and water before it is baked.—Boston Budget. STYLISH BLACK GOWNS. New Dealftna for Seasonable Drew Coa tumcs. When a fashionable dressmaker is asked for a stylish black gown suitable for morning wear, both in town and country, during the summer, she sug gests one that is not only extremely chic, but is serviceable and practical as well—a gown of black mohair with a large collar of grass-linen and a belt of cream-white kid with a gold buckle. It is also further impressed upon the purchaser that the mohair must be very lustrous, and of the heavy yet smooth weave, the thick threads al most forming basket squares, instead of the fine, closely-woven surface fa miliar in alpaca. The collar of grass linen may be embroidered all over, or it may be made of many fine tucks with yellow lace insertions, but it must be very large, and of the natural ecru or unbleached dark-linen color. Among new designs for these gowns women who are supplied with still shorter jacket suits choose Paquin's late model, a round waist with hol low box-plaits on an open blouse front, and a seamless back with slightly-lapped fold extending from each shoulder to the belt. The plaits on the front are merely reversed box plaits, the box part turned in next the lining, leaving the two edges meeting outside. One such plait ex tends from each shoulder, to droop on the belt directly in the middle, and is prettily decorated on the bust with twelve small, smooth, dull gilt but tons, six in a row down each edge, quite near together. The open space from throat to belt is filled in with a plastron or chemisette of grass-linen in finely-tucked bands alternating with half-inch insertions of yellow Valenciennes, and finished around the neck with a collar-band made of* simi lar tucks and insertion edged top and bottom with narrow scalloped lace to match. This collar is gathered in two little frills in the back, and is hoolSft there. A very large collarette flaring out on the sleeves and square across the back, also of grass-linen, inser tion, and edging, continues as revers down the open mohair front, show ing the plastron between, and com ing to a point near the belt. To dec orate the front further a flat bow oi open loops in Louis Quinze fashion is made of the yellow insertion neatly applied on the mohair at the end of the revers, two loops and an end being on one side, with the same on the other, making a complete tied bow when the front is hooked. With this goes a white kid belt, unless the wearer pre fers black satin ribbon folded on tht edge of the waist to make a belt an inch wide hooked in the back under a very small simply-tied bow of two ends. The large-topped sleeves have six gilt buttons at the wrist on the seam disclosed by tucked batiste cuffs basted inside and turned back. The gored skirt five and a half yards wide is lined and interlined, the side breadths folding forward in a narrow lap on the front, and held at the top by rows of buttons.—Harper's Bazar. Your Health Depends Upon pure, rich, healthy blood. Ther» tore, ee that your blood to made pure by Hood's Sarsaparilla The only true blood purifier promk gently in-the public eye to-day. Hood's Pills KU*KSSKSJ.t? GTLOOK FOR THIS LOCK XT XS ON fcBEST SCHOOL SHOE"* SCHOOL °£s for 6to 7X—$1.25 11 to 13**—$1.75 8 to 10^-1.50 1 to 3 -2.0© IF YOU CAN'T GET THEM FROM YOUR DEALER WRITE TO HAMILTON-BROWN SHOE CO., IT. iteShofe f^To.Tn^ :a§ferrf .jfiUlX, |r$rnvtfior lbi^iain,|ake .ond mr ^aSide "lcvcldind.%ii IbcrtW-P-/, (Tti^Oo^l (•J^riber»*W The Greatest Medical Discovery of the Ace. KENNEDY'S MEDICAL DISCOVERY. lOUlS KEWIEBY, of ROXBURY, MASS* Has discovered in one of our common Easture weeds a remedy that cures every ind of Humor, from the worst Scrofula down to a common Pimple. He'has tried it in over eleven hundred cases, and never failed except in two cases (both thunder humor.) He has now in his possession over two hundred certificates of its value, all within twenty miles of Boston. Send postal card for book. A benefit is always experienced from the first bottle, and a perfect cure is warranted when the right quantity istaken. When the lungs are affected it cafases 6hooting pains, like needles passing through them the same with the Liver or Bowels. TKis is caused by the ducts be ing stoppe„d, and always disappears in a week after taking it. Read the label. If the stomach is foul or bilious it will cause squeamish feelings at first. No change of diet ever necessary. Eat the best you can get, and enough of it. Dose, one tabiespoonful in water at bed time. Sold by all'Druggists. ASK YOUR DRUGGIST FOR IT 15 THE BEST• ^'NURSING MOTHERS,INFANTS,?* CHILDREN JOHN CARLE A SONS. New York. BEST IN THE WORLD. __iW,VCV«SS \nvs yrtv* \s Vru\\i wrvv&WeA THE RISING SUN STOVE POLISH in cakes for general blacking of a stove. THE SUN PASTB POLISH for a Quick after-dinner sniae, applied and pol ished with a cloth. Mom Broa.. Prop*.. Canton, Mm»., U.S. A. In A LAND OF HEALTH AN] PLBKTY WHERB CROPS KEVRK FAIL. If «o. tddrett THE AMERICAN TRIBI'XE l«LWST CO.. Room 46. Jraraal Black. IMlUNAPULU, INDIANA. wm-fAMt isn mhimiiimiiii* Bert Conch L_ Inttmai SoMbydraulata. '. ur r."