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W3Pn *W*K -j* ,V' .. A ... 15 $ $ 1 A* V* r£l fe:' &5 *A JST 1F4' Yt^V WTO CHAPTER XXIV—(Continued.) "I hope Miss Sisterson is not ill," said Dmitri. "I must say that I thought she looked very delicate." "She Is not well—any one can see that," replied Katia. "It is her heart. And the journey has tired her out, but I don't think she is any worce than she was yesterday. She just needs a rest she will be up to-morrow. Mean while that good looking nurse—don't you think her pretty, Dmitri, with, the English style of prettiness?—will look after her. She and Mary seem to be great Mends," she added, and there was a touch of jealousy in her words. "They are great friends, are they?" said Dimitri. "I should hardly have thought so, for I know that the nurse came to Sir John some time after the accident, arid I am pretty sure that up till then Miss Sisterson had never met her." "That may be, Dmitri, but certainly they seem devoted to each other now." And Katia made a wry face. She wanted Mary all to herself and did not like the nurse being with her. "I suppose we shall see neither of them to-day?" inquired Dmitri. "No, I think not," said Katia. It was after this talk that he again opened and re-read Christabel's letter to Norman Forde. After a siesta of two hours he went to the works, where he talked with his sub-manager about the strike which still threatened them, but which thought had been deprived of the dangerous character it had borne on the preceding day by the summary arrest of the ringleaders, all of whom, with the exception of one who had succeeded in escaping, had been thrown into prison. It was this that had kept Dmitri from going to Odessa, and the affair was much more serious than Katia, in her light way, had made it out to be. Dmitri was now anxious to hear that the man who had escaped had been captured, and was in communica tion by telegraph with the Odessa po lice—he had his own set of telegraph instruments in his office—when a mes senger came in with a note for him from Katia, saying that Mary Sister son had had a sudden attack and was very ill, and that the nurse declared a doctor must be summoned at once. "You had better get Dr. Katkoff im mediately from Odessa," Katia wrote, and ask him to come out on his motor car if he can this evening. I am afraid Mary is going to die." Dmitri knew his sister's excitability might cause her to exaggerate, but the message made it imperative for Dr. Katkoff to be summoned at once, and this was done. About midnight the doctor arrived at the house, saw Mary, pronounced her very ill—a fact which was patent to everybody—made her up some medicine, ordered perfect rest, and motored back to Odessa through the night, as he had to be present at an operation in that city in the morning. For several days Mary hung be tween life and death, and except for a breath of fresh air hurriedly snatched now and again in the great shady garden behind the house Christabel's whole time was taken up with nursing her. During this* period of suspense she saw nothing of Dmitri, though of Katia she saw a good deal—more, in deed, than she wished for Katia, in the excess of her exuberant kind ness, was so much in the sickroom that Christabel had to ask her not to come so often, as she disturbed her patient. Katia resented this, and* her Jealousy of Christabel grew into in tense dislike. But after a week Mary turned the cornerstone once more, thanks to Christabel's devotion. "You have saved my life," Mary said to her, "but I feel that I shall not survive another attack of the kind. It was far worse than any that preceded it." Mary slowly recovered, but contin ued very weak and depressed and Christabel, though she was not con fined to the sick room so much as she bad been, was not very often seen by Dmitri. This naturally had the effect of stimulating his admiration of her. He would catch fleeting glimpses of her now and then, and longed for more of them. Occasionally he would come upon her unexpectedly walking Ad Mary's state of health improved, •he insisted on Christabel going about more, and then Dmitri saw her every day. Now, if a man sees a woman whom he admires every day, and feels that she something stronger. So it was «with Dmitri Anatovitch. Before he was award of Ida Used 53^ »f it, and notwithstanding determination aB to what was bar fate, he was soon pa^sionately' in. lore with her—loved her s- f«rea and fiery with the ardor of mmm the half-sav- pge thit be was. Christabel waa aware that he had cart admiring glances at her when they Irene In Hans Square she could hare been a woman, to say npth IME'« bdng pretty one, and not vwfi'TO ^^f- Ki w" & i« ,A"VWi" I •^tVJ*,* 3j 4 'A have known that he admired her. Nor, for the same reason, could .she be ig norant that he admired her still more now. But the man could be nothing to her, was nothing to her, and when she suspected that he was falling in love with her Bhe sought to avoid him, but that was not easy at Sulja. As she was situated she could not help seeing him often. But for a while no incident occurred to alarm her, for of the real Dmitri Anatovitch she knew nothing he always wore a smiling mask, and his courtesy was perfect. On the whole, she rather liked him, greatly preferring him to the much-chatting Katia, who had by this time ceased to be kind to her, for Dmitri's sister saw that he was at tracted by this English girl, and deep ly resented this too. To such a nature as that of Dmitri Anatovitch it did not matter that he knew she loved another man, or that he saw he made no progress with her these things but fed the flame of his passion. Even his resolve that she must perish added fuel to the flame. Two things absolutely antagonistic two of the greatest passions that can sway the heart of man—now rageii within the breast of Dmitri. Love fought against war, anfl war fought against love. It was a terrible duel, in which now the one, now the other, ap peared to triumph but it was a duel that went on and on. For days and weeks, until a month had passed since the coming of Chris tabel, the duel went on. And all the while, like a sort of infernal back ground against which it was being fought, there was the knowledge in Dmitri's soul that the spirit of disaf fection was spreading and growing amongst his workmen that the ring leader who had escaped was back again, but was concealed so effective ly that he was unable to lay bis hands upon him and that a strike, attended with blood and fire, was aliqost cer tain to occur in the near future. There were ominous rumors, too, of revolu tionist activity at Odessa. Dmitri went about with a loaded revolver in his pocket. It was at this time Katia proposed, now Mary was better, that they should make a tour of inspection of the works in the cool of the evening. Dmitri was not present when this project was mooted, and when it was mentioned he was for peremptorily forbidding it, but gave way when Mary backed up Katia, and Christabel—pleased that Mary should go out again—also wish ed it. None of the ladies knew what was going dto among the men at the works, and he did not desire to fright en them. "You must put cloaks over your dresses," he stipulated, "and it will be well if you put on your very oldest clothes. As it is, you will be smoth ered with dust. I must warn you in advance that the works are not inter esting they are only very,. very dusty." "Oh, there is one Interesting part at least," exclaimed Katia, nodding at him in laughing reproach, "a kind of Bluebeard's chamber, I call it, which Dmitri will never show to any one, and of which he alone has the key. you must get him to show it to us, Mary. He will do it for you, perhaps he won't for me." Dmitri smiled gravely, but did not answer. "Promise Miss Sisterson that you will show it to us," she cried. "Not if we. should not see it," said Mary, gently. "I am afraid all that I can show you of what Katia with her nonsense calls the Bluebeard's chamber is the out side. What she refers to is my labor atory," he explained, "and no one may go into it save myself. It is the rule." Katia made a mouth at him, pout ing and laughing, "It's full of dark secrets, I'm sure," she said, "but you'll let us see it." "The outside, yes, but I can do no more," he replied, with his eyes fixed on Christabel, who must guess, he thought, what was the meaning and the use of this sealed chamber but she met his gaze with her usual frank ness of expression. "Well, if you won't, you won't," said Katia, with a loud laugh. on the veranda or in the grounds, and not interesting. He showed them the have a short stroll and a brief talk huge furnaces in which *he limestone with her and he found himself eager that is the base of all building ce (or further opportunities of the same kind. becomes more and more charming, it can hardly fail that his admiration will Increase and deepen Into Dmitri conducted them over the works, which, as. he truly said, were ments was calcined he showed them the enormous vats in which the cal cined limestone was slacked he show ed them the small hills of chalk and clay he showed them where the vari our ingredients were ground under water, and told them something, about the machinery used he was a capital guide. "It is all very dull and very, dusty," said Katia. "How the cement gets into one's throat! Now for your chamber of horrors, Dmitri. In it surely there will be something for Miss Sisterson to. Bee!-". "I think I ajn too tired," said Manr to Katia. "Do you and Chrissy go and see what M. Anatovitch will please to show you. I shall a*k you to find me a chair," she went on, turning toward hlnf, "where ean rest untt) you re turn from this fearful chamtier. "But aren't rop cu ia iffrA jl Mary?" asked Katia, with herperpetu al laugh. 1 "Yes, but. I'm going to restrain my curiosity. You and Chrissy shall go." Nurse can go if she likes," said Katia "but if you won't, then I won't either." "Would you like to come,: Miss Joyce?" asked Dmitri he never called Christabel "nurse," or "Nurse Jtwe." "Yes, do go," sajd Mary, "an "tell us what you saw when you-come back. We'll wait for you." "But if there is only the outside ot the Bluebeard's chamber to see?" sug gested Christabel. "Oh, he may show you the inside," cried Katia, and her laugh was not without malice. "Yes, go, Chrissy," said Mary, smil ing. "Very well," said Christabel. "I'll send out chairs tor you," said Dmitri. "Now, Miss Joyce, will you come with me?" And he led the way to his office. He and Christabel passed through a large room which in business hours was occupied by his clerks, and from that they entered his own room. She noticed with some surprise that he went cautiously, like a man who was not quite certain of his .ground as a matter of fact, he was keeping his hand on the revolver in his pocket— in case it might be necessary to use. it there was just a chance. And he stepped cautiously, because bombs are not unknown in Russia. When he was satisfied there was no danger, a fierce joy possessed him, for here he was, alone with Christabel. Christabel glanced round the room "This'does'not look like a chamber of horrors," she said, smilingly, to him. Oh, that lies beyond," he replied, also with a smile. Never did he allow l-.is mask to drofr. "We must pass through that door," he continued, pointing to a door at the opposite side of the rocm. "Let me open it for you," he said, politely, "but first 1 must turn on the lights. The way to the chamber is dark." He went over to a table near a wall on which was an electric switchboard and pressed a button. Then from his chain he took a key and opened a tiny safe let into the wall above the table. Christabel saw that it con tained some small machine. Next he opened the door—it swung heavy on its hinges—to which he had pointed, and held it open for Christabel to pass through. She found herself in a short passage made of concrete, at the end of which was a steel door such as is to be seen in the vaults of a bank. The door through which she had come closed behind her, and she found herself alone. For what seemed to her a long min ute she remained alone, wondering then Dmitri opened the door. "I suppose it was a joke," she said to him, alluding to the shutting of the door upon her. "Yes, it was a joke," he replied but his voice, which he could not altogeth er control, shook a little. Christabel did not know It, but she had been within an ace of death. Though Dmitri's voice had been un steady, she had no suspicion of the hot struggle he had fought before re opening the door. Love had been vic torious in that passage of armB. (To Be Continued.) Youngest Son of the Family. Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman was the youngest son of the family and the most distinguished. How often has this not proved to be the cas«! Coleridge and Washington Irving were the youngest of eleven children, Benjamin Franklin, the last born of seventeen, Johann Christian, the elev enth and youngest of Johann Sebas tian 'Bach's children, was also the greatest of them Wagner, Mozart and Rubens were each the last of seven, as was also Daniel Webster Rembrandt was the baby in a family of six, Schumann in one of five, George Eliot in one of four and Charles Lamb, the youngest of three The full list of famous youngest sons is a formidable one. They Looked Like It. Mme. Kasebier, the famous New York photographer, is very fond of In dians. When Buffalo Bill's Wild West show was playing an engagement in the city she gave a reception to the Indians, inviting a hundred or mofe of her friends to meet them. The Indians made a gorgeous sight in their native costumes. Their feath ered head dresses were particularly large and'splendid. One little girl who had been brought by her mother, and who had never seen an Indian be fore, gazed with'open-mouthed aston ishment at these strange feathered creatures. Finally she turned to her mother and said: "Mamma, do In dians lay eggs?" In 8ight of Old-Age Pensions. Not only in the villages, but In the towns, hundreds of thousands of old people of seventy, or on the verge o! seventy, are looking forward to next January as the dawn of a golden year. The haunting fear of the workhouss which has long shadowed their lives is disappearing. The old-age pensions bill means heaven to such poo.r peo ple, and fcJr their sake criticism should be reduced to a minimum, and every effort be concentrated on ing it. g\ pass Hi*. Serious Interru^ lona "f s'pose John is still. takinMlfe easy," said the woman In the spring wagon. "Yes," answered the woman who was carrying an armful of wood. "John has only two regrets in Jlfe. One la that he has to wake up to eat an' the other is that he has to qjpit nail*' to alee* ««.i /rv 4 pi In a three-year rotation of corn, oats and clover, let us assume yields of ,100 bushels per acre of corn and oats, four tons of clover and four bushels of clover seed. We may sow cowpeas in the corn, the last cultivation, and pos sibly produce a catch crop of one-half ton to the acre.' We will plan to husk the ear corn and leave the stalks on the land to be disked down for seeding oats and clover. The oats should be cut as high as possible and the threshed oat straw should be spread over the land either before or after rotting, as may be found best. The third year the clover may be clipped two weeks be fore haying and left lying on the land, the second crop being harvested later for seed, using a buncher at tached to the mower so as to avoid raking. The threshed clover straw should be spread over the land, and if rock phosphate is used it may be ap plied and plowed under with all of the accumulated organic matter in prep aration for the following corn crop which would begin the sqpond rota tion. These three crops remove about 173 pounds of nitrogen, while the clover and cowpeas return about 182 pounds of nitrogen, and together with the corn stalks and oats straw furnish .a large supply of humus. This is a sys tem of grain farming planned to main tain the supply of humus and nitro gen. If the yields are cut in two the basis of the system remains the same. Many other rotations for grain farm-, ing might be followed, but in all cases liberal use must be made- of legume crops, catch crops, other green manure crops, and crop residues in order to supply humus and nitrogen. In live stock farming take a five year rotation, including corn two years, oats with clover and timothy seeding the third year, and two years of clover and timothy, using one year for hay and the other for pasture, as suming the same yields as before. Shock one-half of the corn or put it in the silo husk the other half and use the oats straw for feed and bed ding. The four crops will remove from the soil about 369 pounds of nitrogen, and the clover hay will contain about 120 pounds, which we assume was se cured from the air, making 489 pounds of nitrogen in the total feed and bed ding. If one-half of this is recovered in the manure and returned to the land, there would be a deficiency of 124 pounds. But two-thirds of the ni trogen can be recovered by feeding upon cement floors and a liberal use of straw and shredded fodder for bed ding, thus reducing the deficiency to 43 pounds. The pasturing may gafai 12 podnds of nitrogen. By feeding more or less upon the fields and by leaving consid erable clover in the pasture to serve as gj-een manure, this small deficiency can be replaced, but to maintain or increase the supply of humus and ni trogen in the sqil is by no means an easy problem, even with live stobk farming. Keep in mind these two words, phosphorus and humus. If these are increased in soil the farm will be growing richer and more productive but whoever removes the phosphorus or destroys the humus more rapidly than they are replaced, will have poorer land year by year with poverty as the only future for the children who continue the same ruinous sys tem. A 100-bushel crop of corn requires 23 pounds of phosphorus a 50-bushel crop of wheat, 16 pounds a four-ton crop of clover, 20 pounds. And to produce such crops for a lifetime, 70 years, would require as much phoB phorus as the total supply in the first seven Inches of most commdh Illinois prairie soil. Phosphorus is sold from the farm iargely in grain, in the bone of ani mals, and hay. The phosphorus re moved from the soil in the average corn crop of Illinois (grain only) Is equal to the total phosphorus con tained in 50,000 acres of our corn belt land to a depth of seven inches, and a large amount is removed in the ag gregate of the other crops. Because the effect is only gradual and wide spread, many people Ignore it. The most practical and economical method of maintaining the supply of phosphorus in the soil is by the appli cation of 1,000 pounds to the acre of fine-ground natural rock phosphate, once every four to.six years, in con nection with liberal .supplies of decay ing organic matter? as form''manure, legume crops, or other preen manures. But repeated experiments have Share It Equally. "Yes,", said the fellow with the bfild brow, "it's certainly true that if a man has no respect for himself no body else will have much rMpect for him." "But it's equally tn»«," replied the keen one, "that If he has tob much no body else win have any.''—Catholic Standard and Times. A Mareh Miracle. Now all the worl^ is featlv'e green* Yet spring i§ Unto Rt Patrior, tar, I Tbetaet we owe.^"^ e» Hnl* W\? du-5tl foW*4£.$£$Lfl Br PROF. CYRIL G. HOPKINS. SOIL SPECIALIST IEUN&IS UNIVBtSmr*. 4s j«f W •shown that natural "rock phosphate gives practically, no immediate returns if used in the absence of decaying on ganic matter. Humus Is the decaying organic mat ter of the roil. Its most .important constituent is nitrogen. A iOO-hushel crop of corn for 82 years would re quire as much nitrogen as is contained in the first seven inches of ordinary corn belt prairie land If the stalks are returned to the soil the nitrogen would be sufficient for 48 such crops. If we are to enrich the soil In nitrogen by growing clover the clover must be returned to the soil either by plow ing under directly Or in the form ot manure. The animals retain one-fourth of the nitrogen and phosphorus in the feed consumed, and two-thirds of the or ganic matter, in mixed feeds." Not more than one-fourth of the dry mat ter and not more than one-half of the food elements will be returned to the field in the manure, and if the manure is left exposed to- the weather for three to six months these proportions should be divided by two. The 6hio experiment station has, as an average of 13 crops of corn at 35 cents per bushel, 13 crops of oats at 25 cents, 12 crops of wheat at 70 cents, ten' crops of clover and ten crops of timothy at six dollars a ton, on land that is richer in phosphorus thiSa our land, but poorer in nitrogen than our land, is found that every doliar invested in phosphorus paid ,ck $4.76, while nitrogen or potas um paid for its cost. The same station has found as the average of .56 tests in 11 years' work, that when rock phosphate was applied in connection with manure, every, dol lar in rock phosphate paid back $5.68. On three different series of plots at the University of Illinois phosphorus has doubled the yield of clover as an average of the last three years. On the Bloomington (111.) soil ex periment field phosphorus Increased the yield of wheat ten bushels per acre in 1905, increased the yield of clover more than one ton per acre in 1906, and increased the yield of corn following clover by 19 bushels per acre in 1907. The increase in either crop would practically pay the cost of phosphorus applied for the three, years. In both the Illinois cases bone meal, which is more expensive Chan rock phosphate, was used. Experiments with the rock phos phate were started more recently in Illinois, but have given good results on our soils. Four years' experiments at the univoasity have resulted in an average increase of the crop equal to $7.95, while the 250 pounds of phos phorous applied Cost eight dollars, but 210 pounds of it still remain in the soil for use in future crops. The re sults of 1907 aloae are an increase of $11.68 or $3.68 more than the cost of the rock phosphate, while 'four fifths of the phosphorus applied still remains in the soil. The value of the increase from rock phosphate in six crops grown in the Galesburg experiment field amounts to $14.40, or $2.40\more than the cost of the phosphorus applied, while four fifths of this phosphate still remains in the soil. Plenty of nitrogen can be secured from the air by growing legumes, the organic matter of the crops can be returned to the soil, but the ohe ele ment phosphorus must be bought. One ton of rock phosphate containing 250 pounds of phosphorus can be bought for about eigtlt dollars the same quantity of phosphorus in one ton of steamed bone meal costs $25, in two tons of acid phosphate, costs $30, and in four tons of complete for tilizer costs $80 to $100. The Hen's Appetite.—The appetite of the hen is some indication as to her productive capacity. Those with good appetites will meet one at the door at feeding time, and, if at all tame, may hop on to the feed basket. They will scratch the litter about the pen in a vigorous way In search of hidden grains, and may be heard singing away contentedly as they work. They will always be active, never drooping around the pen Or staying on the roosts after the others have left, in fact, the first hen about in the morn ing may usually be considered one of the best producers. The reason tor this is simple. If she reqdtrea just food enough to Supply the wear and tear of the body it will not take her long to securo.it, hut it she is a consumed,—Michigan Station. good egg manufacturing machine, a large eupply of fuel is -needed to keep the mechanism running The fuel furnish ing this energy la, found in the food Perhaps. "Why did Oeorge Washington own up^ to chopping the cherry tree?" "Perha^," replied the Western law yer, "his jadidlaJv mind .eaaMed to foresee the reluctance that jiaa beer developed about putting any ffcltb, In. confessions.'*—Washington 8tar, ST i' Careless Effects. "Do you go to Paris for your styles** "1 have hitherto," answered th« "fashionable milliner, "but this sense am gdtttng fine results fy at •Wf Nature and a woman's work com bined have produced the grandest remedy for woman's ills that the world nasever known. In the good old-fashioned days ot our grandmothers they relicid upon the roots and herbs of the field to cure disease and mitigate suffering. The Indians on our Western Plains to-day can produce, roots and herbs for every ailment, and cure diseases that baffle the most skilled physicians who have spent years in the study of drugs. From the roots and herbs of the deld Lydia E. Finkham more than thirty years ago gave to the women of the world a remedy for their pe culiar ills, more potent and effica cious than any combination of drugs. Lydia £. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound is now recognized as the standard remedy for woman's ills. Mrs. Bertha Muff, of 515 N.C. St., Louisiana, Mo., writes :v Complete restoration to health means so much to me that for the sake of other suffering women I am willing make my troubles public. "For twelve years I had been suffer* ing with the worst forms of female ills. During that time I had eleven different physicians without help. No tongue can tell what I suffered, and at times I could hardly walk. About two years ago I wrote Mrs. Pinkham for advice. I followed it, and can truly say that Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Com pound and Mrs.. Pinkham's advice re stored health and strength. It ia worth mountains of gold to suffering women." What Lydia E. Pinkham's Vege table Compound" did for Mrs. Muff, it will do for other suffering women. TIPPING IN BOHEMIA. Even the 8tre«it Car Conductor Geta Tips—Pay for Privilege of 8erving. In the city of Prague a' tip to the tramway conductor is considered de rigueur. The orthodox, tiiv consists of but two heller, or two-tenths of a penny, yet as "strap hanging" is al lowed for in considering the carrying capacity of the car the conductors should have got a goodly pocketful of the minimum coin by each day's end. Tipping, it was ascertained in an other of Bohemia's larger towns, ia so fully recognized that the head waiter at a cafe pays a rent for his post, supplies all the journals for the coffee room and looks after the other waiterst and then makes an income larger than that of a university pro fessor—all out of his tips. After supper at one of the delightful open air cafes of the capital it waa found that approximately one should give a half krone (fivepenoe) to the head waiter who took payment, two pence to the under waiter who brought the viands, and a halfpenny to the boy who brought—and even brought again as one glass was finished—the beer. FRIENDLY TIP Restored Hope and Confidence. After several years of indigestion and its attendant evil influence on the mind, it is. not very surprising that one finally loses faith in things gen erally. A N. T. woman writes an interesting letter. Bhe says: "Three years ago I suffered from an attack of peritonitis which left me in a most miserable condition. For over two years I suffered from nerv ousness, weak heart, shortness of breath, could not aleep, etc. "My appetite was ravenous, but felt starved all the time. I had plenty of food but it did not nourish me because of intestinal indigestion. Med ical treatment did not seem to help. I got discouraged, stopped medicine and did not care much whether lived or died. v. "One day a friend asked me why I didn't try Qrape-Nuts, stop drinking coffee, and use Postum. I had loaf fMth in everything, but to please my friends I jbeinn to use both and aooa bec«ua» very fond of th«m. "It waan't long before I got some strength, felt a decided change in my system, hope sprang np In my heart and slowly but surely I got better. I ootOd sleep very well, the constant craving for fbtjd eeaaed and I have better health now than before the at tnck of peritonitis. ?My- husband and I are stin using Qrape-Ifots and Postum." 'There's a" TToasnfi" Name given by Postum Co., Battle -The Ro«! to tN «ba«# letterf A new |ppeara Jlrem time te tlmfc They •f human j§!