The Holly chieftain., December 24, 1897, Image 3

About The Holly chieftain. (Holly, Colo.) 1897-1987

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A CASE IN EQUITY.
BY FRANCIS LYNDE.
[Copyright, 18gs, by J. B. Lipplaceat Co.)
XL
IN THE NAME OF THE LAW.
After dinuer Duncan went in search
of the old mourtaineer and Thorndyke
shut himse!f in his room to finish the
letter begun the previous evening. He
went about it leisurely, placing the
table in front of an open window and
sitting where the sweet afternoon
breeze might blow in his face as he
wrote. Between the sentences he
stopped often,weighing and turning the
wvords until they fitted his purpose;
which was to make this latest letter.to
his mother as one with those preceding
it. This preserving of the unities proved
o be less difficult than he had thought
it would be. The new determination
was but a suckling as yet, and the turn-
Ing of a fresh leat in the book of reso
lutions is, in any event, only & begin
ning. Besides, one’s mother is always
the first to accept a show of frankness
as a substitute for the real quality,
and Mrs. Thorndyke would have found
reasons for refusing to believe Philip
if he had told her the plain truth.
The window in the attic bedroom
looked out upon the stretch of yellow
road leading to Allacoochee, and in
one of the inter-sentence pauses Philip
saw two horsemen ride over the crest
of the spur which shut off the view of
the lower valley. They halted among
the trees on the hillside, arid one of
them pointed to the farmhouse, while
the other took something from his
pocket and went through the motions
of a man drinking from a bottle. Philip
watched them listlessly until, at the
2nd of a full minute, his curiosity
awoke to comment upon: the phenome
nal thirst of the man who still sat like
4n equestrian statue with arm bent and
head thrown back. There was a field-
Zlass hanging in its case on the wall,
and when Philip took it down and fo
eused it upon the statuesque horseman
the mystery speedily took another form.
The man was not drinking; he was ex
smining the house and the adjacent
mountain through a glass not unlike
the one in whose field Philip was ob
serving him.
Thorndyke's first thought was of Kil
grow and his persecutors, but before he
<ould form a plan for warning the old
mountaineer the two horsemen rode
down to the house, and he heard one of
them ask Mrs. Duncan if the road led
to Alta Springs, a village on the western
slope of John's mountain. Since the
question appeared to explain the recon
naissance, Philip let his suspicions
lupse, and straightway forgot the inci
dent when the travelers had ridden on.
He had finished his letter, and was be
ginning to wonder if Duncan would
succeed in finding Kilgrow, when he
heard voices below, followed by stum
bling footsteps on the stairs, and Dun
can entered with the old mountaineer.
“This is auld Johnnie Keelgrow,
Master Thorndyke,” he said, presenting
his companion with a perpendicular
gesture which seemed to call attention
to Kilgrow’s great height. *“I just
made free to fess him till yer ain room,
whaur ye could hae it oot wi’ him in pri
vate.” ’»
“That was right—l'm giad to meet
you, Mr. Kilgrow. Bit down, both of
you, and let me ask a few questions.”
. The mountaincer folded his thin
length upon the edge of a chair, but
Duncan stood irresolute. “I'm no sae
ower rash, mysel’, Master Thorndyke,
as ye ken, but auld Johnnie here is
mair captious than the canniest Scot o’
them a'. D’ ye think, now, he winna
wet foot in the house till he makes me
promise to pit mysel’ on guard on the
doorstane!”
Duncan’s dissatisfaction with any ar
rongement that excluded him from a
share in the conference was very evi
dent, but Thorndyke judged wisely that
his client would be less embarrassed if
the inquisitive Scot were out.of the
way, and he commended the precau
tion.
“It’s well enough to be careful, Mr.
Duncan; we're not likely to spoil our
chances of success by being over-pru
dent.”
“That’'s gude seasonable Scotch
sense, d’ ye ken that, Johnnie, man?”
said Duncan, forgetting for the moment
that he had been arguing on the other
side of the question. “Ye maun just
open yer min’ freely to Master Thorn
dyke; he's an auld heid, if he does gang
aboot on young shouthers.”
Kilgrow nodded, and Thomdyke'’s
heart warmed toward the old man when
he wae at leisure to read the stary of
privation and distress written so plain
ly on the thin face and in the restless
eyes. It was some sense of the need
for encouragement that prompted him
10 speak first in terms of assurance.
“Duncan has told me all about your
case, Mr. Kilgrow, and I want you to
believe me when I eay that you're in
no danger whatever of prosecution on
the old charge of brandy-making. If
You were arrested to-day I could clear
you to-morrow. You shouldn't have
run away in the beginning.”
The old man resented the impiitation
upon his courage. “I reckon yo'-uns
'd run, too, ’ith th'ee 'r four of 'em a
poppin’ at ye ’ith the'r rifles.” 3
“Perhaps I should, after it got that
far along; but I should have gone quiet
1y with the officers at first and fought it
out in court.”
Kilgrow shook his head dubiously.
“The law hain’t fer a pore man like me.”
“That’s just where you're mistaken;
the law is for everyone, and we couldn’t
do anything in the present case without
it. But that's peither here nor there.,
What I want to impress on your mind
is this: You are in' no dapger whatever
from the United States authorities, but
you are in danger from these fellows
who bave taken your land, and they
will leave no ‘stone unturned to -ulnd
Alabama too bot to hold you.”
“D'ye reckom not?” AS &g j
“I know it; and before I 'take hold of
your case I want to know if you are
willing to trust me fully'ip everything,
doing exactly what I tell you, whether
you understand the reason for it or
not.” 2 ‘ vt
“I reckon 1 cayn’t do no dif'rent, 'ith
them fellers a-huntin 'me all the time,”
“Yes, ‘you could; they'll ‘:i.,n s’;‘
plenty st chances to upeet the whole
'hln;? before I'm chrough with them,
and 1 want to be sure that you'll do
Wmm e
;" Nopartoe Jol ol e
! B w:”f*é@;h (j ;
S " A
S T S R
“That’s all right; I only want to be
certain that you understand that point.
Now, about the damages. How much
do you think you ought to have?”
Kilgrow wrestled with the question
and then looked up inquiringly. *I
done tol’ Jim Cates, oncet, that he
mought tek that thar patch o’ layn’ an’
welcome fer $2,000. I hain’t a-keerin’
so ve'y much now ef them fellers'd on’y
quit pesterin’ me, but ef soo be ye
mought git that much out'n hit—"
“That’s about what I expected,” inter
rupted Thorndyke, “and it's preciseiy
what I wanted to guard against. Why,
man, you could walk down to Alla
coochee this minute and get twice that
for a quit-claim for the mere asking!
Set your figure at what you think yon
ought to have when T teil you that
they're =elling your land at five hun
tred dollars for o strip a foot wide and
a hundred fect long.”
The problem was tno abstruse for the
old mountaineer, and he shook his head
helplessly.
*Very well, then; are you willing to
leave the amount to me?”
“I reckon I cayn’t do no better.”
“Then we'll consider that settled.
Now, one more question. Have you
ever signed any papers for Catesorany
one else?”
“I reckon not.”
Thorndyke was unfamiliar with the
mountain idiom, and he pressed the
question again. “I want you to think
and be sure.”
Once more the tremulous hand weut
up. “I‘low you-uns kin sw'ar me.”
Philip smiled and said: *“That isn't
necessary. I suppose you'd be sure lo
remember it if you had?”
“I reckon so, long's I cayn't write
none.”
“That’s all, then; and for the pres
ent, I merely want you to keep out of
their way. Have nothing to say to
strangers and don't pay any attention
to any messages from me or from any
one else unless Duncan or Elsie brings
them to you. Does anybody besides
the Duncans know about your place up
here in the Pocket?”
“I reckon they's mighty few.”
“So much the better. Go back there
and stay quietly until you hear from
me. It may take me a month, or even
longer, to find out what I want to know
in Allacoochee.”
Kilgrow understood that he was'dis
missed, but he hesitated, laboring with
a statement that he did not know how
to make, Thorndyke tried to help him.
“Was there anything else?"” he asked.
“Seem’ like thar ort to be; 'bout ynu
uns’ pay—l hain't got nothin on the
face o’ the yeth—"
“Never mind about that; if we win
there'll be money enough for both of
us.” .
Kilgrow went dumb again, trying to
find words to measure his gratitude.
The old man would have throwa himse!! sut
. of the window.
. | Before they came there was a clattering
, | of hoofs in the road, and then crunch
.| ing footsteps on the graveled walk
| leading up to the house. There was a
| dormer window in Thorndyke’s room,
| and its gable projected above the front
.| door of the farmhouse. The sash was
up and the sounds from below came
.| eharply to the two men in the upper
.| room.
| “I've got o warrant for John Kil
grow”—Philip recognized the voice as
| that of the man who had asked the way
| of Mrs, Duncan—*“and I'll have to
| trouble ye, Mr. Duncan.”
J At the mention of his name the old
| mountaincer started and would have
.| thrown himself ‘out of the other win
| dow if Thorndyke had not promptly
| seized him. “Don't be afraid—they
, | can’t touch you. Bit down and listen.”
: “An’ who's this John Keelgrow that
| ye're speerin’ after in my house?
.| There’s naebody wi’ that name bides
/| here.”
| “I know all 'bout that, and I know,
| too, that this same John Kilgrow's in
this here house now. I don’t want to
| make no trouble for ye. but I reckon
| ye know what all it means when the
| law says for ye to come down.”
| “Show yer warrant.”
| “That's for Kilgrow.” >
, “Wha kens that? Ye'll no gang in
| this deor till ye show me the bit pa
per.”
“Mr. Duncan, I'm a ‘dep'ty United
{ Statcs ma'shal; I reckon ye'd better
| stand to one side and lemme do my
duty.”
“Deputy or ro deputy, ye'll no win
{intil this house forby the askin’ or a
|)veel-drawn search-warrant” — there
was, the sound of an opening door—
“Elsle. bairn, fess me the auld rifle.”
The pawing of the horses at the gate
|:filled the silence until the door closed
and Duncan spoke again: “Noo, then,
|| ye limmers, I gie ye baith fair warnin.’
/| I'm on my ain door-stane, an’ ye'll show
yerwarrantorcome on at yer ain peril.”
Thorrdyke peered between the slats
of the closed shutters, and saw the two
men fall back a few steps to hold a
council of war. While they were talk
-1 ing, another horseman came in sight at
the top of the hill, and a moment later
Protheroe rode up to the gate and dis
mounted. He nodded to the intruders
as he passed them. and Thorndyke was
surprised to see them hurry to their
horses and ride away toward Alla
|'coochee. The hasty retreat was ex
(plained when Protherce came up the
walk. ;
“Good evening, Mr. Duncan. Are you
out gunning for our friends?”
| “Na, na, then,” said Duncan, in tones
of expostulation; “ye'd no be eempl!-
catin® auld Jamie Dunean for resistin’
}the officcrs o' the law, would ye, Rob- |
l!hr 4 S 5 .'-.r o 4
| “What officers? Those fellows?
Rl TR e U B i
WO R ee e "711
TRI ¥R ses Rt )R I
itk se R
Duncan took the enginecr into the
house, and his reply was lout 1o the Jis
teners in the room above. Thorndyke
turned to the old mountaineer. *You
see, now, Mr. Kilgrow, what these men
will do, Your safety lies in keecping
out of their reach. Come with me and
I'll let you out the tack way.”
When Kilgrow had gone, Thorndyke
went down to the sitting-room, but
neither there, nor afterwards at supper.
did Duncan or Protheroe refer to the
unwelcome visitors; and Thorndyke
hnew that the wary Scot had succeeded
in satisfying Protheroe's curiosity
without implicating Kilgrow.
The young engineer brought letters
for Philip, one of which was reserved to
he vead in the privacy of the attic bed
room. It was from Helen, and Philip's
conscience bit him when he tore it open.
Then be smiled at his misgivings as he
read through the closcly-written pages.
“The Mortons were here to dinner last
night,’”” she wrote, “‘and they wanted to
know all about you; where you were and
what you were doing. You know best hov
little we could tell them, but they thought
it odd that you should prefer the wilds of
Alabama in summer to Lenox or Newport.
They bave taken a ccttage just below us
for the season, and Derrick Morton has
brought his yacht around from Mount
Desert—l won't say Bar Harbor. That is
gossip of the time and place, and T could
fill pages with it, but I suppose you care for
none of these thirgs now. And really 1
don’t know just what you do care for: you
seem farther away in Alabama than you
would if you were in Europe: but I fancy
that is because we are so utterly unfamiliar
with your present surroundings. g
‘Ono, thing I must tell you, however. A
fcw of us here—Derrick Morton, the Van
Ruyter girls, Arthur Haxtell and his
brother Tom, Dorothy and John Berkeley.
and one morc—have undertaken to redeem
the frivolities of our corner of Newport hy
forming a reading circle. We read none
but new authors, and then we pick them to
pleces with a refinement of criticism that
would humble the most concelted beginner
if he could only hear us. I think it's a pity
that some of them can't; don't you? 1
wish you could be here to help us. I belfeve
you would make a distressingly acute in
quisitor, and the fact that you once tried
your hand at authorship would lend a pe
culiar zest to your censure, if it be true that
the best critics are the unsuccessful
writers. Apropes, what ever became of
your much-rejected manuscript? 1 should
like to submit it as the effort of one of the
submerged.
*I supposc you have no present thought
of coming back to civilization. From what
you say In your letters 1 infer that you are
enjoying yourself, after some primitive
fashion, and, better than all else, that your
health is improving. Because I can belleve
tho latter, I can continue to spare you
while the need exists; and since the separa
tion has to be, it is better that we should
bear it contentedly. I should be sorry to
have the good effect of Dr. Perevin's pre
scription marred by any repining of mine,
and so long as you feel that the out-of-door
life is helping you, I hope you will not let
any strained sense of your duty to your
mother or to me make you abridge it. We
shall get along famously without our preux
chievaller, and you are not to suppose that
we are obliged to go about uncared for be
cause you happen to be buried in the forests
of Alabama.
“Write often, if you feel like it, but don't
let it become a bore. There Is nothing more
dreadful than having to write to some one
when you want to do something else. Af
fectionately, as always, HELEN.
“P. S.—l have been invited to join a party
on Derrick Morton's yacht, and If you don"t
hear from me again for two or three weeks,
you'll know I have accépted and that post
offices are not to be had for the asking.”
Philip put the letter down with a
smile that was more than half a sneer.
When one sets out to make himself the
advocate of an unworthy cause, mental
short-sightedness stunds ready to dis
tort and confuse the judgment; and in
the case of a letter, the dispassionate
formalism of written language lends
iteelf easily to inferential misconstruc
tion.
“How could I ever have fancied that
she had any warmth or depth apart
from the intellectual side of her char
ncter?” he asked himself. “I'm surel
don’t know, any more than I know why
I always took it for granted that we
were divinely appointed to be the com
ponent partsof that mysterious creation
which the marriage service declares to
be one person, but which all experience
suys is still more than ever two. ‘Could
Elsie Duncan write such a letter as
that to the man she loves? Would she
turn neat phrases and—— Bah! the
comparison is nbsurd! And yet, ot the
other hand, it isn’t fair to biame Helen
because I don’t happen to be the one
man in the universe who is capable of
colling out the best there is in her; and
1 don’t blome her. She may find the
right man yet; it’s barely possible this
cruise in Morton’s yacht will turn out
to be more Irearly a divine appointment
than an agreement made by our fathers
while we were in swaddling-clothes.”
Thus Philip, in a plausible attempt |
to justify himself. How should he know
that the cool:and dispassionate letter‘
was oniy a part and parcel of the hard
task Helen had set herself in the begin
ning? How was he to guess that she
had steadily resolved from the first to
say uothing that would tempt him to
turn back to his hurt? By what inner
prescicnce should he have been enabled
to read between the lines the passionate
yearning that was so resolutely effaced
in the written words? As he stood at
his window looking out into the calm
stillness of the moonlit night, what
good'angel was there to tell him thatat
another window in far-off New England
the writer of that letter knelt with wet
eyes, .beseeching the Merciful One to
protect and preserve the absent lover?
There was nofie; nor wits there any in
ward monitor to hint that propinquity.
the charm of an innocent face, and a
simple outpouring of womanly sym
patby had anited with his own moral
and physical weakness to tu~n him
aside from the plain way of rectitude
and honor:
[TO BE CONTINUED.)
Must Be an Astrologer.
Ignorant people think that am as
ironomer is alsoan astrologer. Sir John
Herschel once received a letter asking
him to cast the writer's horoscope. An
other letter-writer requested the dis
tinguished astronomer to consult the
#tars and answer these two questions:
“Shall 1 marry?” and “Have 1 ssen
her?” Maria Mitohell records in her
journal that on an Atlantic steamer an
Irishwoman, learning that she waa an
nstronomer, asked: her what she couid
tell. Miss Mitchell answered that she
~could: tell when the moon would rise,
when the sun would rise, and when
there would be an eclipse of the moop or:
of the sun. “Oh!” exclaimed the disap
pointed womaa, in a tone which plain
ly said: “Is that all?” She expected
to bave her fortune told.. Once in »
town ‘not. far from Boaton, during »
very mild winter, a lad, driving a team,
called out to Miss Mitchell on the street, |
saying: “I want to-ask you a question,
Miss Mitchelll!” She stopped. He
asked: “Shall we lose our ice crop this
winter?”—Youth's Companfon.” ~ - |
i ————— <l
i - Sudden Deaths, “Bryh
waraem 40 eight nmong mes. . |
s S TBe gi L
FARM AND GARDEN.
| ‘ FEEDING FOR EGGS.
| Green Bome Beats All Other sub
' stances as Winter Feod.
‘ The profit is always sure whep every
detail is correct. Cheap food must not
"| be estimated by the price paid for it in
| the market. The cheapest food for the |
| poultryman or farmer is that which
' | gives him the largest number of eggs.
| It matters not what the food costs, so
| long as the eggs correspond. It is the
product by which we should measure
and estimate. ; s
‘ Green bones are not used as extensive
' |ly as they should be becavsc grain can
| be obtained with less difficulty and at a
| low cost, but as egg-producing material
| the bone is far superior to grain; nor
' |does the bone really cost more than
| gratn in some sections. The cutting of
| the bone into available sizes i{s now
[’ rendered an easy matier, as the bone
| cutter is within the reach of all. Bones
| fresh from the butcher have more or
' | less meat adhering, and the more of
| such meat the better, as it will tost no
, | more per pound than the bone, while
| the combination of both meat and bone
| Is almost a perfect food from which to
| | produce eggs. :
| If the farmer can get two extra eggs
1 | pér_ week from each ben in winter, he
) | will make a large profit. We may add
- | that if the product of each hen can be
Incteased one egg per week only, in
\ | winter. that one egg will pay for all the
' | food she cam possibly consume, and it
' | therefore pays to feed the substances
4 that will induce the hena to lay. If the
/ | hens are consuming food and yet pro
* | ducing no eggs, they will cause a loss
: to their owner; and this happens every
r | winter on a large number of farms.
' | The hens receive plenty of food, but not
! | of the proper kind.
¢ A pound of cut green bone is suffi
\ | cient for 16 hens one day, which means
- | that one cent will pay for the bone for
| that number of fowls. If one quart of
¢ | grain be fed at night to 16 hens, #nd one
1 | pound of bone in the morning, it should
* | beample for each day in winter. In sum
¢ | mer only the bone need be given. Such
t| @ diet provides fat, starch, nitrogen,
* | phosphates, lime and all the substances
® | required to enable the hens to lay eggs.
| As an egg is worth about three cents in
) | winter, it is plain that it is cheaper to
- | feed bone than grain, as the greater
I | number of eggs not only reduces the
> | total cost, but increases the profit as
. | well,
r The bone-cutter is as necessary to the
: poultryman as his feed mill. It enables
. | him to use an excellent and cheap food,
| and gives him a profit where he might
t | otherwise be compelled to suffer a loss,
. | It is claimed that a bone-cutter pays
for itself in eggs and really costs noth
t | ing. Bones are now one of the staple
" | articles of food for poultry, and no ra
| tion should have them omitted. They
are food, grit and lime, all combined
" | in one, and the hens will leave all other
! | foods to receive the cut bone. If cut
¢ | fine, even chicks and ducklings will
relish such excellent food, while turkyes
2 | grow rapidly on it. To meet with suc
. | cess requires the use of the best ma
» | terials, and green bone beats all other
| { substances' as food for poultry.—
% lPmlltry Age,
HOUSE FOR POULTRY.
5 | it Is Well-Arranged and Has Plenty
-of Sumnlight.
The diagram shown below §llustrates
t | the ground plan of a poultry-house so
t | ararnged that it will receive the sun’s
- | rays from early morning until late in
[ | the afternoon, and is designed by Dr.
y| L. B. Lucas, of Indiana. The house is
2 | composed of three rooms, separated by
- | two partitions. An arrangement for
) | separating the layers and non-layers is
)| as follows: Openings are cut in the
; | GROUND PLAN. }
| partitions, boxes are placed in the plr-‘
| titions, the boxes corresponding with
. | the openings. The hens are placed in.
| one end room and those which lay wiil
.| ¢nter the open door of the nest-box, the
, | door closing and opening one on the op
, | posite.end of the box; when the hen
, | goes out into the middle room, she
. | closes the door behind her and opens the
| | one through which she entered the
| nest-box. AA are doors, WWWW are
| windows, B an entrance, D the dust
| box, 8 the scratching-room, F the feed
| room and R the roosting-room. The
,| house may be of any size preferred.—
Farm and Fireside.
POULTRY PARAGRAPHS.
\ As soon as a brood of chickens is
' | hatched burn the old nests,
'| Turkeys, geese and ducks are more
‘| rubject to tape worm than are com
mon fowls.. Bee that the water supply
is pure.
A considerable economy can be ef
fceted by feeding to your fowls scraps
from the table and refuse vegetables
and fruits.
A flock of 50 hens, well tended, should
give a net profit of SSO a year. How
cal you make the same capital and la
bor pay more?
One advantage in coaxing your hens
to lay In winter is in thelr becoming
broody early in the spring, und in only
that way do we get the early pullets
for the laying season the next fall.
Finely pulverized clay makes a bet
ter dust bath than pure sand, and it
serves a better purpose, too, in mixing
with the hen manure to prevent its
getting into clods and to absorb am
monia as the manure is decomposed.—
¥armers' Unjon. s :
X Bees as Weather Prophets.
That bees are weather prophets few
who are accustomed to their habits can
doubt. They seem to know a long time |
in advance whether the winter is to be |
mild or severe. While the old straw|.
hives, with two openings were used,|
(the bees.sfopped up these entrances |
.early in Octaber whenever a severe win- |
ter. was appronching, leaving room only |
| for & misute passage of air. Beekeep- |
fll"“:’“ Sagree L%‘!"!“ the |
Ahamesives frops the aed ia wtom |
been W lativel; m i
e @’;’w B afi' sR A e
it *u&@fif@%ufi Y
STICK TO LIVE STOOK.
'onth Industry Is Indeed the Right
Alm of Agricuiture.
‘ The wheat grower who points with
satisfaction to the advancing: price on
this cereul can be matched easily
‘enough by the cattle-grower when he
‘notes the strong demand and ad
vancing price for feeders. From every
‘market come reporis of the greatest
activity in the demand for feeders. Car
‘rylng coals to Newcastle is not a cir
cumstance to shipping Canadian cattle
‘frvm Buffulo to Nebraska, to be fat
tened on the corn that has been grown
in that state. lowa and Nebraska men
’nre swarming ‘to the market and buy
ing everything that can eat corn; $5.18
is said to have been paid recently for
enstern-grown feeders. Anything that
wenrs hair and has a cloven hoof is
quick sale at strong prices at all mar
kets in the west, and the demand is
such that it bids falr to increase the
current of stockcrs and feeders from
Canada and the east toward the corn
belt—a very anomalous condition of af
fairs.
The stock farmer should not permit
himaelf to be rushed into wheat-grow
ing. He meels far less competition
in the markets of the world than docs
the wheat farmer, and year in and year
out his returns are more certain and
remunerative. The steady advance of
values of cattle, swine and sheep has
poured dollars into his pockets, and
every condition discernible in the fu
ture points to a further appreciation in
value of the animals of the farm. Stock
raising is the right arm of agriculture.
It requires only intelligence ~f a low
degree to tickle the earth and garner
the gruin. Cheap lands and cheap labor
can grow wheat. Brains and fertile
soil are requisite to =tock growing.
The man who abandons stock farming
for wheat growing under the present
circumstances has certainly studied the
situation to little purpose. The ex
perience of years has taught that corn,
grasa and live stock bring more cer
tain and more profitable returns than
grain growing, which impoverishes the
snil agd does not enrich the farmer.—
Colman'’s Rural World.
LABOR AND LUMBER.
Both Are Saved by Utilining the Space
Under Stairways.
An the world grows older and timber
scarcer the advisability of making use
of every available inch of room under
one roof should be leas and less ignored.
The space under the stairway in most
stubles, however, is worse than wasted,
UTILIZING VVABTE SPACE.
in fhat it is apt to be made the dump
ing place for innumerable odds and
ends, resulting, before one hardly re
alizes it, in a heap inextricably con
fused. Owing to this fact, I present
{the accompanying illustration, which
shows how to employ advantageously
the space, and that, too, to the addi
tion of stable conveniences. The space
should be boarded up with good stuff,
matched pine preferably, and that por
tion having the greatest height made
into a harness closet. As for the re
naining room, it is generally best to
convert it into a grain bin, having one
or more compartments. Thus it is that
one can derive great advantages at
trifling expense, and, above all, suffer
no inconvenience, or even loss of room,
about the stable.—Frederick O. Sibley, ‘
in N. Y. Tribune. ;
SCIENCE OF MANURING.
Fertilisers Should Be Kept Near the
Surface of the Soll.
Repeated experiment has proved that
the practice of applying large quanti
ties of manure to the acre on a limited
acreage, making it neceasary to leave
much of the land unmanured, does not
pay. Not a few farmers never apply
less than 20 tons of stable manure toan
acre, saying that they prefer to do well
what they do, and let the remainder of
ths land take its chances. Twenty tons
of manure on one acre, plowed under
" | for a spring crop, makes the soil richer
| for years—no doubt about that—but it
; will not improve the productive power
.{of a farm nearly so much as the same
" | amount of manure used as a top dress.
"ling on three acres, providing clover s
'_ grown with this supply of plant food
.| It is poor farming to keep up a few acrer
| near the barn with the entire supply
.| of stable fertilizer and let thin fields
{fail to make heavy sods. Manuria
crops are the chief dependence on
| majority of farms, or should be, anc
| enough farm manure should-be used
assist thin soils wherever found, so tha'
all the flelds may incresse their supply
of vegetable matter and be permanently
improved, and then any additional sup
| ply .can be safely used to enrich th¢
pet field from which one wants a bannes
Jcrop. Granting that there are excep
| tiona, it Is the rule that manure shouic
‘| be kept near the surface of the soil
should be applied more frequently anc
less heavily, and should be used to in
svre a growth of some fertilizing crop
— Rural World, 4
The Lasy Man’s Argument.
Laziness often resorts to very in
genious arguments to ustify itself; anc¢
some lazy men expend more energy in
hunting excuses than would be re
quired to do their work. We have heard
men argue that horses should not be
groomed in winter because grooming
opencd the pores and the horse wa:z
more sensitiveto the cold! The reasone
for grooming 'the horse do not freeze
up. They are applicable in winter as
weil as in summer. Filth on his hide is
unwholesome to-the horse in all ‘sed
sons.—Farm Journal.
Oarrots Geed for Herses.
Of all roots with which horses ‘are
tempted, the carrot, as s rule, {s the
favorite, and perhaps the most bene
ficial. It is sald to be somewhat
dluretic in its effects, and to exercise a
salubrious Influence on the skin. Cer
taln 1t s’ that & sick horse may 'bel
\coaxed into eating carrots when disin.
clined to partake of other nourishment,
and the greatest benefit results. For|
the alling Borse carrots are most val:-|'
AMIERs 8% St O it hed s istinar
be given with ddvantage even tos Norse]
4n bealthy condition.—Prines Edward|
i ; NSRS ¢
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A man never enjoys reading quite as much
he does j his wife i
15 Chare It e s ey e sk
Confecti Id i
"ernbon-,g:nr::fllchio:;: GN:E::.' £andy ‘
“MY WIFE'S LIFE.”
e
of saving it.
th ked and th "
pramiemt o caaapin Sepelnlte | promptly corcd—K. Monarm, Memphle,
18R destroying Hisease which sleye iis
thousands -’fln-"y- It is & happy issue u’é’:’fi lql“:llitl‘loze:b-lc,d.. and still 'e'&?..i"»?.‘
to'the struggle when disease 1s conquered | 1§, easy to say that this was not a case of
and heaith restored. Such an issue does consumption. - Yet the physicians said it
mot always end the -tm.fle. but it didin | wup They should know. As & matter
: the case of Mr. K. Morris, Memphis, Tenu., | of fact, Dy, Ayer's Cherry Pectoral bas
who saw his wife wasting and weakening wrought s0 many similar cures that it
| lfld.s“{"“‘.‘“ ""9"':3 and then '“g' seems o argue the curableness of com
: fi:" he "'f" temedy that wrought sumption, in its earlier stages, by the use
: e cure. He tells the story thus: of this remedy. There is no Betler medi.
, ‘' Seven years ago, my wife had a severe | cine for pulmonary troubles than Dr.
. attack of lung troub{e which the phy-|Ayer's Cherry Pectoral. It swu relief in
Y sicians pronounced comsumption. “’rhg cases of Asthma, and Bronchitis, where re
: mTh was extremely distressing, espe- | licf has been heretofore nnattainable. ‘It
cially at night, and was fr neurly romptly cures Coughs and Colds, La
. attended with the spitting of blon. The grlpre. and all affections of the throat
g doctors being umable to help her, I in.|and fungs. Herctofore, Dr, Ayer's Cherry
: duced her to try Lr. Ayer’s cnerrz Pectoral Pcc'ouf has been put up ¥u full size
: and was surprised at the great relief it | botties “‘J' A&t $1.00 per bottle. To meet
. gave. Before using one whole bottle she | a world-wide demand for a smaller Ynck.
was cured, 5o that now she is strong and | age, the rened, is now put up in half size
z quite hulthy. That this medicine saved | bottics, at hal grlce—y) cents. Write for
my wife’s life I have not the least doubt. | Dr. Ayer's Curebook (free) and learn more
) I always keep Dr. Ayer’s Cherry Pectoral | of the cures effected by Dr. Ayer's Cher:
| in the {wu. Whenever any of my family | Pectoral. . Address J. 8: Ayer Co., uwc{z
; have a cold or cough we usc it, and are' Mass.
—— e
® . o "
. Extinguishers.
' One of the greatest and heaviest of them is
that drudgery of washini and cleaning in the
E old way with soap. What is a woman good
Z — for, after a day over the washboard, or
Z cleaning house? She's too tired even to
I rest, usually.
B -gatW . Why is it that any woman is willing
= to live such a life when Pearline stands
7
K . ready to do all her hard work and save
A 4 \ her money besides? There’s no
=" : e &7 answer to this—at least, no sen
—— R sible, satisfactory answer.
@ -
0,
NN S 2,77 7760
h———_——-—fi——*_——“
OET THE GENUINE ARTICLE!
e e o - SO LSO SWIWLEY e
9
Walter Baker & Co.’s
Pure, Delicious, Nutritious.
Coste Tose than ONE CENT a cup.
Be sure that the package bears our Trade-Mark.
Walter Baker & Co. Limited,
(Botablished 1780.) Dorchester, Mass.
-—-—-——————'—*—__“____—__..,_~__,,_____
108 §
2% S . DRUGGISTS 1
— — eeee——_
i : - S R o
THE OLEANER 'TIS, THE COSIER T8 {
WHAT 18 HOME WITHOUT = '3
> ; Bk ! ey i=.:;_'-,%§
b g V. o g i
4 . 3§ ‘,‘ 'Il"“e:"',
sAPOLIO ..
] il b Pl
AR A s R el AR
S N AN A A IV AMAIRANE
£ = 3 g Sl o o Rl D S T AR ":9:'};."’- ol
J e R T BN o2t L2 e
1 M QTS TANE SN AN hiiacisaan; . -
.| L) Bosan -0 ,‘~"w';£ ") BT !, L PN
st b g SRIRS YO SWV. Y ¥ s i - 3 4
,’ A FOUSEEVES | . " ,.-'"",AL"A:;“}"‘:]W i T Ry ) " b8 A DA
Ank Voo Bt e e s 4 e
. TOUr b o S f : 3
T TR SN, RO ;. E
“‘%fié‘m e SR \';"?’ T A A S T RO
02
25 50
B et Rl B AT
], e sre very fme suspauians, gUit et
Loy .I “,. " .4..3\,2% by, 3)‘;“:", v
| ore o & very e i of e e, N -
“Now don't o think youa thoAbil
hg}iar & pair F his Christmas -;.5-!»«‘..‘_:{(,‘1",;‘5,2”:
Wl hat be 2 1o mice puic ol origenls .
«No; he's mot here yet.™ &Ax({;;
| t you any ides whiai M il - %
be bere¥o oot ‘+
|t mies il
pointed peddler. =77 TR
*Ob, not 80 very,” said the youns Bk
“T haven't busbend."—Detreit Pree- -
P, MR
3 e Lt L e 0 e i et
Crippled for years? - Pshaw! 1 ,%
et % e NS O
What It Means.—Bobbie-—* . WhOk
| does it mean by saying: 'w% p le{afl
without? ” Father — “Without e
heard, my son.”—Brooklyn Life,” G
Fits cm:d free and permanently cured.
No fits first duy’s use of Dr. R
Great, Nerve Restorer, mam%gauzgflz
treatise. Dr. !liu,NArehlt..Phil‘,fw R
He—"Don’t _you think it rather risky to
S e e on Jpor ehede s
a i X g
I'll see you lwme."—Yellvw% Pt ?
I 1d not al without Pise’s Cure ,
for "&:..-:;:fi. ‘fi.dwfiyl cures.—Mrs.
E. C. Moulton, Needham, Mass., Oct. 22, 94,
A divorce mit should be included in the
wardrobe of the actress who hopes to be
well advertised. —Chicago News.
Surely. Often after 10, 15, 20 years® suf
k‘:':nx’,' St. Jl:obl Oil cu&rhlu’ntun.
Some seople think that when a man fo
bald-headed he ought to quit going with
i the girls.—Washington Democrat.
Sore and Stiff? Cold. St. Jacobs Oil the
Cure. It warms ud_nhxn.'
It i tt fe to bet that a boy whose
en\}irlx:u?nr:nty sc‘n:n"t’ inc!ud: l:gck{ec will
. never amount to anything.—Atchison Globe,
A doesn’t object to h
g I tohli,g:‘::miafn others l:t, wot:e. = An:em
obe.