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J.wWJ NORR c 9^' no *’ r MlHttw HOftßrs 7JWM J _f'/.' . j>£ <■< . A I'll PETER Af-.D ALIX. Synops —U tor Strickland, Re tired, Is Ivn in Mil* ". aiiej near San Francis. His family con. Mata of his daughters, Alix, 21, ai? Cherry. IS, and Anne, his niece, 24. Their closest friend is Veter Joyce, a lovable sort of recluse. Martin Lloyd, a visiting mining engineer, wins Cherry, marries her and car ries her off to El Nido, a mine town. Peter realizes that he loves Cherry. Justin Little woos Anne. Cherry comes home for Anne's wedding. Cherry realizes her mar riage is a failure. Peter tells Cher ry of his “grand passion,” without naming the girl. Martin comes for Cherry. Martin and Cherry drift apart. Dr. Strickland dies. Peter return." from a long absence. CHAPTER X—-Continued. “I can’t ie’.l you hot? surprised I at Anne,” Peter said. “Well, we all were!” Alix confessed. “But it’s just Anne’s odd little self centered way,” she added. “It was here, and she wanted It. Well —I let Hong go, and as soon as I can rent this house, I’m going to New York.” “Why New York, my dear girl?” “Because I believe I can make a living there, singing and teaching and generally struggling with life!” she answered, cheerfully. “Cherry gets most of the money—they are always somewhat in debt, and I imagine that the reason she is able to have a nice apartment and a maid now is because she knows it is cooling—and I get the house, and enough money to keep me going—say, a year, in New York.” “Do you want to go, Alix?” he said, affectionately. “Yes, I think I do,” she answered. But her eyes watered. “I do—in a way,” she added. “That is, I love my singing, ahd the thought of making a success is delightful to me. But, of course, it means that I give up every thing else. I can’t have home life, and —and the valley—for years, four or five anyway, I’ll have to give all that up. And I’m twenty-seven, Peter. And I’d always rather hoped that my music was going to be a domestic va riety—” She stopped, smiling, but he saw the pain in her eyes. “George Sewall most kindly asked me to moth er his small son—” she resumed, cas ually. “But although he is the dear est —” “Sewall did!” Peter exclaimed, rath er struck. “Great Scott! his father is one of the richest men in San Fran cisco.” “I know It,” Alix agreed. “And he is one of the nicest men,” she added. “But, of course, he’ll never really love any one but Ursula. And I felt—oh, I felt too tired and alone and de pressed to enter upon congratulations and clothes and family dinners with the Sewalls.” she ended, a little drear ily. “I wanted —I wanted things in the old way—as they were—” she said, her voice thickening. p “I know—l know !” Peter said, ayrii pathetically. And for a while there was silence in' the little house, while the rain fell steadily upon the I' 1 ■Io ttl She Was Now Beside the Old Square Piano. dark forest without, and soaked branches swished about eaves and windows, “(’an you put me up to night?” he asked, suddenly. He liked her frank pleasure. “Rather! I think Cherry’s room was made up fresh last Monday,” she told him. She had risen, os If for good-nights, •nd was now beside the old square piano, where she had placed the lamp. “1 haven’t touched It —since—” she Mid. sadly, sitting on the stool, and with her eyes still smiling on him, I putting back the hinged cover. And a | moment later her hands, wiL> the as • surance and ease of the adept, drifted into one of the songs of the old days. “Do you remember the day we put the rose tree back, Peter?” she asked. “When Martin was almost a stran ger? And do you remember the day we made biscuits, over by the ocean?” “I remember all the days,” he an swered, deeply stirred. “We didn’t see all this, then,” Alix mused, still playing softly. “Anne claiming everything for her husband, you and I here talking of Dad’s death, and Cherry married —” She sigliedi “She’s not happy?” he questioned quickly. “She’s not unhappy,” she told him, with a troubled smile. “It’s just one of those marriages that don’t ever get anywhere, and don’t ever stop," she added. “Martin has faults, he’s un reasonable, and he makes enemies. But those aren’t faults for which a woman can leave her husband. Oh, Peter,” she added, laying a smooth, warm hand on his, and looking into his eyes with her honest eyes, “don’t go away again! Stay here in the valley for a week or two, and help me get everything worked out and thought out —I’ve been so much alone!” “Dear old Alix!” he said, sitting down on the bench beside her and putting his arm jibbut her. She dropped her head on his shoulder, and so they sat, very still, for a long min ute. Alix’s hand went to her own shoulder, and her fingers tightened on his, and she breathed deep, contented breaths, like a child. “Somebody ought to wire Mrs. Grundy, collect,” she said, after awhile. “W,e win defy Mrs. Grundy, my Peter said, kissing the top of a s<fft brown braid, “by trotting off hand in hand tomorrow and getting ourselves married. Why, Alix, he gave us his consent -years ago—don’t you remember?” “He did wish it!” she said, and burst into tears. “I seem to be doing things in a slightly irregular manner,” she said to him the next day, when they had gotten breakfast together, and were basking in the sunlight of the upper deck of the ferryboat, on their way to the city. “I spend the night before my marriage alone—in a small coun try house hidden In the woods —with my betrothed, and propose to buy my trousseau immediately after the cere mony !” Her voice fell to a dreamy note, and she watched the gulls, wheeling in the sunshine, with thoughtful, smiling eyes. The man glanced at her once or twice, Jn the silence that followed, with something like hesitation, or com punction, in his look. “Look, here, Alix —let’s talk. I want to ask you something. There’s never been anything—anything to tell you—or your father, if he was here,” I’eter said, flushed and a trifle awk ward. “I’m not that kind of a man. But there has been that one thing— that one woman—” Flushed, too, she was looking at him with bright, intelligent eyes. “But I thought she never even knew—” “No, she never did!” Alix looked back at the gulls. “Oh, well, then—” she said, indif ferently. “Alix, would you like to know' about her?” Peter said bravely. “Her name and everything?” “Oh, no, please, I’d much rather not!” she intercepted him hastily, and after a pause she added, “Our mar riage isn’t the usual marriage, in that way. I mean I’m not jealous, and I’m not going to cry my eyes out because there was another woman—ls another woman, who meant more to you, or might have! I’m going into It with my eyes open, Peter. I know’ you love me, and I love you, and we both like the same things, and that’s enough.” Three weeks Inter he remembered the moment, and asked her again. They were in the valley house now, and a bitter storm was whirling over the mountain. Peter’s little cabin rocked to the gale, but they were warm and comfortable beside the lire; the room was lamp-lighted, scented by Alix’s sweet single violets, white and purple, spilling themselves from a glass bowl, and by Peter’s pipe, and by the good scent of green bay burn ing. The Joyces had had a happy day, had climbed the hills under a lowering sky, had come home to dry clothes and do cooking, for Kow was away, and had finally shared an epi curean ineal beside the fire. Peter w’as wrapped In deep content; the companionship of this normal, pretty woman, her quick words and quick laugh, her music, her glancing, bright Interest in anything and every thing, was the richest experience of his Ufa. She had said that she would change nothing in hts home, but her clever white fingers had changed everything. There was order now, there was charming fussing and dust ing, there were flowers in bowls, and books set straight, and there was just the different little angle to piano and desk and chairs and tables that made the cabin a home at last. She wanted bricks for a path; he had laughed at her fervent, “Do give me a whole car load of bricks for Christmas, Peter!” She wanted bulbs to pot. He had lazily suggested that they open the town house -while carpenters and painters remade the cabin, but 6he had protested hotly, “Oh, do let’s keep it Just as It always was!” Smiling, be gave her her way. CHAPTER XI. ’Cherry had a flat now In Red Creek “Park.” It differed from an apart ment because it Had no elevator, no janitor, no steam heat. These things were neither known nor needed in the cmde mining town; the flat building itself was considered a rather ques tionable innovation. It was a wooden building, three stories high, with bay windows. Cherry had watched this building going up, and had thought it everything desirable. She liked the clean kitchen, all fresh white wood work, tiles, and nickelplate, and she liked the big closets and the gas-log. She had worried herself almost sick with fear that she would not get this wohderful place, and finally paid twenty-five dollars for the first month’s rent with a fast-beating heart. .She had the center floor. But after the excitement of moving in died away, she hated the place. She had enough money to hire a maid HR ILW Alix Met Her Sister at the Ferry. now, and she had a succession of slat ternly, independent young women in her kitchen, but she found her freedom strangely flat. Now and then a play, straight from “a triumphant year on Broadway” came to town for one night; then Martin took his wife, and they bowed to half the men and women In the house, lamenting as they streamed out into the sharp night air that Red Creek jlld not see more such produc tions. The effect of these plays was to make Cherry long vaguely for the stage; she really did not enjoy them for themselves. But they helped her to visualize Eastern cities, lighted streets, restaurants full of lights and music, beautiful women fitly gowned. After one of these performances she would not leave her flat for several days, but would sit dreaming over the thought of herself in the heroine’s role. One day she had a letter from Alix; •t gave her a heartache, she hardly knew’ why. She began to dream of her own home, of the warm, sweet little valley whose breezes were like wine, of Tamalpais wreathed in fog, ami of the ridges where buttercups and pop pies powdered a child’s shoes with gold and silver dust. She began to hunger for home. Nothing that Red Creek could offer shook her yearning for the remembered sweetness and beauty of the redwoods, and the great shade of the mountain. She wanted to s[tend a whole summer with Alix. She was athirst for home, for old scenes and old friends and old emo tions! She had only to hint to Alix to receive a love letter containing a fervent invitation. So It was settled. With a sort of feverish brevity Cherry completed her arrangements; Martin, was to use his own judgment in the matter of boarding or keeping the flat. Some of their household goods were stored; Cherry told him that she would come down in September and manage all the details of settling afresh, but she knew that her secret hope was that she might never see Red Creek again. Alix met her sister nt the ferry in San Francisco on a soft May morning. She was an oddly developed Alix, trim and tall, prettily gowned and veiled, laughing and crying with joy at seeing Cherry again. Peter, she explained between kisses, had had to go to Los Angeles three days ago, had been expected home last night, and was not even aware yet that Cherry was definitely arriving. “Os course, he knew that you were coming, but not exactly when,” Alix said, as she guided the newcomer along the familiar ferry place on to the big bay steamer for Mill Valley. Cherry drew back to exclaim, to mar vel, to exult, at all the well-remem bered sights and sounds and smells. “Oh. Alix—Market street!’ she ex claimed. “And that smell of leather tanning, and that smell of bay water and of coffee! And 100k —that’s a cable-car!” “We’ll come over to San Francisco soon, and you’ll see the new hotels,” Alix promised when they were seated on the upper deck, with the blue wa ters of the bay moving softly past them. Cherry’s happy eyes followed t a wheeling gull; she felt as if the vyorld was suddenly sunshiny and sim ple and glorious again. “But now, I thought the best thing was to get you home,” Alix went on, “and get you rested." “I can’t get used to the idea of you and Peter—-iharried!’ Cherry smiled. “We’re, well to it,” Alix de clared. smiling, too. But a little sigh stabbed through the smile a second later. Cherry’s exquisite eyes grew sympathetic; she suspected from the letter Alix had written that there would be no nursery needed in the mountain cablp for a while, and she knew that to baby-loving Alix- this would be a bitter cross. Sausalito, fragrant with acacia and rose blooms, rose steeply into the bright sunshine beyond the marshes skirting the hay glittering in light. Cherry’s eager eyes missed nothing, and when they left the train at Mill Valley, and the mountain air envel oped them in a rush of its clear soft ness and purity she was in ecstasies. She gave an exclamation Y>f delight when they reached the cabin. It was a picture of peaceful beauty in the • summer noon. There, were still butter cups and poppies In the fields, and in the garden thousands of roses were growing riotously, flinging their long arms up against the slope of the low brown roof, and hanging in festoo’hs from the low branches of the oaks. Beyond the house the mountain rose; from the porch Cherry could look down upon the familiar valley, and the rivers winding like strips of blue ribbon through the marshes, and the far bay. and San Francisco beyond. Inside were shady rooms,-bowls of flowers, plain little white curtains stirring in the summer breeze, peace and simplicity everywhere. Cherry smiled at the immaculately clad Chi nese stirring something in a yellow bowl in a spotless kitchen whose Win dows showed manzanita and wild lilac and madrone trees; smiled at the big, smoked fireplace where sunlight fell on piled logs down the chimney’s great mouth; smiled as she went to and fro on journeys of investigation. But the smile quivered Into tears when she came io her own room. Just such a room as little Charity Strickland had had, only a few years ago. with white hangings and unpuinted wood, fresh air streaming through it, and red woods outside. Cherry stumbled into the airy, dark, sweet 1 little bedroom, and somehow undressed and crept between the cool sheets of tiie bed that stood near Alix’s on the wide sleeping porch. Her last thought was for the heavenly redwoods so close to her; she slept, indeed, for almost twelve unbroken hours. "Oh, Sis, I do feel so deliciously lazy and happy and rested and —and everything J” said Cherry, as she set tled herself at the .porch table where service for one was suread. “Cherry, you’re prettier than ever!” Alix said, eyeing the white hands so busy with blue china, and the bright head dappled with shade and sun shine coming through the green rose vine. “Am I?” Cherry said, pleased. “I thought myself that I looked nice this morning,” she added, innocently. "But it Is really because the air of this place agrees with me, it makes my skin feci right and my eyes feel right; it makes me feel normal and smoothed out somehow!” “Oh, there’s no place in the world .like it!’ Allx agreed, rubbing some dried mud from the back of her hand with the trowel. “If Martin contin ues to migrai. every little while, I wish you could hove a little house here. Then for part of the time, at least, we could be together.” “The old house,” Cherry said, dream ily. "Well, why not?" Alix echoed, eager ly. "It’s in pretty had shape, after being empty so long, but it would make a darling home again! Would Martin object?” Cherry filled her coffee cup a sec ond time, gave Kow an appreciative smile as he put a hot French loaf be fore her, and said, indifferently: "Martin has a constitutional objec tion to whatever pleases me, and would find some objection to any plan that gave me pleasure!” Her tone was ’light, but there was a bitter twitch to her lips as she spoke. “Oh, Cherry!” Allx said, distressed. “However, I’m not going to talk about Martin!” the younger sister de creed, gaily, "I’m too utterly and ab solutely happy 1” There was a worried little cloud on Alix’s forehead, but it lighted stead ily, as the happy morning wore on, and half an hour later, when she. and Cherry were sailing a frog on a shin gle, on the busy little stream that poured down the hill near the cabin, both were laughing like children again. She was youth incarnate, palpitating, flushed, unspoiled. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Changes Come With Years. A young girl should always remem ber to the credit of her mother’s Judg ment that “father” has changed con siderably since he was a young man and “mother" married him.—Leaven worth Times. MAKE MONEY IN PRODUCING BEEF Herd of Good Cows and Purebred Sire of Prime Importance in Making Start. SELECT BEST HEIFER CALVES Np Method Adapted to All Farm, and Conditions as Much Depends on Pasture Available and Nepr. ness'of Market. (Prepared by the United State, Department of Agriculture.) We are a nation of meat eaters. The average Apt eri can eats more than 140 pounds of’this concentrated food each year. The importance of treat, par ticularly beef, is nowhere more era phaticaily brought out than nt the ■treat central stockyards, some of which cover nearly a square mile of ground. To keep the supply of animals moving through these yards, necessary to feed the millions of people, requires the raising of cattle, hogs, and sheep on hundreds of thousands of farms and ranches. Improve Each Generation. In profitable beef production a herd of good cow’s and a good purebred buli are of great Importance. Each - A High-Class Beef Breeding Herd, generation of.cattle raised should be better than the preceding one. This can be accomplished by selecting the best heifer calves each year to take the place of barren, shy-breeding, and old cow’s, and buying a better bull each two or three years. All other calves produced may be sold either as wean lings at six or eight months old, ns stackers or feeders at one or two years, finished as baby beef at sixteen to twenty months, or as fat steers nt an ol'ler age. The system employed depends largely upon the pasture <nd feed available, transportation costs, and the market price of milk and cattle. The systems of handling beef-breed ing herds which are most extensively practiced are "beef," “baby beef,” and "dual-purpose.” In the first two sys- I tern* calves run with their dams un- ' til weaned. the cows not being milked. They differ in that cows intended for producing calves for baby beef gen erally receive better carp because their calves are to be fattened shortly after weaning, which makes It necessary to give them a good, start on milk. The straight beef system Is primarily adapted to the range country of the West and South, which is too rough, dry, or sandy for cultivation. Where the climate permits, pasture Is de pended on the year round. Some cot tonsed rake may he used during un usually bad weather or periods of feed shortage. Where snow covers the range n part of the year, hay is put up for winter feeding. Little grain Is fed, except where grain sorghums can be grown. From soul hern ranges the cattle are usually sold as Stockers at every ago from weaning time to ma turity. Recently many fat calves have been going to the slaughterhouses. From the North and West a large part of the rattle go to market grass-fat as three-year-olds. Baby-heef production is a highly specialized business and Is adapted to regions where there 1r n plentiful sup ply of fattening feeds together with good pasture for the summer main tenance of the breeding herd and nurs ing calves. The corn belt is the best place for this system, but it Is prac ticed to some extent In other places. When to Finish Baby Beef. If spring calves are to be finished as baby beeves, they should be taught to eat grain before they are weaned. They should go into the dry lot nt the end of the pasture season and be ready for market by June or July. If possible, they should have good pasture for a couple of weeks after weaning. Fall born calves should be kept on grain when they are turned on pasture In the spring. The quantity of grain should be gradually Increased throughout the summer and fall so that they will be finished for market in December or January. When the pasture falls, hay and silage should be supplied; Stocker calves require some meal or grain during their first winter to keep them thrifty and growing. They can utilize to advantage much more rough age, such as stalk fields, meadows, silage, and straw than baby beeves. As yearlings and two-year-olds they may be wintered on roughage alone, some clover or alfalfa hay being given l’ avallubla. WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 18, 1922. OVERFEEDING CAUSES SHRINKAGE OF STOCK Weakness in System of Co-oo erative Shipping. Partly Due to Dlepoeltlon of Some Shipper* to Overfill Animal, Be fore Loading—B.at Plan la to Alwaya Play Fair. (Pr«p,rM by th. Unit. ! Stale. Department of Alfrlcuiturr ) Reports to thp effect that excessive shrinkage on live stock nt central markets frequently experienced are sometimes received from members and managers of co-operative live-stock shipping associations by the United States Department of Agriculture. In some cases these reports take the form of complaints, and at times the shrinkage feature is pointed to as a weakness in the whole system of co operative shipping. While many things can. and fre quently do, result In excessive shrink age In live stock. Investigations have shown that at times It Is at least part ly due to a disposition on the part of some shippers to overfill their stock before loading. This custom seems to be a relic from the days before co-operative Flipping came Into vogue and when most small producers sold their stock to country buyers. Under the system of marketing wherein live stock was usually sold on the basis of home weights, or at most, shipping point weights. It was usually to the producer’s advantage to obtain a gen erous "fill” on his stock before turn ing It over to the country drover. The co-operative system of shipping live stock, however, practically elim inates the Incentive to excessive home or shipping point fills. Stock that Is fed heavily Just before loading Is not onlv quite likely to Sicken and sometimes die while In transit, but seldom takes a good fill when It ar rives at market. Furthermore, where co-operative shipments are graded at the shipping point the man whose stock has been given a heavy fill re ceives more than his Just proportion of the net returns. Home grading of co-operative shipments Is. in most in stances. highly desirable, but It can be successful only where the individ ual members "play fair” with each other or. In other words, where they really co-operate. KEEPING CHICKENS IN YARD Two-Foot Slats Nailed to Posts Will Prove Effective—Fowls Are Thrown Back. Chickens can be kept In their pen by nailing two-foot slats at an angle to the posts and stringing a number of strands of thin wire through them ns shown In the drawing. The chick ens do not see these wires and when ' —jp' ‘"J® Wires Stretched as Shown Here Will Effectively Prevent Chickens From Wandering Into th© Neighbors* Yard. they attempt to fly over the fence, they strike the wires and fall back in to their yard. After a number of futile attempts, they will not try to fly over again.—E. Bade, In Popular Science Monthly. GRAINS RELISHED BY FOWLS Seed of Kafir and Rolled Oats Found to Be Efficacious in Recent Experiments. The seed of kafir, one of the grain sorghums, has been used ns u substitute for corn in the scratch mixture used by the poultry husbandry division of the United States Department of Agricul ture with good results, which indicate about similar feeding value for these two products. Rolled outs were found preferable to ground oats for use In a poultry mash, and resulted in siitH clently greater egg production to Justi fy the additional expense associated with using this costlier fe<»d. The hens ate the mash more freely and, al though they consumed inure feed, their egg yield was enough lurger to produce greater profit. SPROUTED OATS FAVOR EGGS Without Succulent Sprouta All Other Aids in Increasing Winter Pro duction Would Fail. Probably thf> greatest single discov ery for the production of eggs during the winter months was that Introduced to the Industry by the sprouting of grain, particularly oats, and feeding the tender and succulent sprouts to tne hens. Without sprouted oats, prac tically all of our other aids in increas ing winter egg production would full by the wayside; at least, the results they would obtain would be consider ably less than Is possible where sprouted oats are used Id the ratlou.