The Herald, 1912-07-19, Page 5A LliilE C ILD'S PRYR
OR, THE DUI3L. IN THE GLEN.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
But I do mind," declared Ruby, "for
w the. sharp acgrn tops and the sticks
d stones hurt my foot just awfully."
neatly as her arms ached, Nannette
aid not stop to consider that, again
delight Ruby up in hsr arms, etriv-
with might and main to reach the
ce from whence the sound of voices
oeeeded,
lowly but surely she neared them, at
gth to her great joy she found she
s emerging from the wood; a bend in
r path soon brought her to a clearing,
td looking ahead, to her great canister -
tion, she found herself in the very glen
om' which she had fled so precipitately
little while since; he had taken a cur.
ritous route=and -found herself in ,the
ry spot she bad been warned to flee
om, and the sight that met her gaze
raight ahead, she never forgot while
er life lasted.
On the same forenoon on which the doe-
r had taken his departure, Irene also
ade the farmer's- wife farewell.
"If you would but stay until Jack comes
eek " said Mrs. Clyde, holding the slim
hite hand, "he will be very angry at pie
r letting you go without giving him the
portunity of bidding you good-bye."
Tell your son good-bye for me," re-
'aned Irene. She pressed a roll of bills
tis the rough, toil -worn hand of the far-
e's wife.
i;ou have been very kind to a help-
er," she said. "Let me repay
ur;as best I can; every kind action to
thelplese meets its reward in God's
Di ':good time, you will one day meet
0.
Mb. way do you go?" Mrs. Clyde
d sympathizingly.
must confess I have not quite made
Lev mind," returned Irene.
There never was a creature more for-
i—and snore hopelessly adrift on the
id," muttered Mrs. Clyde, gazing af-
the slim figure, with tears in her eyes.
he watched her out of sight, and she
er saw again the girl whom she knew
y as Twee.
ene's ay led through one of the most
uresque parts of the valley of Kent.
was quite tbree miles to the station,
'although weak from her recent M-
ahe concluded to walk there; she
d rest by the wayside if she felt faint
fatigued.
ddenly, in turning an abrupt curve
he wooded road, she came to an open
e with a stream of pure, clear, pur-
water, running through it, and a
tiful miniature cascade leaping and
king in the morning sunlight -ah,
a cool, restful place.
party of merry youths and maidens
gathered in the glen, and Irene saw
a picnic was in progress.
ne watched the scene with faseinat-
yes. "Was I ever young and gay like
?" she murmured, vaguely; "it seems
ough centuries of sorrow had passed
my head,
light, airy costumes of the young
blended with the rainbow hues of
ilken scarfs of the May -polo around
h they were dancing. '
• happy ab it rollicking young void
unded, hose bright their faces, How.
enjoyed the simple music, of an old
very rem& out of tune, and a ban-
ite as much so, to which their flying
kept time.
a little distance a bevy of pretty
were spreading a long, snowy cloth,
aring for the lunch, and a little fur -
on. two young men were putting up
Ing.
ne watched the scene wistfully. Weak
exhausted she had sunk down on a
y log, around which scarlet creep -
grew in rich luxuriance.
m her position she could see and yet
be seen through the. intervening
ches of the trees.
ddenly the Bound of horse's hoofs fell
her ear, and a moment later Jack
e sprang from bis horse and dashed
ng the "roup of merry -makers.
h," cried the girls in a chorus, "it's
Clyde rushing among us in this
mary fashion.—Look! his face is as
e as though he had seen a ghost."
ell, you wouldn't be laughing and
ing like this if you knew what was
g to happen hereabouts, mighty
he retorted.
h, what is it, Jack, do tell us about
on't keep us in suspense," the young
cried, crowding curiously about
ell, it's a first class duel," returned
ng Clyde, adding: "if you want to set
rself up as targets for a stray pistol
, I'd advise you to stay here."
ere was a loud chorus of soroams,
the frightened young girls scurried
in all directions, like a covey of part -
Oyoung men remained behind,
ding around tbeir informant, breath-
y inquiring:
ow do you know there's going to be
uel, Jack?"
hen is it to take place, Jack?"
e are the men, and what's it all
ut Jack?"
One question at a time, if you please,
tlemen," 'says Jack Clyde, throwing
self clown full length on the green
tg.
he duel is to take place in this exact
, twenty yards from the cascade yon -
and it's two swell Londoners who are
gl ea da the . whole other.
quarrel between
aud a mighty fierce ono it was, too,
n; tell you, and," he added, with a
I, laugh, "as you can always depend
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•.1,
upon—it was about a woman, fair of faoe
and false at heart—such a fair woman as
was especially born to break the hearts of
men and befool them."
'Let's hear all about it, Jack?"
"How did you happen to find it out,
Jack?"
Give ns the facts, Jack?" they all cried
out, exaltedly, in a cliorous again:*
"One question at a time, if you please,
gentlemen," repeated Jack with exasper-
atingslowness, and emphasizing the last
four words. "Well, to give you the whole
story. As I was waiting at the London
depot to take the train, the Liverpool ex-
press steamed in, and from one of the for-
ward coaches a tall and remarkably hand-
some man alighted. But hold—I am a
little ahead of my story—I 'had forgotten
to state, that, as I stood on the platform
waiting, a gentioman, accompanied by a
valet and another servant. His face was
pale and he seemed to be laboring under
some great excitement.
"'From this hour I shake the duet of
London from my feet forever,' he. said,.
huskily. 'I shall travel about the face
of the earth knowing no rest until I have
found him,' he added, fairly grinding his
teeth with impotent rage. 'And when I
do, I—'
"Tho sentence never was finished; a
cry that sounded like nothing human,
broke from the gentleman's lipe; his eyes
had at that moment rested on the man
alighting from the train.
"With one single bound he had reached
his side, had caught hini in a grip like
steel, and had almost shaken the breath
from hie body.
'Where is .my wife!' he thundered, in
an awful voice. "Speak, or I'll murder
you! Speak, Dr. Ross!'
"'Unhand me,' exclaimed the man, ang•
rily, haughtily; 'How should I know the
whereabouts of your wife?'
"'Liar! scoundrel! you do know!'
screamed the other. 'You left the city
with her, Victor Rose. You are the attrac-
tion that took Irene visiting the hospital,
curse you!'
You do me too much honor, I assure
you," sneered the man, twisting nonebal-
antly at his thick, dark mustache with
white hand, on which a fiery diamond
set in a serpent's head, "representing an
eye, gleamed, glowed, and scintillated like
a thing of life.
"'Out with it, where is she?' foamed his
antagonist. 'Speak, or by the Heaven
that bends above us I will have your
life!'
"'I refuse to be questioned,' Dried the
doctor, defiantly.
"'I ask you for the first and last time:
what was it that passed between you and
Irene at the hospital on the day she fled
from me?' cried the infuriated husband.
'You see . I have unearthed that, and I
have been like a sleuth -hound on your
track ever since. Will you speak?' and
the 'steel grip tightened about the doc-
tor's neck, who was trying in vain to
shake himself free.
"'I refuse to answer you,' repeated the
doctor. 'That .is my reply.'
"There and then there was a challenge
to a duel and it was as quickly accept-
ed, and when the friends who had ,_ga"h-
red about them daring •: the: melee; talked
the affair: over, I heard them 'say—twenty
miles down the country, in Cascade Glen,
Piney Woods—at once.
"This appeared to be satisfactory to
both parties concerned. They made a
strange compact, however, and that was
that one should reach Piney Woods by
one train, and the other go by another
route. Both trains reach the station at
about the same time. As the parties lair.
ried away, I heard one of the by-standers
say:
'Dr. Ross is a villain. He will reach
the station first and he will shoot his an-
tagonist on sight as he steps from the
train. His bullet 'will be unerring—he is
a dead shot, and the man of all others
to take an ignoble advantage of friend
or foe. He will not wait to meet him in
a duel if he can get a lead on him.'" '
There was a loud crashing in the bush-
es near, like'' the sound of a heavy falling
body.
"What is that?" they echoed, turning
hastily about. '
"Probably an elk crashing tin ough the
underbrneb," said Clyde, adding: "Well,
boys. I'm off. I'm sorry I cannot stay and
see the 'affair of honor,' as the French-
men phrase it. Let me know which gets
the best of the fracas."
"When did you say it was to take
place?" asked one of the excited group.
"As soon as they can reanh this spot
from the, depot," returned Clyde. "That
is, as I said before, if the doctor does not
pop the other one over as he steps from
the train. Every one has a sort of pre-
sentiment that that is elactly what will
occur,"
Clyde moved off and his friends started
across lots in a body to watch the two
trains come in; and even at that mo-
ment they could hear tbe shrill, far-off
whistle of a locomotive.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Clearly through the solemn stillness of
the summer day the words that had fal-
len from Clyde's lips, fell upon the heart
of the beautiful solitary figure crouching
among the wild lilac branches.
The swaying figure had sunk down
among tbe sharp thorns and the bram-
bles, but she did not even feel the pain
of them. The earth seemed to rock under
her feet, the leaves of the trees above her
head to moan with each passing breeze.
If the hand of God had stricken Irene
-dead, the beautiful white face upturned
to the sunlit sky could not have been
whiter. No pen can describe the awful
agony of that moment. Terrible cries fell
freely on the air, startling the timid
birds from their nests in the trees over-
head.
Ah! God pity me and have mercy," she
sobbed, wildly; "it is Frederick my—my
husband who s to' fight tbis duel with
Dr. Ross, I must save him, I will save
him or die in the attempt."
•
It was two good miles yet to the sta-
tion; ah, how should she ever make it.
It must have been Providence that turn-
ed her dazed eyes to the road, for sbe
saw at that moment a hansom -cab passing:
She hailed the driver, and the man looked
in wonder at the beautiful young woman
standing there in the dust of the way.
side.
"Can you take me to the .railway sta-
tion quick?" eke cried; "L Will give you
double you? fee—aye, quadruple it,"
The man hesitated.
"It is out of my way, miss," he replied;
"I am sorry to refuse you,.but 1 cannot
tarn back."
YYOu must—oh, sir, you must," she cried,
holding out her hands supplicatingly, "a
human life depends 00 it. I will pay you
any price you ask—only take me to the
station."
"1 couldn't go for less than a pound,"
declared' the man. The money was in-
stantly placed in his hand,
The drive 'to the station was quickly
made, though Au round -about route }vagi
obliged to be taken, owing to one of the.
bridges that ant?nned a deep creek have
ing been washed away by an overflow the
day previous,
When Irene xeaobed the 'station, ehe,
found to her terror the train had arriee'd
some time .ago, and that e•'party of men-•
tiemen had come in on it; they had tele-
graphed in advance for two coaches to
meet them at the station, and they p'tuve:
the order to the glen in Piney woods,
"A surgeon attended tike party, carry: ie,:;
a little black case. I imagined that a duels.
must be on the tapis," deolarod the lo-
giraoious station master, and if that is
the case, the affair must be pretty nigh.
over by this tine,"
Be never forgot athe terrible cry that
fell from the white-faced lady regarding'.
him; without a word she turned aud flea'
and was just -in time to intetcept the
driver who had 'brought her ther'bbs :as he
had gathered up his zeins to depart.
"You must take me back to the glen in
Piney woods," she gasped. "'It took us
three quarters of an hour to get hero; pot
back in half of that time an I will give
you three pounds."
'Get into the cab; miss, said the drive
or; "I will do my best to earn 'am' money.
but you see for yourself how bad the
roads are,"
Another instant and the cab was whirl-
ing along with lightning -like rapidity
over the uneven road. •
It was a ride nover to be forgo ton. A
strong hand held the reins and -urged the'.
frightened animals to do their best, the
vehicle whirling and dashing along with
its occupant swayed to and ,Pro like a leaf
in the gale. In after years when Irene
looked back" at that perilous ride, she-
wondered that she had not died in the,
terrible excitement of that awful moment,
the horses rearing and plunging down,
the grade of the steep Hill—the white-
faced driver, spurred on by her frantic
appeals to drive faster—they were but
creeping along -plied the whip with a
steady hand, making each stroke tell up-
on the quivering, panting beasts.
"Oh God, let me be in time to save my
love," was- the constant prayer that broke
with a moan over Irene's white lips; would
she reach the glen in time to prevent it?
How peaceful the hells and valet looked
in the golden glow of the sunlight. Alas!'
that their tranquility should be broken
by the means of the dying, and the blood
of a human heart lave the modest violets
and tender grasses.
Five minutes more and we shall reach
the glen," said the driver; "see, there
is the cascade ahead."
He saw her white lips move, but no
sound came from them. Three—four—min-
utes passed.
Irene, watching breathlessly ahead, sees
two dark forms facing each other: stand-
in- ten paces apart on the green sward.
Both seconds, as well as the principals,
hear that sound of crashing wheels, but
neither pay the least heed. It comes near-
er—so near that Irene can distinguish the
voices -she tries to cry out, but her lips
seem stricken dumb.
Ah! God have mercy. She hears the
query: "Are you ready, gentlemen ?"•
Both incline their heads,, and aha hears
the death -knoll in the command uttered:
one--two—three—ready—fire!
And with the command, two sharp re-
ports ring out simultaneously on the air.
But neither are destined to reach their
mark. The dust -covered cab has dashed
between, hiding the combatants from each
other's view, and the two bullets are buri-
ed deep in the wood -work of the vehicle,.
And. through the smoke and, confusion
which ensues, both of the combatants hear
a woman's voice, which both recognize,
crying out:
For the love of Heaven, dont .fire
again." -
- The: smoke cleared awayand the Nan-
som-cab from which Irenhas sprung has
dashed on some distance.
She holds out her white hands to Es -
mend, crying again, "Don't fire again,—
don't l—I—"
A bitter smile curls. Esmond's lips, he
looks at her with wrathy, blazing oyes.
"Have you followed your lover here to
Plead with me not to wreak my outraged
vengeance upon him?" he asked. sneer-
ingly.
She looks at him, but she could not
grow paler •than she already is, for those
words have cut her to the very soul.
"Hear me. my husband," she cried, "he,"
pointing to Dr. Ross—"he is not my lover,
yon must not say that."
"Will you tell me what this ecrat be-
tween you two is?" cried Esmond, in a
terrible voiire. "Speak—I command you.
Prove if you• can that be is nothing to
you. Has he a secret of yours to keep?"
"She cewvered from the terrible glance
he bent upon ,her ands he noticed that,
and be laughed aloud, she would rather
have heard any sound on earth. than that
terrible laughter.
"See she will not answer, I turn to you,
giving you a last chance, Dr. Ross,—will
you reveal what there is between yourself
and—her?"
A sneering smile carved Ross' lips.
"I refuse to speak," be replied, "I
pledged her my solemn oath that my lips
should be sealed through life, aye, even
on my death.bed,',anloas she bade me—con-
fess all."
A deathlike silonee fell upon the. little
group.
'No more need be said," returned Es-
mond, grimly. "Stand aside, madam," he
said., coolly turning to Irene, "and per-
mit this man and myself, to proceed to
business."
Oh, not no! nol" cried Irene, falling on
her knees with a+• piercing cry, "this 'duel
must not go ore -you shall not risk your
life for me, Dr. Ross, oven to spare ne
she sobbed, desperately.
At that moment the shrill treble of a
child's voice bilike in upon their startled
ears.
I told you, Nanuette, that was my
papa—oh, -paga, papal' she cried, joyful-
Iy, as she ran toward him. She had not
as yet caught sight of the face of the
kneeling figure, but as Irene heard her
V0/00, she forgot all else, springing to
her feet cryiug out with her whole soul
in her anguished ory: "011, Ruby—my child
—my child!"
Esmond sprung between them, his face
white as death.
"Do not dare to touch my child," he
Dried. "X will not permit it."
Again Irene shrunk back.
"Frederick," she murmured, "your eruel-
ty is killing me."
The scene' was all the more affecting
when Ruby recognized her mother and
struggled with piercing cries to break
from her father's arms to the embrace
of her mother. It was a scene that would.
have brought tears to eyes leas; used
to them.
Like a, beautiful hunted deer brought t;
bay, Irene turned slowly and faced them.
"Rush, my darling," she sobbed, "papa
will not let you come to mamma just
now."
I will spare the truthno longer," ehe
cried, "I will tell you the terrible secret
which Dr, Ross by chance disdovered, and
which he pledged himself never to reveal, I'
and which has driven me mad. It is this ,
--I—Oh, Godt how shall Futter the wordsI:
and live, but they must be spoken.
amu not- your lawful wedded wife, Fred-
erica."
A thunderbolt, falling from a clear skv
--the -earth suddenly opening under his'',
feet could not have astounded Frecherielt'
Esmond more. He could not credit tl
evidence of his own rouge&.
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"What," he cried, "I am not sure that
I have beard aright"
With a piteous. sob, Irene sunk on her
knees before him, repeating in a hushed,
awful voice: "I am not your lawful wed-
ded wife,. Frederick."
CHAPTER. XXXVIII.
"Listen, Frederick," she pleaded, "and
as you are strong, be merciful. 'I will tell
y"ou the whole story from beginning to
end, and you shall judge then whether I
have been more sinned against than sin-
ning." ..
All subterfuge- was at an end now—she
might as well tall him the whole truth,
just as matters stood. She broke at once
into her subject by saying:—
"Before I ever learned to love you, Fred-
erick. I was persuaded into wedding an-
other."
Shesaw the horrible words strike him
as lightning strikes a mighty forest oak;
he trembled from head to foot; those
startling words seemed to have fairly left
him lifeless, incapable of speech or mo-
tion.
"On the day that I was wed," continued
Irene, : "aye, the very hour—my husband
was taken from me. arrested and thrown
into prison. Soon after I heard that he
died,, that he perished in the fire of the
London prison. His name headed the list
of the prisoners who were killed.
"Then-you-you—asked me to be your
wife; :Frederick. I loved you, and, think -
lea I could,kbep the skeleton of the past
from you forevermore, and that you would
never find Meat, I married You. And oh!
' a eriol,__*e Were so happy." , This with
amoatea";a itifia to hear. •
"7.30ryGoal" 'The words break from. h's-
mend's ashen lips. Be leans heavily back
against the trunk of an adjacent tree,
still holding' his child in, his arms. He
wnuld have spoken, but Irene held up her
white right hand with a gesture command-
ing silence.
Hear me through," she said, continu-
ing: "You know how happy we were: it
is useless to refer to that. No cloud dark-
ened my life; forever and anon I assur-
ed myself the past was buried, its ghost
would nover rise to confront me. It grew
to seem more like a bideous dream — a
nightmare than a reality.
"The day I went to visit the patients
at the hospital was the beginning of the
cruel end. In passing through one of the
wards I made a discovery so horrible I
wonder it did not kill me on the spot. 'I
—ah'!' how shall I tell it—I saw him --the
man whom I had wedded and had believed
dead all these years. Ile was blind, and
therefore could not recognize me. In the
hour of my terrible discovery, I uttered
that which revealed the whole truth to
Dr. Ross, who had come upon the scene
unnoticed by me and bad therefore heard
all. I begged him on my knees to keep
my cruel eeoret, and he gave me his sol-
emn vow that he would do this if I left
yott land your child forevermore. I went
—but. not with him. I went alone!"
"The lady whom you have so repeated-
ly deferred to as having accompanied me
from London, on the night in question,
was sny'mother," said Dr. Ross, haught-
ily.
"Forgive me. ' I have blterly wronged
YOU, Dr. Boss," said Esmond. Then ho
turned to Irene, addressing her, forget-
ful,of every other presence—oven that of
a man and woman, dusty and travel -
stained who had come upon the scene
unnoticed, as Irene commenced her na.r-
rative„and' had stood quite still listening
latently to every word that fell from her
lige.
"God pity us both, Irene,” Dried Es-
mond, hdarsoly, as she ceased speaking.
"Speak," he added, in -a voice tremulous
with mighty emotion, "who is the man
who—who has the right to claim you?"
"The man whom I then imagined was
my cousin, Karl 13eathcliff. I—I wedded—
Leon Forrester!" she replied.
"He of all men, Great Heaven!" groaned
Esmond. "It is farewell here—now and
forever!"' he added, huskily.
"Hold! Let me speak," broke in an eager
voice in a decided English accent. "I came
in search of Dr. Ross, and it appears as
if I am here in the nick of time." They
all looked and beheld Dr. Lennox.
"I have heard all. Now listen all to
what I have to say. The man Leon For-
rester died two hours since in the St.
Thomas hospital, It was occasioned by
hearing suddenly the voice of a new nurse
we had just employed. The reason her
voice affected him so was, because she
was his wife whom he had deserted years
ago."
"You know me, lady," said the woman,
holding out her hand to Irene.
Irene looked; yes, she remembered the
thin white face and haunting eyes. She
was the creature whom she had saved that
night a few weeks since from thro slag
herself from London Bridge, at midnight,
down into the deep, dark waters rolling
swiftly below.
"On his death -bed, Forrester mark• a full
and complete confession of all Mrs. Es-
mond has said, and in the presence of a
notary who took his dying deposition, ad-
ded—'Irene Middleton believed she was
my wife, poor girl; but, dying, I solemnly
swear that she was not. The marriage
was null and void, because at that time
I bad a living wife. I meant to wed the
heiress because I had learned to love her
with all the love of my passionate heart,
defying God and man as to the conse-
quences, hut
"Man proposes, and God disposes."
My fate overtook me on the very threshold
of my happiness and foiled me. On my
death -bed I have set matters aright' "
"Frederick i oh, Frederiek 1' sobbed Irene.
Frederick Esmond held out bis arms to
his wife, and she flew into them like a
wounded bird. He clasped his strong arms
close about her, holding her tightly as
those strong arms would hold and shield
her forevermore, kissing the pale face,
the lovely lips and dark, curling hair that
lay on the white forebead.
Aren't you and mamma going to kiss
me too?" cried Ruby, rather nonplussed
at this extraordinary scene, and so glad
to see her "mamma and papa pleased
with each other again," as she whisper-
ed to Nannette.
Esmond caught up the child and placed
her in Irene's arms, straining them both
in his arms, murmuring:—',Irene, nay wife,
mine—thank God!—Prom first to last!" and
tears shone in his eyes as he spoke.
"I think I may as well leave this scene
of domestic felicity," said Dr. Ross, turn-
ing with a sneer to his second. "I am not
needed here."
(To be continued.)
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wf
ON"I' FOR THE. MILKERS,
One—Don't put the can under the
cow until her udder is clean..
Two—Don't begin to milk the cow
with a wet tail until you have tied
it.
Three -Don't tie it too short.
Four—Don't put your fingers in
the milk. If you want to soften the
teats milk a drop into the palm of
your hand and rub them with this.
Five -Don't let .your pail get too
full when you are milking a young
cow.
Six—Don't crack the seat of your
stool on the cow's back, if her tail
goes in your eye.
Seven—Don't . strap a heifer if
you can help it. She is generally
restive because the milking hurts
her.
Eight—Don't fodder the cows un-
til the milking is finished or you
will have a lot of dust in the milk.
Nine—Don't talk while you are
milking:
Ten—Don't on any account milk
any curd, blood or rope into your
milk can. I•f you find any slime in-
side the sieve find out where it.
comes from.
Eleven—Don't have your nails
long.
Twelve—Don't half do the job un-
less you want to dry the cow.
IN THE CHICKEN YARD. .
The average chicken does not pay
for his keep and he should be sent.
to the block as soon as he weighs.
four pounds, unless he is to be kept
for breeding.
Let a strange dog rush through
the poultry yard and the excitement
will affect the egg supply for that
day.
When hens have no sentiment
there is no doubt they are extreme-
ly nervous at times—particularly
during the breeding season—and.
should be so placed that they can-
not be disturbed.
It does not matter so much about,
the breed as it does about the kind
of treatment your hens receive.
Of course, if you are going in for
poultry to sell on the market you
must .select the fowl that will pro-
duce the most meat, and if for eggs
the breed that will produce more
eggs than meat. Then it i33:91.13 to
you" to get the most out of them,
as the slang dors.
NOTES OF THE HOG LOT.
Sometimes a week's chill rains
or cold weather will set the pigs
back a month in their growth.
After all that may be said in fa-
vor of other pastures, clover stands
at the head when it comes to the
right thing for pigs.
A great many farmers do not rea-
lize that grass supplies a feed en-
tirely different from corn. and that
it is a bad practice to change en-
tirely and suddenly from one to the
other.
When the pigs are taken out of
the pasture this fall they should
not be turned suddenly into the
corn fields or fed all the new corn
they can eat. Make the change
gradually.
If a hog dies on the farm, no mat-
ter from what cause, take no chanc-
es, but remove the body a long dis-
tance from the 'reeding lots and
burn it.
ORCHARD NOTES.
Many growers say that weeds are
as valuable as fertilizer as clover
and cow peas if they are turned
under every year.
The grower who will sort his ap-
ples into two or more grades,
packed well, will get more money
for his fruit than the one who
throws all kinds together in a bar-
rel and places a layer of the best
Ones 011 top.
The city dealer profits by the lazi-
ness of the grower by grading and
repacking his badly assorted fruit.
That corky old apple, the Ben
Davis, still holds a high price in
the city markets because its fine ap-
pearance deceives the ignorant
buyer.
"Gent" is an abbreviation which
has never been accepted by polite
society, as a witness appearing be-
fore Justice Wxightman once found
to his cost. He was testifying to
the excellent charaeter of the de-
fendant, and among points in his
favor remarked that he was "an
independent gent." ,'.&n indepen-
dent what?" interrupted Judge
Wrightman, "A gent, my Lord,"
repeated the witness, "Oh, 1 un-
derstand," replied the Judge.
"That's something short of a gentle-
, isn't it']"