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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1914-07-03, Page 2F • , ' 00 is youn Mau; Or, the 'I 'e11e+ of the Season. CHATTER XIV,—(Continued),. "I 'will tell you everything, at the. risk of' making you angry, at the risk foryaumoment,,ras if he werHe ehoosi g lits words with a care that sprang from his fear lest he should, indeed rouse her auger and lose her. "The first day Y saw you—you remember?" As if she could forget] She knew, now, as he ask- ed the question that no trifling detail Of that fist meeting was forgotten, that every word was engravers on her me- mory. When I saw you riding down the hill. I thought I had never seen any. girl so beautiful, so lovely—" The color rose slowly to her :Face, but died away again; the least vain of wo- men is moved when a man tells her she Is beautiful in his eyes, at any rate. "And when You spoke to me I thought I had never heard so sweet a voice; and if X had, that there had never been one that I so longed to hear again. You were not with me long, only e, few- minutes, but when X left you and tramped over ,,.• the hill to the inn I could not get you out of my mind. I wondered who you were, and whether • I should . see you again." The horses moved, andinstinctively she looked over., her shoulder towards them. They will not go: they are quite eyelet," he said. "Wait—ah, wait for a few minutes. I have a feeling that if I.let you go I shall not see you again; and that' would—that would be more than I could bear; That night at the inn the landlord told me about nu, Of .cure he had nothing hut praise and adm1ratian far 'you—who Would have any other? But he told me of the lone- ly life you led, of the care you took of your father, of your devotion and good- ness; and the picture of you living at the great silent house, without friends or companions—well, it haunted mei I could see it all so plainly—I, who am not usually quick at seeing things. As a rule, I'm not impressed by women— Howard says I am cold and bored—per- haps he's right; but I could not get you out of my mind. I felt that I wanted to see you again." He ,paused again as if the state of mind he was describing was a puzzle to himself—paused and frowned. "I left the inn and started up the road—I suppose I wanted to get a glimpse of the house in which you lived. Yes; that must have been it. And then, all at once, I saw you. I remember the frock you wore that night—you looked like an angel, a spirit standing there in the moonlight, the most beautiful wo- man I have ever seen. Are you angry with me for saying so? Don't be: for I've . got to tell you everything, and— and—it's difficult." He was silent a moment. Her -head was still down -bent. her small white hand hung at her side; she was stuite motionless but for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her bosom. "When you came to me, when you spoke to me, my beat leapt as if—well, as if something good had happened to me—something that had never happen- ed before. When I went away the Die- . ture of you standing at the door waving your hand went with me, ands --stayed -with me. I could not get you out of my mind—could think of, nothing else. Even in the' meeting with my father, whom I hadn't seen for so long, the thought of von'keptme. I tried to get rid ,of ror�ou but it was of. no uses sleeving and waking, you—you were with. mei' voice grew almost 'harsh in its intensity, and the hand that had hung 40 stilly beside her closed on the skirt of her dress in her effort to keep the hot blush from her face. "When I rode out the next day it was only with the hope of seeing you. It seemed to inc there was only one thing I. wanted: to see you again; to look into your eyes, to hear you speak. All that I had heard about you—well, I dwelt upon it, and I felt that I must help you. It seemed as If rate—Chance —oh, I don't know what to call it!— bad sent me to help you. .And when I saw you—ah. well, X can't expect you to understand what I felt!" He stopped again, as if he himself were trying to understand it: The feeling that fate had something to do with it—you see, it was quite by chance I started fishing that afternoon, that T ,saw you at the house --gave, me courage t0 -ask you to let me help you. It sounded ridiculous to you—of course it did—but if you only knew how much it meant to mei It meant that I should see you again; perhaps every day for for along time: ah, well, it meant Just• life and death to me. And now—!" His breath came fast, his eyes dwelt upon her with passionate eagerness; but he forced himself to speak calmly that he might not frigb.ten her from his side, might not lose her. —"Now the truth has come upon me. ttulte suddenly. It. was lust now when I saw that you cared what had happen- ed to me. cared if Iwere hurt]--- Oh, I . know, it was just because you were frightened, it was just a woman's pity for a fellow'thtbad come to harm, the fear lest I had broken any bones; but— ah, it showed me my heart, It told me hove much I loved you! Yes, Ilove you! You are all the world tO me: nothing else matters, nothing!" id not Her_ lips quivered, 'but she'd sllkse.k, and the look of trouble,of doubt, did not .leave her face. Ile waited, his eyes seeking hers, seeking 'them for some sign which might still the passion of fear and suspense with which he Was battling, then he said in a low voice that thrilled with the 'tempest of emo- tion which raged under his forced cairn: Will yott not speak to me? Are you angry?" She raised her hand and looked at iriin —a strange look from so young 'a girt. It was as if she were fighting against the subtle spell of his words, the de- mand for her love which shone in his eyes. Ivo, I am not angry," she said at last; and ;her voice, though verylow, was calmand unshaken. He made a movement towards her, but she shrank back, only a little, but Perceptibly . and he checked the move - is so-so sudden! No one has,ever . spoken to Inc as you have dere--- He laughed from. mere excess of joy, for her pure innocenee, her unlikeness in her: ignorance of love ana all per- taining. to it, to the •women -ire knew, made the'eharne of her well-nigh mad deniug. To think that he should be the• first man to speak of love •to her! "1 am not angry—ought I to be? Yes. I suppose so, . We are almost strangers —have seen so little of each other." "They say that love, all true love, comes at first sight," he said. 1 used to laugh,at the idea; but now I know it is true, I loved you the first time I met you, Ida!" • Her lip quivered and her brews knit. "It seems so wonderful," she saki; musingly; I do not understand it. The first time! We scarcely spoke—and I was almost angry with you for fishing, in the' Heron. And I did—did not think of yon—" He made a .gesture, repudiating the mere idea. Xs it likely? Why should you?" he said. "I was just an ordinary Mau, crossing your path for the first and perhaps the only time. Good heavens!i there was no reason *by you should give a thought to Inc. why I should linger in your mind for half a moment after I was cut of your sight. But for me— Haven't I told you how beauti- ful you are, Ida! You are the loveliest, the sweetest— But even if you had not been—I mean It is not because you era so beautiful that I' love you—" Shea loollced at him with • a puzzled, troubled look, No! I can't explain. See, now, there's not a look of yours, not a feat- ure that I don't know by heart as if I'd learnt it. When I am away from you I can see you—see the way your hair clusters in soft little curls at your fore- head, the long Iashes sweeping your cheek, the—the trick your eyes have of turning from grey to violent—oh, I know your face by heart, and I love it for its beauty; but if you were to lose it all, if you were not the loveliest creature God had ever made, it would make no difference. You would still be You: and it is you I want. Ida—give yourself to me—trust me! Oh, dearest, you don't know what love it! Let me teach you!" Once again he got hold of her hand; and she let it remain in his grasp; but her quiescence did not mean yielding, and he knew^ it. No," she said, with a deep breath. "It is true that I. do not know. And I am—afraid." A wan 1ittIe smile that was more piteous than tears curved her lips: for 'afraid" seemed strange com- ing from her; the fearless child of the hills and dales. 'If --if I said 'yes'— Ah, but I do nota" she broke off as he made to draw hereto him, and she shrank back. '1 do not! I said if,' it would not be true; it would not be fair. For 1 do not know. I might be—sorry, af- ter—after you had gone. And it would be too late then.' "You're right" he assented, grimly. "Once I got you, no power on earth should make me let you go again." Her lips quivered and her eyes droop- ed before his. How strange. a thing this love was, that it should change a. man so!" I don't Want to force you to answer:' he said, after a 'oa-nee:• "Yes; I dol I'd give half the remainder of my life to hear' you say the one word, 'yes,' But I won't. It's too -too precious. Ab, don't you understand! I wantarour love, your love, Ida!" Yes, X understand," she murmured. "And—and I would say it If—MI were. sure. But I—yes. I am all confused: Iia is like a dream. I want to think, to ask myself if—if I .can do what you want." She put up her hand to her. lips, as if. to keep them from trembling ,� "I want to be alone to think of all—all you. have. told Inc." Her gauntlet slipped froin her hand, and he knelt on one knee and picked it up, and still kneeling, took both her hands in his, It did not occur to him to rememberthat the woman who hest- totes is won; something in her girlish innocence, in her exquisitely sweet can-' dor, tilled him with awe. "Dearest!" he said, in so low a. voice that the note of the lark flying above them sounded loud and shrill• -by con- trast. Dearestl—for you are that to mei—X will not press you. I will be content to wait. God knows you are right to hesitate! Your ,love is too great, to precious a thing to be given to me without thought. I'm not worthy to touch you—but I love you! I will wait.You shall think of all X have said; and, let your answer be what it may, T won't complain. But--Ida—you must n't forget that I love you with an my heart and soul]" She looked down at his handsome face, the face over whieh her lips had hover- ed only a short time since, and her tips moved. You are good to me," she said, in a faintly troubled voice. "Yes, I know, I feel that, Perhaps I might to say "Don't!" Ile. said, almost fiercely. "Wait! Let ane see you again—you scarcely know me. Ah. Ida, what can X. do, how can I win your love?" She drew her hands from his with a deep breath, "X-1 Will go now," she .said. "Will you let Inc go, -alone? He rose and went towards the horses. ilis own raised its head 'and ' seemed Inclined to start, but stooduncertain and eventually retrained quiet beside the chestnut. Stafford brought them to where Ida stood., her eyes downcast, her face pale. With his own bridle over his arm he put her into the saddle,re- sisting even in that supreme moment the alteme.t irresistible desire totake her intis arms, She murmured a "Thank you,' as she slowly put on her left gauntlet. Ile drew the other from her, and. as he looked at him 'questioningly, he Buts it to his lips and thrust it under 'his waist- coat; over his heart. The color flooded her face. butthe'blush was followed by the former look of trouble and doubt:' niertt, the desire to take her in his arms. She hold out her ungloved right .sand °•en—Ida T : and he took it and held it for a moment, i ou are not angry? Th then raised it to his lips; but he did may call you so?—you don't mind my not ]ass•it loving you? Dearest, will you love me just .a little in return? Wait!"for she had shrunk again, this time more plain- ly! • T know that. I have startled You. that. Fought not to have spoken so soon, while You only know so little of me you'd naturally say 'no,' and send me= away. But if you think you can like, PM—learn to� love :me---'-'' He tock her hand, hanging so temP -' in"'ly near his owe; but she drew it t• awe, ",`Vo; don't touch mei" she said. with a little catch :in her voice. "I want to think --to understand," She Passeed On a moment, her eyes still sectiltig the die - ant Bills, as if in., .their' inysterieus mights she might firsa . seasoning ng t] at shot!id explain this great mystel'y, this wonderful thing that had happened to her, : At last, with a singular gesture, • so git•lish so graceful that it made ]rim longstill more; intensely to take ,her in his arms, she said in a low voice: "! do not know-- No! X do not want YOU : to touch rue, please! His hand fell to his side. . 1 can't answer you.:,It "'bio!" he said, with stern repression. "I will take nothing---unt!l you give at me." She' inclined her head the very slight- est, as ,she understood, as if she were grateful then lettieg her eyes rest on his with en inscrutable look, she spoke softly to the horse and lode nwalr: with Donald and Bess clamoring joyously af- ter huh as if they had found the pro- ceedings extremely -Lying. Stafford flung his arm': ?across his. horse. and leaning against it, looked -ox- en' her, his Ayes fixed wistfully ;' on the slight, graceful figure until' it was out of sight; then he gazed round_ hirn as he were suddenly relernieg from a, new, mysterious region to the old familiar world. I assion s an:•,rvellou:s spell still held him.' he was still throbbing with a.halfepainful ecstasy of her nearness; or the touch 'of her httncl,, the magic of her voiee, ;Cor the first time .he was ,ip icee. : To love With the most exquisite, the moat wonderful : of (loci's olivine creatures, hie knew, as he had .said, that her answer meant life or death.' to iA v"u:i1::z heeteggenesegiee geregegatene eesagegeage Vie schen eee - w .•ti 9�- The Rubbish' Market Near Penton ille Prison, London. • A. NEW AMUSEMENT. English SocietyWolnen Go to u Rb bish Market to Secure'Autigt1 s.. One of the most amusing of mod- ern ,, developments - in the: social world in England .of late is the weekly emigration of society but- terflies to the Caledonian Market, London, almost beneath the 'grim walls of ancient Penttonville Prison. A few years ago this market. was "discovered" by a few clever Amer- ican girls eager to .seoure some ven- erable mementoes of their trip to Europe. On a certain day in the week the old 'clothes dealers, rag- and-bone men, .and others displayed their wares on the stone flags; of the market, and in such sordid sur- roundings it gradually became the fashion to be found driving as hard a bargain as was ever driven in the Hebrew Petticoat Lane. The society collector is ahard nut to snack. So is the all -British rag-and-bone man. A well-known collector will pass down an alley with goods ranged on either side, affecting ignorance. of some fine red wine -glasses on the pavement. "Sixteen shillings the dozen,"a tentative dealer remarks apparently to 'the air, Ind the col- lector passes on. Next time he—or she—passeaby•the offer is "Twelve shillings the dozen," till by degrees it is reduced to four shillings. The collector feels a glow of vir- tuous pride. "I shall sell these for two pounds a piece," he declares to a, friend at the conclusion of •the deal. What particular pleasure there dan be in reducing the profits of the scantily clad and wretched -looking vendors is .a mystery Chid in the con- science of the social leader or 'the keen collector. But the fact re- mains that the smart thing is for London aristocrats to be in Penton - villa of a Friday morning looking over the refuse .of the British •capi- tal. him, the life of infinite, nameless Joy, the dee th of life in death. Was he going to lose her? The very question set him trembling. 'He held out his quivering hand and: looked at' it, and set his teeth. Heaven and earth, how strange it was! This girl had taken possession of hint body and soul; every fibre of his being clam- ored for her. To be near her, just to be able to see her, hear her, meant happi- ness; to be torn from her f The sweat broke out on his :forehead and he laughed grimly. And this is love!' he said,, between. his teeth. 'Yes—and It's the ;only love , of my life. God help me if you say 'no,' dearest! But you must not—you must not!" CHAPTER Quite an hour after i~ tt 4 ',tinct started to meet Ida, Miss 1'`alee"nes Made her appearance, Deming slowly,;. down the stairs in the daintiest of morning frocks, with her auburn hair shining like gold in the sunlight, and an ex- pression of langor in her beautiful face which would have done credit to a hot:' house lily. She had slept the sleep of the .dust--+ the maid who had gone to wake her With her early cup' of tea had been al- most startled 'by the statuesqueness of her beauty, as she lay with her- head piliowed on her snow-white arm_ and her wonderful hair streaming aver the pillow had suffered herself to be dress- ed with imperial patience, and looked— as ,Howard, who stood at the bottom, of the stairs—said to himself, "like a queen of the, Incas descending to her throne -room" Good marling,Miss Falconer;' he greeted her. "I's a lovely morning you'll and it nicely aired." She smiled languidly. "That means that I am late," she:said, her eyes resting languidly on hie cyni-• cally smiling face. "Good heavens, no!" he respoltded. "You can't be late or earlyein this ma- gic 'palace. Whenever you 'arrige you will find things—`things', in the most comprehensive sense—ready for you. Breakfast at Brae Wood is the most movable of feasts, I'v'e proved that, for I'm.a late bird myself; and to ray joy I have learned that this is the only -house with which . X am acquainted that. You can get red-hot bacon and kidneys at any hour from eight to twelve;• that lunch runs plenteously from one to three, and that you tan get tee. and toast—my great and only weakness, Miss Falconer—whenever you liketo ring for it, •You will find LadyeClans- ford presiding at the breakfast -table; I believe she has been sitting there—ami dawn." able martyr as she is—since the early She smiled at him with languid an - prorate as if he were some paid jester, and' went into the breakfast -room. There were others there beside Lady Clans- ford—roost of them young people—it is, alas! only the young people • who can sleep through the bright hours of ; a summer's morn—and a discussion on the programme of the day was being carried on with a• babel of voices and much laughter "You shall decide for us, Miss Pal - caner!" exclaimed one of the young men, whose only name appeared to be Berrie, for he was : always addressed as. and spoken of by' it. It's a toes -up between a drive and a turn on the Lake in the eleeTesd launch. I pt•opdheci'a sail, but there seemed to be a confirmed and gen eral scepticism as to my Yachting capa- citics,'and Lady Plaistow saysishe does - o' the nt ,to .be 'drowned before the end season. 4'ihat would you like he do?" "Sit sena where in the Shade with a book, she replied, promptly but slowly.' There was a shout of laughter. "That is just what Mr. Howard re- plied' said Ilertie, complainingly,' Oh, Mr, Howard! Everyone knows that he is the laziest titan 1n the whole world." remarirecl 'Lady Clansford, plailativ.ely.. 'What is Mr. Orme going to do? Where is he? Does anyone know? There wa.s,a general, shaking of heads and a chorus of "No's," 'I had a switn.weth him this morning, but I'r'e net seen' him, since," Said l3o- tie,. 'It's no use vatting for Orine; he, mightn't turn we till dinner time. hilss Xralconer, if I promise not to drown you, will you make bee for 'the yacht? flue man told me it would be: all ready., She shook her head as she,helped hcr- self, to a couple of strawberries' "No, 'thanks,' she said,:num with Iter. t :areal drawl.' "I know what that means, You drift into tate middle, of the lake or the river, the wind dro s, and. :you sit in a .scorching Sun and•get a head-. ache. Please leave me otitt1, shall; stick; to my original proposal, ,•P,erbitna, if you don't drown anyone this time, I may venture with you another day." She leant back and smiled at them under her Lids, as the discussion flowed t- and ebbed round her, with an air of pla- cid contempt and wonder at their ex- citement; and presently. murmuring something_ to Lady Clansfoed, who, as chaperone and 'deputy hostess was try- ing to coax them into some decision, she. rose and went out to the terrace. There, lying back in a deck -chair, in a corner screened from any possible draught by the glass verandah, was Mr. Howard with one ef. Sir Stephen% price- less Havannas between his • lips, a French novel Inhis hand, and a morning paper across his knees. He rose as she approached, and oheoking a sigh of re- signation,. offered:, 'hen '.is chair. Oh, neer! she Sada„ with a slut's •a: ich shored tl at• she knew ]what tOS = sora. of, politeness- eost'hiia, You'd hate me if I took .: Your chair, I know; : and though, of course. I don't_ in the =least Gare /whether you hate me or not, I shouldn't like putting you to the trou- ble' of so exhausting an emotion." Howard smiled at her with frank admiration. "Let's compromise it," he said. I'll drag that chair up here—it's out of the sun, you know—so, and arrange these cushions so, and put up the end for your feet 'so, and—how is that, Miss Falcon- er?" Thanks," she murmured, sinking in- to the soft nest he had made. "Do you object to my cigar? Say so, if you do, and—" You'll go off tolind•someother nook,' she put in. "No, I like it,,' His eye .shone .with keen apprecia- tion: this girl was not onlya beauty— which is almost commonplace nowadays —but witty which is rare. "Thanks! Would you like the paper? Don't hesitate if you would; I'm not reading it; I never do, I keep it there so ,that I can put it over my face if I feel like sleeping—which I generally do." _ She declined the paper with a gesture of her white hand. "No, I'd rather talk; which means that 'you are to talk -and I'm to listen. Will it exhaust you too much to te]I me where the rest Of the people are? I left a party in ,the breakfast room squabbling over th.Sproblem how-to kill time; but where are•the. others? My fa- ther, for instance?" • Ile is• in the library with Baron' Wirech, Mr. Griffenberg, and the other financiers. They, are doubtless engage ed in some mystic rites connected with the worship of the Golden Calf, rites in which the word 'Shares,' 'Stocks,' 'dia- monds,' 'concessions,: appear at fre- quent 'intervals. X suppose your father, having joined, them, is a member of the all-powerful, sect of money -worship pens:" Slue shrugged her. shoulders. X suppose so. And Mr. Orme—is he one of them? she asked, with elabor- ate indifference. Howard smiled cynically "" Stafford! No; all that he knows about money: is the art of spending it; and what 'he doesn't know about that isn't, worth knowing. It -blips through his fingers like water through a sieve; and one of thosemysteries which bur- den my existence is,, how he always manages to have some for a friend up a Telze so generous, then?" she asked, with a. delioate yawn behind her hand. Howard ,nodded., and was silent for a moment, then he ,said musingly: "You've got on my favorite subject— Stailord—Miss Falconer. And I warn You that if X go on I shall bore. you." "Well, I can get up and go away," she said, languidly. "He is a friend of yours, I suppose? By the way, did you know that he stopped those ridiculous horses last night and probably saved my 11fe?" %'or .goodness' sake don't let him hear you say that, or even guess that you think it," he said, with an affecta- tion of alarm, "Stafford would be in- expressibly 5 expressibly annoyed. I e hates a fu overt more than most Englishmen, and would take it very, unitindly if you did- n't id n t let a little thing like that pass' un- noticed. Oh, yes, X am his greatest friend. . I: don't think'—slowly and con-, templative!y-h"Chat there '15 anything he wouldn't do for me, or anything I wouldn't do forhim—excepting to get up early—g0 out in the rain-- Oh, it fei,'t true! I'm only.brtgging, lie broke off, with a' groan, "I've ve done both and shall dothemwhenever he wauta me to. T rn a poor creature, 1\Xiss. I'alconet. `A, mot-tyl°`nn the altar of friendship;" she said, "Mir,. Orme must be very ir-. resistible.' • "He is," he assented, with an air .of .profound melanohel:=. "Stafford has the extremely uflpleasent knek of get- ting, What he watts. Its raty,„disgnst- ing, but it's true. That is why he is so general a favorite Why, le you walk- ed into any drawing room and . asked who was the most popular man in Lon- don, the immediate and unauilnous re- ply would be 'Stafford Orme.' " She settled the cushions a little more comfortably. You mean amongst men?" she said. Howard smiled and eyed her ques- tioning•ly. "Weil—I didn't," he replied drily. She laughed a little scornfully. "Oh, I know the sort of man he is," she said. "I've read and heard about. them. The sort of man who falls in love with every woman he meets. 'A servant of dames'!" ,•Howard leant back and laughed with cynical enjoyment. • (To be continued.) MSTERDAM'SDIAM 0 ND MEN Teh Thousand ,Earn From $120 to .$G Weekly. The diamond trade of Amsterdam is in the hands of seventy firms, employing more than 10,000 •wt,rk- men. About 1,700 are cleavers and cutters, and 4,700 polishers; etc., the rest being engaged about the offices and in other work. These workmen are composed of five classes, in the following order, as to the amount of wages receiv- ed Cleavers, polishers, 'burners, cutters .and sawyers. Polishers 'and turners receive about the same wages. Certain cleavers get as much as $120 a week. From this maximum wages grade downwards through the other classes. to $0 and 8 a week for sowers. It is the task of the cleaver to split diamonds. Cutters. take off' the rough sharp edges and corners' and determine, the general shape of the •stone. Polishers relish the stones and make,their facets. Turn- ers turn the 'diamonds .around in the apparatus that ]]olds them so that the facets inay he made, each fine diamond having from fifty-eight to sixty-four which cannot be clov- en, or which it is more .profitable to saw. Sometimes a stone is cleft and the parts then sawed, but very small 'stones cannot be sawed. The Amsterdam diamond work- ers maintain a compact, organiza- tion for their protection... No onn can learn the 'trade without the consent • of this organization, and only Children of workers or of 'jew- elers areeligible to become pupils, The 'waiting list always contains thousands of names. As a general thing pupils pay for instruction, sometimes as much as $2,000 for cleaving, payable in in- stalments. .In.'blie case of polish- ers i and turners there is a special school, the instruction fee being fro 1ii0. fru:1"W° -r''$1�0 to ��. If .a woman would cub out the milliner's expensive creations and win a 10 bill' in her hair she: would.. 1 $ ,..g c attract more 'attention. "Ande. n•l phawt 1�a� the ryuaxest th ng ;e stew in Paris. ab " all at all, � "The I,: i Maggie' r111c1i polace- inen." • "And phawt is there,that's. a about thian ''T quare " b & "'They're , Frinch"' On the Far Excellent Uses . For. Cloy All clovers aruisown with`.a clop,. and • opinion,s differ which. is *the best. Whatever is used as a, nurse crop, it be ' sewn Isoinewhat thinner, when no clover seed is 'so'wn, thinner seeding. gives tike clover• and grass ,]plants ' a chance 'to grow. Placed in t der in 'which they are genera ed, which indicates approxi their relative value ,as nurse' the common grain crops come as follows : spring whea ter rye, winter wheat, flax, Wherever clover is 'sown it sparing on winter , grain, grain is harrowed 'very .'light ter the clover seed is sowp: cast, or the clover seed may in witha double disc or sho' drill. The •selection of a nur for cloven must be determine largely from the crops best ed, to the soil and needs of th and, at the same time, on will materially assist, the el meeting blue . usual climatic tion of the locality should b Young clover - should ne pastured or cut for hay !bh of its seeding, unless ft. show signs of blossoming of nurse crop has been remove it is safer to clip o'ff the hea a mower than to pasture. of cut for hay. Neither s'hou pastur l the second spring, it has a good start and the well ;settled. Clover is an excellent crop fox' all classes of stoc furnishes a luxuriant growt highly nutritious food ' fro spring until late in the fall, ing it is not pastured too During the heat of the ,su should not be pastured ,C to this .will curtail the faI•l fee after Drop that comes on . of ing off the hay crop make lent fall pasture. The gra ger from clover pasture i Where '-stock is turned .on gradually until they are e ed to it, and then kept on tinuously, with access to soi of dry feed, salt, and waste is very little, if any, .. clang bloat. Clover makes splendid ha properly cured and stored. of well cured clover` hay i for feeding purposes,dear half as much as a ton of bra ver hay is especially valua feeding dairy eows or youn The quality of clover hay on its palatability and n value. Much of the clove now used is very poor, ow the fact that many try to c ver hay in the same way th timothy hay. Clover hay • more valuable as a feed ltha dicated by theamount of ible nutriments it contains. is due to the fact that clo rich in protein or musele-f food. Such forms ofrough corn stover, timothy, and corn, are lacking in protein if one uses them as the rough a ration, protein must be su by feeding such high-priced asoats, bran or oil meal; w clover is fed as the roughage and barley, which are . Cl grains, . may be used. Clove hay should be crit as soon a first blossoms begin totarn and.the hay should be cured shade. After the clover ha cut, it ,should be turned with der as soon as the leaves i upper part of the swath are Wilted. Before the leaves and become dI'y and stiff, the should be raked into win This will shade most of the ha allow a good 'circulation o through it. Clover cured i windrow does not get stiff 1ik exposed to the sun in the sem, a day or two. With good w the hay should be left in the row over night and turned or two the next forenoon. It, then be ready for. the stack th oncd• afternoon. Cured in thi the stems are soft and p'liabl much natural' moisture is re in the leaves. , t The Caalidil Friend. Miss Supheridge—I shoul like to see the man that. I' mise to love, honor and obey 'Miss Partly—I'm sure`yott deal. ee— An i 1! ck wily to get thio crowd is to go around it, ., Moat "nen also11 ossess the of injustice. Andit iere lsdelvs tosee t some people than : it is through a 'gLnes e. ` e 1'7 to b: t] 1 th p; It nd f. tin. ow a3 ng yea con ng 34, ami qua he of ties. Gla twe thr 'aTiB also ors B: he urg of 1 filar be Tlit 1 UIl unt: been eau' over toes 1 by f b y, fu) io•n othE the ' ' th for 1y, tots asst ank; fail eau hie] has tide tion hu w yam'