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woman,.Iiosalie. She has a most
nt tongue."
hos always been civil to me, Aunt
beuause you just let her do as
xlea>?es! Rave you been burning no -
lo. burut' Scotch .coal since you came up
have had: very good fires, auntie."
am surprised at it, then. That coal
the grate is nothing but rubbish,
I dare say. you are paying the
highest price for it. And the tea
gave mea was execrable—perfectly exc-
el"
in not mend). judge of.tea, Aunt Rosa,"
y, yawning. "I hope you've brought
p some jam from Woodhay, though,
"some of our own, butter."
the done no such thing. You're com-
home with me to-morrow—there's
enough and too much of this folly,
your uncle is very sorry he was ever
ishly persuaded into giving his con,.
to it."
morrow, Aunt Rosa "
Not a day later than to -morrow."
But don'tyou want to see something
London, -auntie?"
I want to see the last of it. I'm. oni-'
try I didn't know. what,_ I know now
ee weeks, ago, and 'Your ridiculous
it would have come to an end a great
1 :sooner. -Bow your Uncle Todhunter
id "ever have agreed to such an egregi-
niece of folly passes my comprehen-
pAor Annt.Rosal If she only knew that
steed was stolen, how much less elat-
ahe would have made in locking the
orf In my. heart T confess that she is
;e;ht. I have got into mischief here in
oidon, or into what she would consider
nsohi.ef. If I had;never come up to Mrs.
Cauehope's., furnished' ;lodgings, I should
k�'sbably never have met
'That landscape -painter:,:
;rich did win my heart from me."'
annot possibly go home to -morrow,
leoeIlitted cloak andithenfan aside
T
..en holding in my h:nd eine I
the ,,e0
tell Ma
et eny*se 1 ns
at lou it will
with the help
Olive, who loves
kthiug s'o much" as a practical jok !'
But my, fun 1i_stut. e. stop to in a very
n While am s Pg
tmmary Manner. I.
me at the piano, a note from Olive is
it into my hand to say that Bilinor
se scarlet fever, and that I am not to
;tempt to come near the house. All the
;hers have bad it, and are not afraid,
at Itirs.. Deane will not allow them to
ane near me—I must not expect even to
to Olive at Madame Cronhelui s to -day,.
s her mother does not think it would be
ght t allow. her to go there out of an
house
I ani very sorry, not only for my own
rke, 'but for lillinor and all of them. I
rite a note to Olive, and have 'nst made
i, ser triad not to go outall this
laming, when Ada ltolleston tomes run-
ing itl with an urgent request that I
•ould come over and spend the day in
erkeley Street, which I am rather un -
ening to do, but which Ada persuades
to into doing iu the end.
During the next five or six days I spend
lost of my time with the RoIlestons.
.da pets ms and spoils me very much,
1 the feelliea of Olive Deane, who has
fagged'" for me since we were children
Sgether. Tho house in Berkeley Street Is
very pleasant one there are always
bison; coming and going• -clever po-
le, poets, painters, artists, and literary
on and women. We are never at a loss
kr.amusement, between the preparations
a. the fancy ball, Jack's amateur studio
id the great music -room where their mu-
tal friends would willingly play syn'
❑onies and fantasies all day long, if
key could find any one to listen to them.
I meet Mr. Baxter there very often --in
,et, I may say every day. i do not think
can be working very hard --unless he
tints by lamplight—he is always with
.els Rolleston, smoking in his studio or
atting to us in the drawing -room. Ile
n stays to dinner sometimes—I know
because they insist upon my dining
ro once or twice, and, when I dine
e, he dines there too. They laugh at
about, him—of course, girls laugh .at
s other for very little—and call him
handsome sweetheart. But I do not
with him, though he manages some-
-to be always in my neighborhood,
I cannot help knowing that be is al.
; always looking at inct,
m gei,zg, home on the second of
1, to come atp to town again' for
y's wedding, unless it is postponed
tocount of 1;llinor's illness. Olive,
writes to me almost every day, says
aro thinking of going to Brighton
on as Minor is strong enough to
1, and I should not be surprised if
's wedding took place from there.
prospect of seeing Woodhay so soon
not fill me with. unmixed delight.
hing has thrown a glamor over :4lrs.
'one's shabby furnished lodgings,
my own beautiful Manor has nev-
own-"a light that never was on
r sea" illumines these dusty rooms,
ry and a freshness and a dream,"
lr T walk like one who "on a moue -
ekes the dawn.". I am so happy,
t I cannot say what has made me
ay the Boliestond take mo to sae
dio of 'un -•artist of whose picturoe
heard—a man who very often
to Berkeley Street, and who, gaunt
ay ant. disheveled as he ie, is one
"lions" of the •day, An we go u
irs leading to the studio, we meet
coming down -a young girl, poor.
sed, but with a faee of .such ea-
ary beauty that it absolutely
me, I had never dreamed that a
face could be so lovely, and Mrs.
n, who has also been struck by it
the same remark to the great
'Jaime] f.
that,' bit eases, laying down hits
nil 1,bcu1Nr c. •"fa a. noir rviulrl r -h„
•"1 F "" •:y::S e• .7. 1 0 i17g' out
into' .the, twilight. 1W art; standing at
an open window at Sete upper end of the
long music -room. A11• tl'e rest of the
party are clustered retold and the 'piano at.;
the Ievrer en& where c,orae =aide -mad
friend' -01' Crauferd's is playing Berlioz's
"Syznphenie Fantastique. These are all
in a warm glow of candle -light from the
lights on tire. piano, .but we, standing at
this elistant .window, are illumined only
by tlieeelitte glimmer from a faint clear
apple -green sky against which the houses
stand up picturesquely dark and indis-
tinet, and in which, just above the sha-
dowy chimney -tops, burns one great red
lovely star.
"Miss Scott, do you think the man you
marry will ever allow you to sing on
the stage?"
itis voice startles me, low and quietly
as the words are ,spoken. I look up at
the tall dark . figure, indistinct in tbo
twilight; and suddenly this boy, with his
beautiful eyes, his desperate poverty, his
passionate pride, seems to take me by the
hand and lead me into seine "faery laud
forlorn" of which I have never dreatated
in all my life before.
"I do not think about it," I answer with
truth.
"Miss Scott, will you marry me?"
This question takes me so entirely by
surprise that it conveys no meaning to
mmind.
"Mlle, will you marry ine, and give me
the right to work for you?"
I look up into the eager dark eyes of
the lad who is so eager to work for me,
hut who cannot or will not work for
himself.
"You with a wifel" I exclaim, with a
cruel smile. "It seems to inc to be as
much as you can eompass—"
"To live myself. You are very bitter;
I think you take a pleasure in hurting
me --I thip.k you always did!"
"Forgive me;" I say, holding out my
hand; it looks very white and slim in
the half light, as I am sure I look my.
self in my faint white clinging gown. "It
was kind of you to wish to help me in
the only. wall ±*you, could—"
"Kind! he interrupts passionately, tak-
ing the hand. I have'offerod to him and
daring to press his warhmyoung lips
against it. "I am kind to you, Allis, if
you call it kind to love you with all the
strength of my heart and soul!"
"But you have only known me for so
short a time," 1 say, drawing my hand
away coldly. "You can know teething
about inc."
I know that I love ,ou—I know that
I have loved you since the very first ev-
ening I met you here. I believe I fell, in
love with your voice before .I eesr saw
you, though Mrs. Wauchope •honght she
hipped any' danger of that kind so .sihv-
criy in: the bud;"and he laughs It Tittle
--the oId boyislaugh, I think of the
violets and am silent, looping at that
great solitary star, at the t, ruses stand-
ing up black against the gold -green sky.
The quaint fantastic music of the :Iym-
phonie fills the room, the group about
the piano listen to it eagerly, with the
light full on their preoccupied laces; only
we two are alone together in ,be twilight
window, two tall shadows against the
faint clear sadness of tha sky.
"We should .be poor, Allie; but if we
oared for eaeh other, that .would not
matter. And I would work so hard for
you --I would ',voris day and night to be-
come famous for your salsa-n:tithing
would be too hard for me. with each a
he 0, as that."
i e' looks as if he could "pilo hint a pa-
lace straight„ to pleq.euro the princess he
loved" as he stands there, so young and
strong and full of life and hope.
"But, what foolie people would think tier
I say, smiling, and wondering, what, he
will say when he 'loan the, trail about
mc.
Should wo care fon that?" he exclaims,
with scornful da eVie If we were
he my, wozshoull little what
"Very well, then; you must stay till the
day after to -morrow..'
"But your unole sent word by me that
you were to come home at once,"
"I shall not go to -morrow," I repeat ob-
stinately; and Aunt Rosa, knowing me
of old, thinks it better not to press the
point.
I must see my boy again. This is the
idea which is uppermost in my mind. I
cannot go away without seeing him; but
how shall I manage it? I may not chance
to meet him at the Itollestons' to -morrow;
and, if not, shall I be forced to go away
without bidding him good-bye? I, knew
this evening that our time together would
not be long, but I did not dream that it
would be so short as this.
"I hope you won't be very uncomfor-
table, Aunt Rosa. You won't find the
hair mattress as soft as your feather-
bed at home."
T don't expdct to be comfortable. The
whole place appears to me wretched and
shabby to a degree."
"It is not at all wretched, I assure you.
And I have improved greatly since I
went to Madame Cronheim's."
Aunt Rosa sniffs, sitting bolt upright
in •the most uncomfortable chair in the
room.
T think I will go to bed," she says.
"That woman has riuite tired me out."
I light her bedroom candle with ala-
crity, and precede her into the inner
room. A little camp -bed has been put
up for me in the dressing -room; but, be-
fore I go to bed, and after I have helped
Aunt Rosa to unpack her night -garments,
I creep back to the dying fire in the
drawing -room, and, sitting on the rug,
lean my chin on my palms, and think
of those two figures in that twilight win-
dow, and of a foolish promise made only
to be broken. But if he comes to 'me,
shall I not say "Yes"? If he keeps hie
share of the agreement, shall I not keep
mine A foolish happy smile curves my
lips in the dying firelight—the lips that
he has kissed by the light of that great
solitary evening -star. Yes,: I ,will keep
my,;= remise, Gerard. But will you keep
yours?
R * w d,
go to Madame Cronhelm's in the
moreeng. and after that to the .Rolle -
tons' .iib• llolh+exteses are sorry. I am go-
ieg. away -Ada .e8peciaily.. Mr. Baxter 1.4
iiot at Bef'keley Street, nor does any one
to en�t�ir�enhis name. I come back to lunch
eetL ` „, Carleton Street, though the Rol-
destonsY ?lard to keep me, and have
just finished"that long delayed meal when
Mary Anne comes in with a card - "h her
grimy hand, which she proffers te.
(To be continued.)
I 'MONO
dress; a faint white- �tre'd�t.;,,,1,
spot of darker color` sl"19out It
bunch of heliotrope fastened -.oto t
eoil: of filmy lace• about the throat, ;t
followed by 'a darker' figure chinch .Ie
like its shadow in the faint-pers,ientl
of the long shadowy room.
'We want you to .sing 'Galla. Wate" e
Allis, and 'Logic o' Buchan.'" •
And I sit down and sing them witt' ;,
careless gayety, the dash .and' insane ,, '11 •' ,
without which, Olive ;:Deane tells tc .:'
should not be Allie Scott. But i t4 ,
time I am thinking of two eladowy ;fig-
ures outlined • against a faint .gold=green
sky, of a star that "flickered into 'red
and emerald," of a voice that had mid
"And you will marry me, Allie?" and Of
another voice that had ,answered "Yes.
"Your aunt has cSme."
Suith is Mary Anne's greeting to me in
the hall of No. 33 Carleton Street.
"My aunt! What aunt?"
"Your punt tem the rrpantry She:
came about an hour ago, and was thee
surprised to find you had gone our:"
"But what has site come for? Ts .any-
thing wrong at home?"
"Not a thing in the world. She says
she wrote to tell you she was coming„
and to have a room ready,.bc:ause she
meant to stay."
"Meant to stayl" I repeat, thinking cf
the unopened letters of the morning.
"So she says. She's in the tirawinffs
room now, giving it to the mistress."
"Giving her what?" I ask stupidly..
"A piece of her mind, she says; but I
,think it's the whole of it!" the maid -of -
all -work says, grinning. "It's all along
of the Count she be come, I expect. SIto
says Mrs, Wauchope deceived her about
having no lodgers but' the Misses Pryoe."
Who can have told Aunt Rasa anything'
about him? And what a. state of mind
she must have been in before' She would
decide to come up to town in su',;h a'
hurry!
tenet Rosa!" I exclaim, in. a tone of
the most innocent astonishment. '::11y !
dear AuntBosa, I am so sorry you at, t"
rived while I was out."
t eIts both. A note
well."
not write. • :You can go :home
ow, and I will, • follow the next
;f, you do not ear° to stay in Lon -
I ihal1 not leave you l,e'hincl me, Ito-
.
alie.r
7 YEARS EXPERIENCE
CIfAPTER V.
The sentence may be ambiguous; but
Aunt Rosa does not perceive
"So am I," she says, when . she hal;
planted a cold kiss upon my nose. "I;
did not think you came up to Loudon to
go to evening -parties."
"But I was with the Roliestons, abut•••
perfectly respectable people."
"Humph! And how did you come
home?"
They sent me home in their carri ege.l
—they always do."
"T wrote to you yesterday. Is there.'
anything the matter with the postal axe'
rangements 1 "'
"Not that I know of, Aunt Rosa.
"Then I am to conclude that you never•
open my letters?"
"I was in a hurry; this morning—break':
fast was late, and 1 was afraid of being
late at Madame Cronhelm's. I did glance
through your letter; but .,I, :must have
overlooked anything' you s r bout co
ing up to town." est
Site says nothing ?'
Wauehope's eontr'abt+ic'
know, as well as if Alm,-
somebody has .been &rail
write and tell her alt teen,
poet Mrs. Doane; but T :—
questions, nor dose( Oa
information to -night,
"It seems Mrd. Wane"
room for me. In Ro
thee
" itt' clear Aust s
room. T will 'sleep h
just ,run itt there,t
dress#pg-roots—• iz)
better have a all'
ing•room, if Mrs:
it,.
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iS ABSOLUTELY PURE.
The first and great essential of a food product, is
Purity; the Purity and Quality of our Extra Granulated.
have never been questioned.
Once make a comparison with other Sugars and you
will not be satisfied with any but Redpath.
Dainty Tea Tables are always served with
PARIS LUMPS to be had in RED SEAL
dust proof cartons, and by the pound.
The Canada Sugar Reining Co.,
MONTREAIr`
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Established in 1854 by Jobn Redpath
_ 41„mx..v,
de,
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The Lamp That
Saves The Eyes
Children"naturally never think of
possible strainon their eyesight when
poring overa fascinating book.
}• It is up to you to see they do not ruin
their young eyes these long evenings
by reading under a poor light..
g- The Rao Lamp is an insurance .
a
against eye troubles, alike for young
>3 Y
and old. rAV,..
low-priced lamp, but it is constructed on the soundest
and there is not a better lamp made at any price.
e eye because its light is to soft and white and
d a Rayo Lamp never flickers.
it replevin stlade, or chimney; easy to dealt ,end. rewick.
>I .
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Itis liie of Jta'yo laznps; or wriin for rlesctip@o circular
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HOW TO USE A DRAG.
The slecessful"toperation of a road
drag involves two principles, whish,
when thoroughly understood and
intelligent17 applied,' make road
working with this implement very
simple. The first eorcerns the
'length and position of the ni,.ch,
while the second ,deals with the
position of the driver on, the drag.
Each influences the other to 0, large
extent, and successful manipals,
tion•of the drag is dependent tepee',
an understeeidiing of: both of them,
writes Mr. D. W. King. •
For ordinary -purposes the s:'.atch
link or clevis should be fastened
far•enough toward the blade end
of the chain to force the .unloaded
drag to follow the team at an angle
of 45..degrees. This will cause the
earth to move along the feee of he
drag smoothly and will give com-
paratively light draft to the team,
provided the driver rides in the line
of draft.Sometimes, however;
conditions are met which require
special treatmeet, and in a rolling
country such conditions are noli
infrequent. Often a flat place sev-
eral rods in length or a seepy spot
needs special attention.
The distance from the drag at
which the team is hitched affects
the depth of the cutting. Shorten
ing the chain tends to lift the front
slab from -the ground; a longer
hitch causes the blade to cut more
deeply. The length of hitch may
be regulated by lengthening and
shortening the chain at the end.
which runs through the hole in the
blade end of the drag. If small
weeds are to be cut the double tree
should be attached rather closer to
the ditch end of the drag. The
drag, will now move nearly ditch
end foremost, • and the driver
should stand with ono foot on the
extreme end of the front slab. This
will swing the drag back to this
proper angle and will cause the
blade to plow.
The drag does the best work
when the soil is moist, but not
sticky. The earth then moves free-
ly• along the faces of the slabs. I!
the roadway is very badly rutted
and full of holes, it may be well to
use the drag once when the ground
is .slushy. This treatment is par-
ticujarlP, applicable before eold
spelt in":•iwi iter; _y,�lien ft is " 1c;ssible
to have'a xitri .way" �l
A emooth road silkiness is;.seeered
liy t method. Clay, when mixed
with water and. thoroughly worlred
x
becomes remarkably tough and im-
pervious to water. If• compacted
in this condition it becomes ex-
tremely hard;
Another valuable result of drag'-"
gieg is the reduction of dust, for
the particles of clay cohere so te-
naciously that there is but little
wear when the surface is smooth.
Dust on an earth road is daieeto
the breaking up under traffic of the
frayed and upturned edges of ruts
and hoof prints. If the surface is
smoothed after each rain and the
road dries hard and even, so edges
are exposed to crushing and the
only dust which forms is that due
to actual wear of the road surface.
Certain sections of the roadway
will require more attention than.
others because of steep grades,
seepages, exposure to hillside wash,
etc. The best guide in sleeting
these eonditions is the knowledge,
and experience gained while drag..
ging the roadway.
There is one condition, however,
in which special treatment should
be given to a road. Clay hills ttre
der persistent dragging freyueetiy.
become too high in the center. To
correct this it is beat to cb'ag the
earth toward the center of the
road twice and away from it once,
NOTES OF TEE SlEEPFOLD.
All pure bred sirea are not gooi.
Wo would rather have at Large,
well formed, vigorous, verile scrub
ram than a, puny, 'ill -formed, pure,-
blood.
ure•blood. In buying •rams it is just
as necessary to study 'adivicdu lity
as it is to have pure blood.' '`
A flock will go through a whiter
in good shape in an open shed j ro
vided it has a dry roof, but no it +t is
will ever thrive on wet footi ig,
Sheep are nervous animals. and
of rather'delicate constitutions and
suffer more from bad ventilation
and overcrowding than any mller
animal on the farm; it is a misteke,
therefore, to confine sheep during
the winter in close quarters. If
kept dry their fleeces will keep them
warm. Who ever heard of sheep-
freezing to death.?
The rams should never be fed'.
fattenire food, but should be given
the kind Of 'food that will add
strength and stainina. They must'
nevera lowed to '„ lin
'Cl
11e