Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 28, 1903, Page 6

| | | an TEI Nt | i beat ae. ve The - - « CHAPTER XV.—Continued. “Cynthia,” Lady Carrington said, at Yast, “I had a letter from Mr. Bowers today. He says he will be down here by Thursday?” Im an instant the girl had sprung to her feet, the full lines of her figure re- vealed to perfection as she stood e@tartied and erect. “Mr. Bowers? By Thursday?” “Yes. What is there surprising in that, Cynthia?” “Oh, nothing, nothing—only he may being news of Clive.” “Cynthia!” And now it was my lady’s turn to vise in angry agitation. For a brief space they stood and feoked at each other in the dim, rosy twilight of the room. “fake care!” my lady said, in a low, warning voice—‘take care, Cynthia! You may speak that name once too eften. He of whom you speak—” “fs your son!” The stinging words, keen as the Biade of a stiletto, struck home; but my lady never winced. “You are wrong!—he was my son. Now and from henceforth, living or dead, he is not—he can never be—son of mine!” 4nd then a queer, piercing glance feaped into her dark eyes. “What does Mr. Bowers know con- eerning the person you mention. who ts abroad at present; that is all the | rest of the world knows; that is all he need be made aware of just now. Even allowing that a family lawyer @ecupies much the same position as a family physician, it does not follow Ghat any season, however inappropri- | ate, should be selected for the discov- | ering of concealed scars and probing \ ef festering wounds. Besides, what Possible interest can this particular affair hold for you?” Miss Lennox had stood all this time with her hands clasped convulsively @bove her heart. She started and dropped them at my lady’s question. “Oh, none whatever,” she answered; | wearily sinking back in her seat. “In- terest naturally centers round a sub- fect or person of old and familiar asso- elation.” “Simply interest, Cynthia—nothing more?” i The girl lifted languid, brilliant eyes fm quiet astonishment. “Of course not! What else could there be?” Sins - My lady turned abruptly away and wat ON The calm counter-question was simply unanswerable. ‘@Wpen She spoke again it was in a “woice cold and constrained. + “Remember, no word of this to any me. To-day we do not rush forth to ~@hout our grievances from the house- vVitops. To- we do not drag out piti- ‘wil gkeletons from the closets and “patade them for public inspection. And one word more. From this mo- ment forward—even in secret, even in’ private, even in the dead of night, as we have spoken now—this subject, this person, this name, must never be men- | tioned between us! I forbid you! Ah, your eyes blaze up at that word! Well, #m this instance I have the right to use @t. £ forbid you to ever again utter in my presence the name of him who was my son! That name once so dear, now @o hateful to me that I, his own moth- | ex, speak for the last time that name Clive Carrington!” Through the dull consciousness of the girl on the bed beyond that one word penetrated. She began whisper- fmg it softly over and over to herself, every utterance a caress. And all at once her voice pealed out through the room loud, clear, silvery eweet: “Clive, Clive, Clive!” Her listeners flung up their heads and looked at each other in breathless amazement. “She has fastened on that one word,” my lady said, her calm reserve @. fittie shaken, with the fantastic fancy ofa disordered brain. Poor thing!” Cynthia Lennox did not move or epeak. She sat quite still in her low seat by the fire, her costly wrapper falling in soft folds about her, her black bair tumbling over its snowy folds in jetty masses. “Cilve!"” went on that sweet, young ‘voice, now earnest, now sorrowful, now painfol in its very jubilance—‘“oh, ifve, 1 love you! That says ail—does t not, dear? And I ought to hate you —oh, if 1 could only hate you! What re they playing? ‘The Girl I Left Be- hind Me?’ howgladitsounds! Itisa horrible air! Oh!” with an awful, shuddering shriek of fright, “it is sink- fng, it is burning, it— Oh,Clive, Clive, Ctive!” fhe weird, terrified voice sobbed to @lilence. The fire upleaped, as if in merry, rollicking mirth; the shaded femps burned low; the Swiss clock on = Curse o Carrington By K. TEMPLE MOORE. “Is it true?” the girl at her feet questioned wildly—‘is it true that that—laugh—is an omen of evil to Blackcastle—to the house of Carring- ton? We were just in the shadow of the tower when we heard it—we all heard it! And if so—if it be ae, this legend—it is she who lies beyond, who shall bring misery, perhaps death, to Blackcastle—she—” My lady was shaking from head to feet. The hands which Cynthia clasped were icy cold. “No, it is not true—of course it is not true, that old superstituion! You imagined it—you were excited! How foolish you are, Cynthia! how—” She sat down ghastly white, and trembling to the very lips. And once again, through the pretty, silent room, out rang that strange, sad, passionate voice: “Oh, Clive, my love, my darling! Pray God that I may hate you! Clive, Clive, Clive!” CHAPTER XVI. A Letter. ‘3 “Good morning, Lady Carrington!” “What a beautiful day!” “Yes, the lake will be in splendid condition later.” “T wonder how our mysterious beauty is this morning?” And so they rattled on, in cheery, social fashion, a dozen or more of the guests of Blackcastle gathered togeth-" er in the cosy, oak-paneled breakfast room. A rarely comfortable apartment it looked, this crisp Noyember morning, with its warm, rich carpet, its chairs of carven mahogany, its few choice | game .and fruit pieces which draped | the walls. A big, bright fire burned in the wide grate, and its cheery Hght sparkled upo nthe exquisitely appointed break- fast table, with its snow-white damask, | its delicate china, its glittering glass, its crested silver. And it glinted, too, upon the charm- ing living picture which the old room framed—upon the languid, graceful group of courtly, cultured men and women who clustered round in gra- cious, social greeting. “Such a peculiarly lovely face—did | you notice it?” Miss Dent uestioned, with her air of serious sentiment. I dreamed of her last night—poor child! Ah, here is Baby!” The young lady referred to came rushing down the stairs like a small cyclone. A snatch of song, a swish of feminine draperies, a bang of the door, and behold!—Miss Earle. “Good morning, Lady. Carrington! Morning, every one! Am I late Gra-} cious me! Why did you wait? Where is Cynthia?” “Here!” laughed Miss Lennox. She came slowly into the room, a queenly, impressive figure in her white, fur-trimmed neglige. The rich, dark color was truant from her cheek. Even the full, proud lips had lost much | of their deep crimson. There were | faint shadows, which spoke of sleep- lessness, under the brown, brilliant eyes. “Now that my school is all assem- pled,” gravely announced Miss Earle, “we will proceed without further pre- face to define in German, French, Spanish, Norwegian and old English, the verb—to eat!” «The definition is precisely the same in modern English,” Freddie, Lynn laughed. They drew their chairs closer around the table and talked, till through the rcom raged a soft tempest of speech, and jest, and laughter. Without, the world lay clad in festal garb, robed in ermine, glittering with jewels, crowned with a golden crown. “Such a beautiful day,” said Vera Cassard. “Yes, by far too beautiful to last,” | replied young Mr. Sedley, with a mournful emphasis. “It—it is very— disagreeable to think that we shall scon—aw—be condemned to rain, ard wind, and—general unpleasantness— aw—” “Yes—it—is—aw!” chimed in Baby, | with a face of most serene and guile- less innocence. My lady glanced round the table in nervous embarrassment. A slow, repressed smile was visible on every face. What a trial that girl was, to be sure. | it!” "He Sir Jasper Jetland. She bowed assent gravely: “Yes.” ; abroad just now?” questioned | kind regards to your ward, believe me, your affectionate nephew, —“Cyril Stuart Carington.” The clear, even tones ceased, and “How is your patient, Miss Cyn- | for just a minute neither woman spoke. thia?” Then, with fierce deliberation, Miss “Better ,if anything; but we can | Lennox tore the letter she held into perceive little change in her. raves incessantly.” “Yes; I went down to the library for | have gone so far! a book late last night,” said Miss Dent, in quick recollection, She | slim strips. “So,” she burst forth bitterly, “you You have written him! Do you think—can you for one “and coming | moment deceive yourself by thinking back I passed her room. I could hear | he can ever supply his place?” her repeating distinctly one word—a name—Clive. your son’s name, is it not, Lady Car- rington?” My lady’s lips compressed selves into a pale, level line. “Good heavens!” she asked herself, in flerce, inward questioning, “when will these people learn to keep their clumsy fingers out of an open wound?” With alert, womanly perception, Cynthia saw how the utterance of that one familiar word had dismayed her. “Yes, that is the name of Lady Car- rington’s son. We had been talking of him in her presence for some time—his mother and I—and she fastened on his name, which she kept repeating with the foolish delirium of fever.” “How shall we spend the morning?” questioned Vera, suppressing a yawn. “Skate!” emphatically advised ener- getic Miss Earle. We'll have a thaw pretty soon, and that will prove the end of our fun till Christmas. Who'll come? Vera, Will, Freddie—” “What a madcap you are, Baby!” re- monstrated Miss Cassard, with her ag- gravatingly amiable smile. “Oh, bother!” ejaculated that young lady, with brief irreverence. “Come on, Freddie!” But meek Mr. Lynn had apparently read disapproval in Miss Cassard’s last remark. For he sat down beside her and picked up a truant ball of blue ‘wool. “J—I don’t think I will go! You are not going, Miss Cassard? No. thank you, Miss Earle,” in painful and irreso- lute politeness, “I don’t think I will go.” “Stay then!’ with brusque and half- contemptuous impatience. “Come, Will! You never desert me! Play- mate of my childhood!” proclaimed Miss Earle, in mock-heroic eloquence, “friend of my youth, companion of my Goodness gracious! here’s the mail!” The flash of a scarlet dress, a twin- kle of flying feet, a glimps of bobbing curls, and exit Miss Earle. “What a child!” Cynthia said, with a lenient laugh. In a moment she had _ reappeared, with the leathern letter bag held se- curely in two slim, brown hands. “Wait! let me open it! I’m postman to-day! One for Cynthia, two fer Miss Dent, a paper for Sir Jasper, a postal | for Will, a letter for Lady Carrington and a letter for me! That's all!” | Then there was no sound for awhile | as they read their mail. “Oh!” They started at the sound of the short, explosive gasp. Baby had drop- ped her letter and was dancing round the room in a very ecstasy. ~ “Oh, it’s from papa—it’s from papa! and he’s coming home—before Christ- | mas! And I haven’t seen him for three years! Oh, Cynthia, think of | them- And she fiung herself down beside Miss Lennox, in a_ little, panting, | breathless, searlet heap. “Oh, you blissful lunatic!” Cynthia laughed, putting one slim, sparkling hand on the girl’s dark head. “Cynthia,” protested Miss LTarle, with joyous and earnest impressive- ness, “I feel as though I could hug the whole world just now!” “AS most charitable and laudable frame of mind!” emphatically declared | young Warren. “Suppose—supose you begin with me?’ “Suppose I don’t?” “Miss Lennox!” Freddie Lynn cried | out, in quick alarm, “look at Lady Car- rington. She is ill—she is fainting!” They clustered round her in a mo- } ment in startled terror. She was lean- | ing back in her chair, her face awfully | gray and rigid. One hand was pressed convulsively about her heart; the other, still clutching the letter she had been reading, hung loosely at her side. | “No, no—I am not ill!” she said, huskily, and, pushing away her chair, | rose with an effort. “I—am just a lit- | tle—faint. I will go to my room.” Cynthia put one arm around her and together they passed into the hall and ; up the stairs. Once in her own apart- ment, my lady pushed away the help- ful hands with quiet decision. “Thank you, dear!” she said, not un- gently; “but leave me now. I am bet- ter alone.” “May I not know—oh, my mother— my more than mother—may I not know what troubles you?’ She was kneeling by the elder wom- an’s chair, her white, loose morning | dress flowing about her, her dark, | pleading face pleadingly uplifted. There was a short, hesitant pause. Then my lady released the crumpled paper between her fingers. “Read that!” “It is beautiful, and for England most exceptional weather,” she hast- ened to say, taking, as it were, a plunge into the conversational river. “I can recall no such autumn since my marriage, thirty-four years ago. te mantel ticked, ticked! And neither of those motionless fig- ‘ares moved nor spoke. But suddenly, €ynthia Lennox rose and crossed to where my lady sat, and sank down on quick catching of her breath that was elmost 2 gasp of fear. “I forgot—oh, I forgot to tell you!” g@he said, in a queer, husky whisper. Bringing her up the eastern avente, we fheard,—we heard from the tower, a faugh—oh, such an awful laugh—” My tady staggered to her feet, with a fow ery. That is, no November in which we could boast skating, sleighing, and three days and nights of snow and frost.” The Honorable Reginald Sedly fa- fher knees béside/her chair, with a| vored the hostess with a grateful | iting my Cousin Clive, ahd making me, smile. “Let me see,” said Baby, lifting five rosy fingers as an aid to numerical calculation, “you were married thirty- “To-night—to-night when we were | four years ago. How oldis yourson at|surd. At its best, the idea is grimly present?” Cynthia took it up and straightening it out glanced at the chirography. “From Cyril Carrington!’ ’she cried, surprisedly. “Yes.” “My Dearest Aunt,” she read, slow- ly; “I have just received your letter, and will, in obedience to its summons, go down immediately to Blackcastle. So far, the greater part of your epistle is Greek to me. You speak of disinher- as far as it lies in your power to do so, your heir. Were it not that your sig- nature is appended, the very sugges- tion would seem preposterously ab- grotesque, and to me, simply incompre- By the way, that is/and a little bent. | eame softly into the room and up to My lady’s head was turned away, Her thin, patrician hands looked painfully old and wrin- kled as they lay clasped upon the dull Venetian red of her dress. “Don’t!” commanded that low, proud voice, which never for a moment seemed to lose its ring of self-control. You must not speak so to me, Cyn- thia! He signedhis own edict of ban- ishment, he wrote his own death war- rant, he dug his own grave! You musv never speak so to me again, Cynthia— for—I am an old woman—and I can- not bear it! I think that fact came home to me to-day for the first time, when I read that letter and looked across the breakfast table to where he. used—to sit—and thought was it, after all, worth while. Then I grew a little faint. That is all!” “It was not worth while!” Cynthia Lennox cried, passionately. “There is nothing worth while which brings us pain! God knows there is enough mis- ery, and sorrow, and heart-sickness in the world without bringing it on our- selves!” My lady rose, trembling and stately. “Do not attempt to vindicate him!” she cried, sternly—‘“do not dare at- tempt to vindicate him!” “Vindicate him! I vindicate him for loving another than—than— Ah!” with a swift breaking off of her speech and a sad, bitter laugh, “that would be | irony, Indeed!” CHAPTER XVII. “How I Envy Her. Thursday—Thursday evening. And what a miserable day it had been— what a thoroughly wretched evening it was! The invigorating snap of cold weather had been succeeded by a thaw —a clumsy, slippery, dispirited thaw, accompanied by heavy rains. All day had the guests of Blackcas- | tle wandered about the great old house —from the music room to the billiard room, from the library to the picture gallery—in vague search of amuse- ment. And, in truth, it was no trial to be prisoner in Blackcastle; for, take it all in all, one could never feel wholly Jonely surrounded by such miracles of art, such luxuries of wealth, such sug- gestions of exquisite refinement whicb this proud home boasted. Most of the day Cynthia Lennox had spent by the bedside of the strange guest fate had flung at their agtes. She found a peculiar and most inexplicable fascination in the fever- ish face which lay upon the snowy pillow. A dozen times she went away—a dozen times she came back. Where had she seen that face before? It held fer her a shadowy, intangible mem- ory. Where, how—where, how? she asked herself vainly, over and over. The chil! yellowish daylight was shuddering to twilight, whem my lady where Cynthia stood by’the sick girl’s | bedside. “What are you thinking of, dear?— | you look so solemn,” she whispered, | putting her arm around her werd’s waist. swered, with a slow motion of her swered, with a slow motio nof her | head toward the quiet figure before them. “J,” thoughtfully, “was won- | dering who she is—what her name is; | wondering, teo, if there is any one who , misses her now—any one who loves | her.” bs “It is a face that would win love | royally,” my lady answered. “Her | face is her fortune!” For the first time in several hours | she was resting calmly. Just now the | subdued light from a shaded lamp, | burning near her, penetrated the rich curtains, and showed her as she lay— | a model for a sculptor. One arm, from which the loose white sleeve had fallen away, was fiung above her head, and against the blue silken draperies of the bed it gleamed, fair and rounded, | and faultlessly molded, One hand lay quite motionless on the lace coverlet— a slender, snowy hand, the hand of an | aristocrat to the finger tips. | The upturned face was beautiful in | its softened, slumberous repose—a childish face, with full, bright curls clustering round the pure brow, with its finely penciled black brows and long, jetty lashes; with its fever- flushed cheeks and curved, scarlet tips. And even as they looked, she moved and spoke. “Clive!” she whispered, and smiled —“Clive!” A Jook of pain crossed my lady’s face. She turned quickly away. “I sometimes wonder why we ever brought her here, Cynthia, instead of sending her to the county hospital.” “Aah,” with a gentle, reproachful laugh, “that was not you that spoke!” They catied a maid to attend the pa- tient, and went together down stairs. At the foot my lady paused, and drew out her watch. Cynthia turned away and walked rapidly down the hall. “Five! Mr. Bowers will be here by six. I suppose he wants to see me about those Australian stocks. I can imagine no other errand which would bring him without a summons. The servants were lighting the bronze-pedestaled lamps throughout the long hall, and by their luster Miss Cynthia Lennox looked quickly up, | hensible. You may expect me Thurs-! Lennox caught a glimpse of her in nervous dismay. But my lady’s fine | day by the 7 p. m. train. Once to-| friend’s face. old face was absolutely unmoved. gether, I shall request a solution of How white, and trou- bled, and anxious it loked! What “Thirty-one,” she answered, calmly. | this, to me, insoluble enigma. With |could— Like a flash she remembered! NEEECTIVE PAGE jand Scotch highballs.—Philadelphia To-night Cyril Carington was to ar- rive. To-night the new heir, the mas ter of Blackcastle, would come to sit on his throne and wield his scepter! Ah, no wonder that the old cheek paled, and the old mouth quivered de- spite her iron self-repression. For, after all, him whom she had driven forth was her boy—her boy! She paused a moment at a door from which the ruddy firelight streamed in hospitable billows. In the room beyond a small group were gathered. Baby Earle and Will Warren were engaged in a vigorous and spirited dispute; Miss Cassard and Mr. Lynn languished over the meekest dilation of a flirtation; Sir Jasper Jet- land sat like a neglectful and near- sighted chaperone, fathoms deep in the Farmers’ Review. She smiled and sighed together, ard passed on. She meta servant and spoke to him. | “When Mr. Bowers arrives bring him | down to me in Sir Clive’s room.” At the extreme end of the corridor she paused before a certain entrance and inserted a key in the lock. She went into the room and closed the door behind her. | The place had been a den of Clive’s, and it bore the evidence of a man’s | occupancy in its guns, and rods, and reels, and whips, and swords. The table was still as he had left it that summer evening, such a_ short time ago—all littered with books and pipes, and military and sporting maga- zines. There was no light in the room, save that which emanated from the many- sconced candelabra Miss Lennox had taken up in passing through the hall. But the radiance, however feeble, fell upon a picture which hung above the low marble mantel—a portrait painted of Clive when he was quite a boy. She walked slowly forward, and leaning both elbows on the broad slab, Tooked at it. (To Be Continued.) WOOD ALCOHOL FIENDS. They Become Able to Drink the Poison Without Apparent Harm. A Filbert street shop which does a large business in cleaning and reno- vating hats had to put up some pro- fuse apologies a few days ago to a customer, owing to a second failure to deliver a tile at the time promised. “I ean’t help myself,” expostulated the proprietor, with voice betokening a broken spirit. “I can’t get anybody to help me, and I can’t keep them when I get them. Out in the shed there are two men I employed yesterday. They’re chock full of wood alcohol—” “Wood alcohol?” “Yes, they get away with a quart or two of it every day. You’d think it would kill them, the same as it has others, but they are used to it. I’ve put dye im it, same as you use on Easter eggs—red dye—but_ they swilled it down just the same. What ean 1 do about it?” Remembering the recent carouse in which several men lost their lives by | drinking wood alcohol, none can be a | hard drinker whose experiences are | confined tu nothing more ardent than dry martinis, jamaica ginger, water- front whisky, straight Worcestershire | Evening Telegraph. t STOPPING A LEAK. When the Young Man Failed to tm- | press. } He was taking a country cousin around town showin gher the sights, and in his efforts to appear as the “real thing” was particularly lavish with his tips. No one who waited on | ‘stamd for’ him. them got Tess than a quarter for the | most trivial service. The country cousin wasn’t born yes- | terday, and when he put the second quarter down on the same table she slyly picked it up and put it in her purse. When a callboy brought him an evening paper—he had been given | 5 cents to buy it with—the “real thing” | put another quarter down and the girl quietly took that, also. When the} waiter brought the check for their | dinner the man laid a dollar bill on | the plate, and this also the girl premptly “lifted.” But he saw her do > it this time, and whispered: i “What's the matter? Don’t you) think I gave him enough?” i “Oh, yes,” she said, sweetly, “put | as I took the others I thought I'd take | that, too. I hate to see good things wasted.”—New York Press. A Japanese Tank. In a Broadway cafe the other night a Japanese student knocked all the old topers in the place silly by drinking two glasses of beer, a bottle of ginger ale; a half-pint of whisky and somé brandy at one sitting that lasted fif- teen minutes. The Japanese smacked his lips and looked wistfully at his change as if he would like to repeat the dose. The bartender said it was the second or third time the student had done this, and he did not do it for the effect on the occupants of the cafe so much as for the effect on himself.— New York Press. A Modern Samson. At Tisra Szs Miklos, in Hungary, re- cently, Rudolph Tyrritz, a man of Her- culean proportions, was building a sta- ble for a farmer. It was nearly fin- ished when Tyrritz quarreled with his employer, and in the heat of the ar- gument ran up to one of the pillars of the stable and shook it with such force as to cause the whole building to collapse. Tyrritz Himself was buried among the ruins and later was dragged out dead.—New York Press. Tomdix—Did you ever experience what one might term a feeling of gone- ness? Hojax—Yes, once; I backed a horse that “also ran.”—Chicego News. W. J. Hill, Justice of the 4 Peace, cord, N. says: “Doan’s- Kidney Pills proved a very efficient rem- edy in my case. I used them fer dis- ordered _ kid- neys and back- ache, from da great deal of trouble and pain. The kidney se- eretions were very irregular, dark colored and full of sediment. The Pills cleared it all up and I have not 4 had an ache in my back since taking ~ the last’ dose. My health generally is improved a great deal.” Foster- Milburn Co., Buffalo, N. Y. For sale by all dealers, price 50 cents per box. € ENGLISH AS SHE !S SPELLED. Some Confusing Things for British Geographical Students. At a dinner party in London, Miss Beatrice Hereford was taken down by an Englishman, whom she found to be a fellow of the Royal Geographical so- ciety, and who professed to know by name all the places on the map of England. Miss Herford had long struggled with such names as Chol- mondeley (Chumley), Crichton (Cry- ton), and the rest, and this struck her as an opportunity. “As a geographer, and especially as a royal geographer,” she said, “you will be able to tell me where Winkle is.” The royal geographer was puzzled, and asked if she was sure she had pro- nounced it properly, and how it was spelled. “I pronounced it in the most English way I could,” said Miss Hereford. “It is spelled W-i-n-d-s-o-r C-a-s-t-le.”— Philadelphia Public Ledger. One Short Puff Clears the Head. Does your head ache? Have you pains over your eyes? Is the breath offensive? These are certain symptoms of Catarrh. Dr. Agnew’s Catarrhal Powder will cure most stubborn cases in a marvellously short time. If you've had Catarrh a week it’s a sure cure. Ifit’s of fifty years’ standing it’s just as effective. 50 cts. at i . The Curate’s Revenge. Two curates at a church in Mary- port (Cumberland) have just resigned. The senior curate preached Iast Sun- day night his farewell sermon, and he chose a text which astonished the eon gregation. It was a portion of Abra- ham’s advice to his young ‘men: “Abide ye here with the ass, and t and the lad will go yonder and wor- ship.” The Cumberland papers quiet- ly add: “Much comment has been ex- cited by the text.”——Westminster Ga- zette. MR. HOWELL’S POPULARITY. His Genuine Americanism Makes Him a Universal Favorite. ‘There is no doubt, I suppose, that if some one should get up a voting con- test to see who is the most eminent of livimg American authors, Mr. Howells would get away with most of the cou- pons. Whether they read him or mot, people know about him and like him, or, as the expressive phrase ges, I guess the secret of it is, for one thing ,that every one has a strong faith in Mr. Howells’ gemuime- ness and Americanism. He does not go to Italy for his scenes and char-_ é acters, as Marion Crawford does; he does not retreat into the past, as Mr. Churchill and most of the other roman- tic writers do. He deals with the here and now, with Broadway and Beacon stréet, with Iowa and Central New York, with the election of Mayor Low and the trust movement. He handles all these familiar, commonplace and homely things, and makes good sto ries of them—no easy task. And with all his humor and clear insight, he pre- « serves a noble faith in everything that js American.” — Syracuse Post-Stand- ard. BOTH FEEL What Proper Food Does for Both Mind and Body. Physical health, mental health, in- deed almost everything good on this earth depend in great measure upon proper food. Without health nothing is worth while and health can be won almost every time by proper feeding on the scientific food Grape-Nuts. A California trained nurse proved this: “Three years ago I was taken very sick, my work as a trained nurse having worn me out both in body and mind, and medicine failed to relieve me at all. After seeing a number of physicians and specialists and getting no relief I was very much discouraged and felt that I would die of general neryous and physical collapse. je “My condition was so bad I never imagined food would help me, but on* the advice of a friend I tried Grape Nuts. The first package brought me so much relief that I quit the medi- cines and used Grape-Nuts steadily three times a day. The result was that within 6 months I had so com- pletely regained my strength and health that I was back nursing again and I feel the improvement in my brain power just as plainly as I do in physical strength, “After my own wonderful experi- ence with Grape-Nuts I have recom- mended it to my patients with splen- lid success and it has worked wonders n the cases of many individuals whom ‘ have attended professionally.” Name; aoe by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. one in Se package for a copy of e famous little book, “ Road Wellville.” oe to “ { eee Cae a