Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, March 19, 1904, Page 8

OOG ) Tom Gallon AAOO0oo0oo CHAPTER I1I.—Continued. “O, God,” he prayed, “under whose mighty wings of healing thou dost gather the lowest and the weakest of thy creatures in their hour of need— stretch forth thine arm to save her— so young, so fair—something better than this. Through the darkness of a long night I have striven for her; let it not be that I have striven in vain!” There was silence in the place for a@ moment while Flame still knelt; then the silence was broken by a frightful cry from behind him. He sprang to his feet and faced’ David Yarwood, who, still as it seemed in a dream, had raised himself upon his feet and, with his clenched hands held above his head, was shrieking out hor- ribly. “No, no; don’t bring her back to life!” he shrieked. “JI can’t meet her, I can’t look into her face again! I've robbed her—taken from her all that was hers. Come away, let her alone; there is no life for her now, nothing to come back to! Come away!” Enoch Flame sprang at him and forced him down into his seat. “Be quiet!” he exclaimed, sternly. “Who are you, to blaspheme like this? She shall live, if it please God to let her. ‘Wake up, man; what are you dream- ing about?” “You don’t understand,’ whined ‘Yarwood, sinking on his knees and clasping the hand of the other man. “You mustn’t call her back—you dare not! Let her die; let her believe, in dying, that the rest was all a dream. If she comes back now she must know what I’ve done; she must understand how I’ve robbed her—stolen her birth- right.” “You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” said Enoch, jerking the shrunken figure to his feet. “The poison you’ve taken has got into your mind till you’re no longer a man. Leave the child alone. I say she shall live.” And she lived. There came a day when she opened her eyes weakly enough on a world she had thought to have left behind; a day when she called to her father and the coward was not there to hear her. It was only quite late at night when she was thought to be sleeping that David Yar- wood crept back under the cover of the darkness; and, perhaps—who knows?—with some dreadful hope in his mind. Coming in and blinking at the light, he whispered a question to the stern figure of the old man stand- ing in the room looking at him. “Is she—alive!” “Yes, father, dear—and_ getting strong,” came the voice of the girl. “Oh, the strange places that I have wandered in—the strange dreams I have had.” “Dreams—yes—it’s all dreams!” he muttered, looking about him uneasily. “Come and talk to me father,” she said. “Only a little while—because I’m not strong yet; but it will do me good to have you near me. And there’s something we must talk about.” “Not for long, my child,” said Enoch Flame, gently. “You have come out of great depths; you must not sink back again.” He strode away to the door and went out under the stars, leaving the father and daughter together. For a jong time she said nothing; she was content to hold his hands and to know that he was there; while he, for his part, tremblingly waited for the blow that was to fall. “I never knew that life could be so splendid before,” she whispered. “Per- haps because I’ve known what—the other thing—is like; but it’s like wak- ing on a summer morning, without a care in the world. Father, we shall see England now, at last!” “You—you won't like it,” he assured her. “Think, my dear Grace—England was never kind to your poor old fath- er; it treated him very badly. Even your mother was glad to leave at.” “Yes—with you,” she replied, ten- erly. “Think how different it will all be; we shall go back—you and I— and take our places properly in the j world, It’s just as if some fairy god- mother had come into this poor place and waved a wand-and changed every- thing. I’ve come back to life, father, and to splendid life at that. You sha’n’t wander about any more, trying to earn money for me; all that I have in the world is yours, and you shall never want for anything again. I’ve peen lying here, thinking about it, dreaming about it. It would have been hard to die and never to have known what life really was—never even to have guessed what it meant without struggles.” She stopped; he was weeping hys- terical tears, and was down on the floor beside her. At the cry she gave Enoch Flame came striding in agaia, took the man strongly by the shoul- ders, and, with a reassuring, laughing word to the girl, marched him to the door. Outside, in the light of the stars, the strong and the weak faced each other. “Are you trying to kill her?” asked Flame, in a savage whisper. “Have I wrestled with death only for this? I wonder sometimes that God makes such creatures as you; I suppose there must be some purpose in it. What have you been saying to her?” “She talks of going to England— talks of a fortune that is hers,” said Yarwood, wringing his hands. A SScoooo ooo oooooooooooeo WOOO “The fever hasn’t quite left her.” said Enoch, calmly. She will have forgot- ten by the morning.” “She will have remembered—every- thing,” cried the other. “What a fate is mine, to have been cheated like, this —by death—and b yyou! I thought it was all done with—all ended; I begin to understand now what I’ve done.” “What have you done?” asked Enoch Flame. 2 “I—I wanted my dreams again so much; I could not live without them,” faltered Yarwood. “And a woman came in out of the darkness—and she had money—and I had nothing. At least, I had no money,” he whined. “But you had something the woman crayed—eh?” asked the other. “What was it?” “Papers—valuable papers that should show who my daughter was, and should point the way to a great fortune for her. I thought she was dying—I did—indeed, I did—and that the papers were of no value. This woman came and offered me money— money to buy my dreams again—in ex- change for the papers. I—I let her have them.” “And tne child knew of this fortune —knew that it was hers?” asked the old man. “We had talked about it—just before she was ill.” “And you sold it all—for something that should fill your head with fancies and palsy your limbs?” said Flame, bitterly. “And now she asks for that which is hers—and it’s gone. Who was the woman?” “I don’t know. She was a stranger —and she came in out of the night— and went again—taking the papers. I—I’ve forgotten so many things; even if she told me her name, I shouldn’t remember what it was.” “The child must be told,” said the old man. “We must wait until she is stronger and then she must be told. Not a word now; it would endanger her life. Let her believe that every- thing is right—that the papers are there; she must be told presently.” “David Yarwood pleaded in vain; Enoch kiame was fifirm in his deter- mination. Twice the wretched man tried to get away, and twice the man who had saved his daughter’s life brought him sternly back. And at last the day came when Enoch Flame set his back to the door of the house and nodded sternly to Yarwood that he must tell his tale. “Your father has: something to tell you, my child,” said the old man. “You will be brave, you will listen to all he has to say. You have been brought back to life—and I believe not in vain. Hear what your father has to say.” Yarwood began his story haltingly. He pleaded that he was a poor, lonely creature; that he had been broken- hearted at the thought of losing his child; that he had gone for consola- tion to the drug that had served him so often before. He told of that night when he had thought that she lay dy- ing; told of the coming of the woman to the house; of his temptation—and his? fall. “All that was yours, Grace, is gone; there isn’t a scrap of paper anywhere which shall prove who you are; and who would believe me? I was born under an unlucky star; your fortune is gone—and I—I wish I was gone, too.” He broke down and wept some very sincere tears; for in this saner mo- ment he, too, had had a vision of some better life in that far-off England he had almost forgotten. For some time the girl lay quiet, saying nothing; when at last she broke the silence in the room her words were calm enough and there was no hint of blame in them. —to a stranger—for a little money,” she said. “I thought, when my eyes first opened again on God’s blessed sunlight, that I had come back to a new dife; but the new life wasn’t for me. All that I hoped for—all that I'd | dreamed about—had been bartered away. Don’t think I blame you; this has only been the last of many things that I look back upon with different eyes, father. But,’—she raised her- self, with astonishing vigor, on the couch, and looked fixedly at the cring- ing man before her—‘“this is not the end for me. Life held out a prize for me; you have snatched it away. But, so truly as it is mine, so surely will I have it again.” “But what will you do?” asked both men at once. “In that Engiand I have not seen, a great place waits for me; they call it Hawley Park, in the county of Surrey. T will go to England; I will take what is mine.” “But the papers—you can do noth- ing without the papers,” exclaimed Yarwood, staring at her. “{ will find a way,” she said. “I was not brought back from death for nothing; I am so strong now that I can. grasp life with both hands—one for myself and one for you,” she add- ed, with a bitter smile, as she looked at her father, “and no one shall take what is mine from me.” CHAPTER III. Joyce Takes Possession. Waterloo Station was in a bustle one autumn evening; and a long train “You gave away all that was mine’ that had evidently been expected for some time came snorting in and dis- charged its load of sun-browned pas- sengers. Stolid passengers in some cases, to whom the mere arrival in excited passengers in others, anxious- ly on the lookout for friends and for their own possessions. In nearly ey- ery case the passengers were met; for this train had brought travelers who had arrived at Southampton from the other side of the world. Only in one case—noticeably, at least—did a passenger step from the train without apparently even the ex- pectation that any one would be wait- ing. That passenger was a woman— young, and very well, although quiet- ly dressed. Curiously enough, she looked about her with the air of one who has escaped from something. There was almost a hunted look in her eyes for a moment as_ she glanced about her with the air of one who has escaped from something. There was almost a hunted look in her eyes for a moment as she glanced about her—the look of one who has arrived at the end of a long journey and has a dread of what she may meet. She had her baggage collected—not very much of it and looking rather new—and was driven to a hotel in a street leading from the Strand. The journey was, of course, a very short one, yet one’s thoughts travel fast, and the thoughts of this woman went back over a long time and over many thousand miles of land and sea. The woman was Joyce Bland, whom we last saw disappear in the dust and the darkness of a night in Nevada. As she drove through the noisy streets of London—well dressed, with money in her purse, and with a sure and certain prospect before her—she laughed grimly to think of what she had left behind. There had been that long and des- perate ride, with the packet of papers secure against her breast, and with the knowledge that life had begun again for her. In her heart the pas- sionate desire to be done forever with the life she had led; in her heart a desperate resolve to fight this thing through and win. Then had come long and careful calculations—the beginnings of that long series of frauds on which she had embarked. By slow degrees she had made her way to San Francisco— selling her horse and taking to the cars at the first opportunity. She had no intention of joining the man with the price upon his head; that was not in her scheme at all. He was to be Jeft behind, with all the life with which he had been associated. San Francisco was a big place and there was but small chance of her meeting him if she avoided the haunts she knew he would frequent. Yet there had been one dark night —within an hour or two of her leav- ing the place—when, drawn up close in a doorway, she had seen him lounge past; had seen his face dis- tinctly in the glow of the cigarette he smoked. A breath—a movement— and he would have seen her; she had actually closed her eyes in dread, and had waited for his hand to fall upon her arm. It had not fallen, and he had gone on, unconscious. That had been the narowest escape of all; she shivered now in the Lon- don cab at the thought of it. After that her course had been fairly clear; the money she had, and which had been given to her by Owen Jaggard, carried her to New York—that and the price of her mare. And in New York she stepped from the cars—no longer Joyce Bland, but Grace Yarwood. (To Be Continued.) pis Rg SE eri a ie GOT BACK HIS CVERCOAT. A Warning the Minister Was Certain Would Be Heeded. Rev. Dr. Snow, finding himself down town at the noon hour, dropped into a restaurant for a luncheon. He hung his overcoat against the wall, sat down and ordered his meal, which he ate leisurely. When he had finished and turned to look for his overcoat, it was gone. He reported his loss to the cashier, who was sorry, but could do nothing, as the restaurant was “not responsible for hats, overcoats or umbrellas.” “Qh, I am not holding you responsi- ble,” said the doctor, as he paid the pill. “I shall get the coat again.” “What makes you think so?” asked the cashier. “In one of the pockets,” he replied, “was a letter with my name and ad- dress on the envelope, and in another was a printed sermon on ‘Future Pun- ishment.’ Good day.” His confidence was not misplaced. The overcoat was brought to his house the next day by a messenger boy, who said a stranger had sent it and there was no message.—Youth’s Companion. An Alum Mountain. German papers report that.an “alum mountain” exists in China, which is not only noted as a natural phenomena but also as a source of wealth for the people of the vicinity, as they annual- ly take many tons of alum from it. The mountain is said to have a cir- cumference at the base of not less than ten miles, and is nearly 1,900 feet high. The alum is quarried in immense plocks, is then heated in large ovens, and afterwards dissolved in boiling water. From this liquid the alum crystallizes in layers of about half a foot in thickness, which are cut up in blocks of ten pounds each. The Chinese use it mainly for purifying water.—Daily Consular Reports. A Student. Church—Did you say your. boy is still pursuing his studies at college? Gotham—yYes; he hasn’t caught up with them yet.—Yonkera Statesman. Stable Ventilation. At the last state dairymen’s con- vention in Wisconsin, W. D. Hoard said: A few years ago when I built @ cow stable I put windows in it every three feet to let in the light. I alsc put in a ventilation system that cost $350. One of my neighbors said tc me that he did not see how I could afford to do that. I replied that if a man should come along and give the cows of any man paris green or any other kind of animal or vegetable poison he would be prosecuted. But the farmer himself will poison his cows with bad air and think nothing of it. We must wake to a realization of this fact. Now the expenditure of $350 for a good ventilating system is not a large matter. The interest on that amount at 6 per cent is only $21 per year, and that is what the ven- tilating system really costs me. If 1 didn’t have the money myself I could borrow it from my neighbor at 6 per cent. That $21 is a very small sum to pay for the furnishing of pure air to a stable 142 feet long and 36 feet wide. I have found that this costs only a little over 40 cents per animal. We keep cows in the stable for about 200 days out of the year, and should we refuse them the expenditure of 40 cents each to keep them in pure air? I am sure tht I get back at least ten times 40 cents in the increased ef- fectiveness of each cow. I do not think that I ever made an expenditure on my farm that paid a better interest than that ventilating system. All this winter the temperature in my stable has not dropped below 50 to 55 de grees. The bodies of the cows give off enough heat to keep the tempera- ture right for the cows. By the King system of ventilation, which I have, you take off the foul cold air and retain the warm air that is naturally at the top of the barn, and your sta- ble is kept at an equitable tempera ture. It will not cost most of the farmers as much to put in a ventila- ting system as it did me because most of them have not stables as large as the one I have. Cooking Horse Feed. One of the early French investiga- tors compared oats and an equal vol ume of rye boiled until the grain burst. The results were not favor able to cooking the feed. According to auother of his tests, 30.8 pounds of mashed steamed potatoes could not replace 11 pounds of hay. The pota toes were mixed with cut straw and fed cold. It is often claimed that cooking feed increases its palatability and digestibility. The general con clusion drawn from tests with farm animals is that this belief is not war. ranted, and that the cost of cooking is not made up for by the increased value of the ration. It has been stat- ed on good authority that boiled feed is useful for colts, brood mares and stallions if fed two or three times per week, and that draft horses which are being prepared for sale or for exhibi- tion may be given cooked feed once a day with advantage. An exceilent feed for horses, it is said, may be made by boiling barley and oats in a kettle with considerable water and pouring the mass over chaffed hay, allowing the whole to stand until the hay is well softened. Bran, roots and a small quantity of oil meal may be added also.—Bulletin 170, U. 8. Dept. ot Agriculture. Aleutian Island Ranges. Several large stock growers oi Washington state are planning to con: vert the Aleutian islands into vast cattle and sheep ranges, which will surpass in extent the rapidly diminish- ing ranges of Montana and Texas. One company has begun the shipment of 25,000 sheep and 5,000 head of cattle to the Aleutians, a first con signment of 8,000 head of sheep hav- ing recently been sent from San Francisco. The company had demon- strated previously that sheep will thrive there, living throughout the winter solely on the grass of the islands, by having landed 1,000 head there about a year and a half ago. Angus Premiums. The board of directors of the Aber- deen-Angus Cattle Breeders’ Associa- tion has voted to appropriate $4,500 for a show at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition and $2,500 for an Aber deen-Angus show at Kansas City, in case one is held there in 1904. For the International Live Stock Exposi- tion in 1904 $4,000 was set aside for special premiums. The cost of tile drains will, of course, vary with the locality. tome estimates of cost made in the vicinity of the Iowa Agricultural College may prove of value to farmers intending to put in tile drains. Tile was found to cost per 1,000 feet as follows: 4-inch, $20; 5-inch, $27; 6-inch, $37; 8-inch, $58; 10-inch, $85; 12-inch, $115; 15-inch, $255. The cost of hauling was estimated at $5 per 1,000 feet for the 5-inch tile and a corresponding increase for the larger sizes. The distance hauled in this case was five miles. The cost of lay- ing, per rod was 12 to 15 cents for all tile below 8 inches in size. This price includes digging ditch and lay- ing tile, filling ditch to be done by owner. Where a capable engineer is employed to do the work, his fee must be added. It is a poor policy for the farmer to sell off his best birds and keep the poorest. Such a course means retro- e Two severe cases of Ovarian Trouble and two terrible operations avoided. Mrs.' Emmons and Mrs. Coleman each? tell how they were saved by the use of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound.' “Dear Mrs. Prvknam:—I am 50 pleased with the results obtained from Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound tha! iba dut and a privilege to write you shoud it. " Bisco capac: “T suffered for more than five years with ovarian troubles, caus- | ing an unpleasant discharge, a great weakness, and at times a fait tea would come over me which no amount of medicine, diet, or exercise seemed to correct. Your Vegetable Compound found the weak spot, however, within a few weeks — and saved me from an operation — all my troubles had cies Upeateny and I found myself once more healthy and well. Words fail to describe the real, true, grateful feeling that is in my heart, and I want to tell every sick and suffering sister. Don’t dally with medicines you know nothing about, but take Lydia E. Pink- ham’s Vegetable Compound, and take my word for it, you will be a different woman in a short time.”— Mrs. Lavra Emmons, Walker- ville, Ont. Another Case of Ovarian Trouble Cured Without an Operation. «¢ of the time. woman. “Dear Mrs. Prnxnam:— For several years I was troubled with ovarian trouble and a painful and inflamed condition, which kept me in bed part ir _I did so dread a surgical operation. “T tried different remedies hoping to get better, but nothing seemed to bring relief until a friend who had been cured of the use of your compound, induced me to try it. I took it faithfully for three months, and at the end of that time was glad to find that I was a well Health is nature’s best gift to woman, and if you lose it and can have it restored through Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com- ound I feel that all suffering women should ow of this.” — Mrs. man, Commercial Hotel, Nashville, Tenn. ovarian trouble, through Laura Betie Coxz- It is well to rememember such letters as above when some druggist tries to get you to buy something which he says is ‘* just as good” That is impos- sible, as no other medicine has such a record of cures as Lydia E. Pink- ham/’s Vegetable Compound ; accept no other and you will be glad. Don’t hesitate to write to Mrs. Pinkham if there is anything about your sickness you do not understand. with kindness and her advice is free. She will treat you No woman ever regretted writing her and she has helped thousands. 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