Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 30, 1904, Page 6

2 ram Of Craft CHAPTER X1V—Continued. Meanwhile Mr. Stock, of the firm of Stock and Erling, of Chancery Lane, was behaving curiously. Keeping his hand upon the shoulder of the young man, he had thrust him before him, and into that small room, alreadyre- ferred to. in which Joyce Bland had had a memorable interview with Owen Jaggard; and there had closed the door without speaking a word. Releasing Raymond’s_ shoulder, the lawyer strolled across the room, and stood with hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the window across,} the grounds. “What do you want with me?” ask- ed the young man, impatiently. “Can't you understand that I want to follow that girl; that she is in pain and trouble, and despair—and that she will expect me to help her? I suppose you were young yourself once—weren’t you, Mr. Stock?” “T’m not quite sure,” said the law- yer, after a long pause and without turning round; “the law does not make for youth. Perhaps it might be bet- ter to ask Mrs. Stock; she knew me at a period when I believe Chancery Lane had not got into my bones.” “What do you think about this busi- ness, Mr. Stock?” asked Raymond, ab- ruptly. “Not being young and impulsive, I haven’t had time to think,” replied Mr. Stock, gruffly, still without moving. “But, Mr. Stock, surely you don’t imagine that that girl would come here with a trumped-up story—that she would appeal to an old reprobate Mke that and call him father—with nothing behind it all?” “If, in my more romantic moments, | 4 ever had a dream about this mysteri- ous Grace Yarkood, who was one day to enter my offices in Chancery Lane and demand her fortune, that dream certainly took the form of a Grace 'Yarwood who was tall—and fair—with blue eyes like those her mother had had before her,” said Mr. Stock, slow- ly and emphatically, and still without turning round. “By Jove,” whispered’ Raymond, ex- eitedly. “You surely don’t think—”’ “Once again, I am not young enough to think,” said the lawyer, turning round abruptly and peering at the young man with a quizzical smile over his spectacles. If I didn’t believe that you'd rush out of this room and do something desperate, I’d be half in- clined to trust you to help me—but, candidly, I’m afraid.” “Oh, I’m steady; I’m wonderfully wteady,” said Raymond, alternatély clasping and unclasping his hands, and moving about the room excitedly to show how desperately steady he was. “Only give me the chance and ll do anything you like.” The lawyer hesitated for a _ long time; once or twice he opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it again with a snap. At last he drew a chair up to the table and put one foot upon it and rested an elbow upon his knee; and so stood caressing his chin. He motioned to the young man to come nearer, and Raymond leaned against the table, close to him, and lis- tened eagerly. “Now, let me begin by saying that one false step on the part of either of us will involve us all in a_ gigantic catastrophe,” the lawyer said, in a voice little above a whisper. ‘“‘We’ve got to be cautious; we've got to be sly; we've got to meet lies with lies, and false smiles with smiles; and we've got to| be ready, when the one moment comes, to seize it on the in- atant.” “I don't follow you yet; but I will be patient,” said Raymond. “We are faced with the most gigan- tic conspiracy imaginable—on one side or the other,” said the lawyer, with a long forefinger tapping Ray- mond’s breast. “You will observe that I say on one side or the other; and, with all due respect for your feelings, you must not allow them to carry you away. We have two women—the one in possession, the other not; we have a father, who is, to all intents and pur- poses a nonentity—a mere drivelling idiot, who will say anything and every- thing, I imagine, if his price be paid; he doesn’t count—he would say one thing to-day and another to-morrow— according as his value went up or down. What we have to decide, quite without sentiment, is—who is the woman?” “Then you believe there is a doubt that the Grace Yarwood in this house 4s the real one?” asked Raymond, in a whisper. “J do not go as far as that,” said Mr. Stock, gravely. “I remember two things only; the one that, although the Grace Yarwood we know brought me full and ample proof of her identity, she made one or two grave blunders. She told me her father was dead; he turns up again. True, she has a good and reasonable excuse in desiring to forget him; nevertheless, remember- ing her desire to forget him and to Jeave him to shift for himself, her present tenderness toward him is a little surprising. On the other hand— NOOOooOoooonooSoodeooono ‘claimant to the fortune fulfills to the letter my idea of what Grace Yarwood should have been.” i “And her name is Grace, too,” cried Raymond, quickly. * “That as a piece of evidence is utter- ly: worthless,” said the other, calmly. The girl has to make good her claim; the first thing she would do would be to take the name; a child would do that. ‘ou would never have made a lawyer, my dear Raymond.” “But what are we to do to show who is right and who is wrong?” asked Ray- mond. “Wait—and watch,” said Mr. Stock. “I am sufficient of an observer, my" dear Raymond, to know in which di- rection your sympathies lie; but sym- pathy has nothing to do with a matter of this kind. In other words, we have to do what is right and just, and we have to dismiss from our minds sus- picion of any. kind.” But I know, in my ow nmind, that Grace—my Grace—would not say or do anything that was not right and just. I am as certain of it as I am that I stand before you,” exclaimed Ray- mond. “Perfectly right, perfectly proper; but not evidence,” said Mr. Stock, calmly. “It is a long time ago; but in all probability I should have felt ex- actly the same, in a milder way, re- garding Mrs. Stock, at an earlier peri- od of my career. But not evidence— decidedly not evidence. You have to understand, my dear boy, that in these matters the criminal (don’t fly at my throat, I beg)—the criminal almost in- variably is the better looking of the two, and receives the most sympathy. One of these ladies is a fraud; we have to discover which. And you can discover it better than any one.” “I? What can Ido?” “Tf I mistake not, you are in love with-one of them—and the other one is in love with you,” said Mr. Stock, imperturbably. “Practically, your power is very large. I do not ask you to do anything mean or wrong; but I do-ask you to use your power to find out the truth. Remember”—he added, as Raymond was about to break in im- petuously—“remember that, if the truth comes to show that your Grace Yarwood is the real one, you will have done her a great service; in any case, our main object is to get at the truth.” “What do you suggest I should do?” asked Raymond. “You have refused, in pretty definite terms, to marry the Grace Yarwood who is in possession here; withdraw that refusal,” sai dMr. Stock, quietly. “I can’t do that; it’s out of the ques- tion,” replied Raymond. Whether the other girl is an imposter or not, I love her—and I mean to stick to her.” “Exactly—and if she is not an im- poster, you deprive her of her fortune; don’t forget that. On the other hand, by delaying matters a little and giving the lady in possession to understand that there is some hope of securing you, and with you the fortune, you enable me to work, and to keep things going. Our object now is to gain time; above all, our object in dealing with these two people is to trap oneor the other of them into an admission. The father—whom they both claim—is use- less; as I have said, he will blow hot or cold, for one or the other, as it suits him. “My dear boy,” added the law- yer, impatiently, “do you imagine I would propose this if I did not see that you held the winning cards, and could play them as you liked?” “Well—Ill do it—because I know, in my own mind, that the woman I love is incapable of such a fraud, and that I can help her to prove it before all the world. Mr. Stock,” he added, ap- pealingly, “what is your own private opinion about the matter?” “My own private opinion, Raymond, is not for publication,” he added, cau- tiously. “I have been so very unwise as to suggest, in a moment of perplex- ity, that the real Grace Yarwood should, under ordinary circiimstances, have been tall and fair—like her moth- er; on the other hand, she may have been slight and dark—and so have fa- vored her father somewhat. I have no right, in such a business, to express an opinion. I only make one suggestion to you: keep away from the girl you believe to be the true one, and whom I must regard, for the present, as an imposter; she will prove her claim, if she has any claim to prove.” “Mr. Stock—you shall answer me one question,” said Raymond, in a de- termined voice. “Suppose you were not a lawyer for a moment; suppose,” he went on, whimsically—‘“suppose you were talking to Mrs. Stock about this—” “Which I should not think of doing, you know,” broke in the other, gravely. “Who would you say was the real Grace Yarwood?” “If, in any moment of forgetfulness, I should happen to speak to Mrs. Stock about such a matter,” he said, with a cautious glance all about him—‘“I might express a hope that the real Grace Yarwood should be”—he low- ered his voice to a whisper—“tall and fair.” and I would not have you get excited, my dear boy, for a moment, over what fs a mere coincidence—the second It was, perhaps, the hardest task ever allotted to a young man to have to keep away from the girl he believed an pretend something of a feeling he did not possess for the woman he believed to be an imposter. Yet, in the hope that he might discover something con- cerning her, his disagreeable task had to be faced. He found it necessary to begin his | career of deception early; for as he started to leave the house he met Joyce, who was sauntering along on the terrace before it. It was a diffi- cult moment, because she, for her part, was wondering what position he would take in regard to the matter. She had seen him meeting the other girl—the real Grace Yarwood; he had been present when that Grace Yarwood had been turned out of the house. To which would he turn now? Very considerably to her surprise he moved smilingly towards her; she had yet to learn that Raymond Hawley, with all his boyishness and careless- ness, had in him that dash of the world which had made his father and his grandfather before him successful men; he had,too ,that obstinacy which had characterized at least old John Hawley. Somewhat to his relief, Joyce opened the battle. “I thought it possible, Cousin Ray- mond,” she began, “that you would re- fuse to have anything more to do with me.” “Why?” he asked, in affected sur- prise. “In the first place, you very rudely refused this morning, in the presence of Mr. Stock, to have anything to say to me,” she said; “and, in the second place, here is a young lady, turning up unexpectedly, and claiming to be your cousin. _What must you think of me by this time?” “My dear cousin,” he said, with an effort, “I think I am growing, under the influence of Mr. Stock, somewhat worldly-wise. Perhaps the fact that your throne is threatened by some one else inclines ‘me more toward you—” “My dear Cousin Raymond,” she ex- claimed, in a softer tone— “And perhaps, if you will allow me, I should like a little time in which to think matters over—before deciding. Mr, Stock suggests’”—it was so nice to have the grim figure of Mr. Stock in view, on whom to put the burden— “suggests that I really owe something to you, and that I have been a little discourteous. Will you forgive me?” He held out his hand, somewhat re- luctantly, towards her. “With pleasure, Cousin Raymond,” she replied, with a big sigh of relief. “I am quite sure that we shall get on well together; you see, we have inter- ests in common—in a monetary sense, at least—haven’t we?” “Yes, I suppose we have,” he said, slowly. Turning away, he saw Mr. Stock, standing with his chin in his hand, looking over his spectacles at them. Raymond went toward him, and Mr. Stock, after a courteous bow and smile towards Joyce, walked away with him. Joyce stood watching, a little uneasily, and yet with some renewed confidence in her powers. “My dear Raymond,” said the law- yer, in a low voice, with his hand on Raymond’s shoulder, in that patroniz- ing way of his, “I see that you are be- ginning well already. I want you to come over here to-morrow; she told me as we came down from London that she had issued invitations for a sort of semi-garden party. She is to play the young and guileless hostess and to receive the neighbors. I have a sort of feeling that something may happen. Will you be here?” “Yes, I shall be here,” said Raymond Hawley. “I don’t mind how soon this business is ended; I don’t hke it, al. though I suppose it is necessary.” Something was to happen, although not in the sense they imagined. Ar- riving the next afternoon at the house, Raymond Hawley found quite a num- per of people there, and Joyce doing the honors in a very modest and pret- ty fashion. The natural nervousness and timidity she showed were looked upon, of course, as being quite appro- priate; the little social blunders she made were considered quite appropri- ate, too, as coming from this girl, who had lived in wholly impossible parts of the earth. “Am I doing it nicely?” she asked, stopping for a moment beside Ray- mond and speaking in a low tone. “I do so want to show them all that I can play the hostess; I don’t want to make any mistakes if I can help it.” “You are doing admirably” he replied. The grounds of Hawley Park were very extensive, and perhaps the pret- tiest part of all was that in which Joyce was receiving her guests to-day. It was the oldest part of them, and consisted really of a sort of extension of the maih terrace round the side of the house. This terrace lost some- thing of its primness, and drifted, as it were, into a wide avenue that had ap- parently been cut out of the heart of the woods which surrounded the house on all sides. The broad avenue had old stone benches set between the trees, and the branches overhead were laced together so closely that the place was always cool, even on the hottest day. The end of this broad avenue, as has been said, was swal- lowed up in the wild tangle of woods. While-Raymond was speaking to Joyce, with the other guests quite near at hand, laughing and chattering among themselves, he heard, as he thought, a peculiar, low whistle, finish- ing on a long-drawn note, quite unlike that of any bird he had ever heard in England. He commented on it. “Phat’s a queer note,” he said. “Do you know it?” “J do not know the notes of English birds yet,” she replied, stiffly; and he thought curiously enough. as he looked He turned to: speak to:gome one near him, and as he looked round again Joyce had disappeared. As & matter of fact, watching her opportunity, she had sauntered away to the end of the avenue, and had suddenly slipped in among the thicker growth of trees there, out of sight. There she stood still for a moment, until she heard again that whistle; she remembered to have heard it last, a long time ago, on the plains of Nevada. She went a little farther into the tangle of underbrush, and suddenly stopped. A long time ago this must have been, at some time or other, a part of the garden itself; for here was an old, broken, disused fountain, long since dried up, and half hidden in a tangle of weeds and thorns. And be- side this fountain, with one arm rest- ing upon it, stood Owen Jaggard. “yye been watching you this half hour,” he said, with a grin. “Got all the swells here—eh?” “How did you get here?” she asked, in a whisper, standing still within a yard of him. “Climbed up,” he replied, with a glance behind him. “There’s a fence here, and then the woods drop clear away, ever so far. Not wishing to be seen in a public way, I’ve been scout- ing a bit, and found that I could ap- proach more delicately like this. You're looking real nice ,old girl.” Behind her was the man she _be- lieved she could draw again to her side; behind her was everything that wealth and security and love could of- fer; before her was this man, hiding and skulking—this man who could de- clare who she was, and who could set the real Grace Yarwood in her place. “What are you going to do?” she asked, without looking at him. In the suppressed excitement of the moment she had grasped the fountain itself; the chief ornament of it was a bat- tered figure of a boy, holding in one chubby fist a cornucopia with some leaden flowers and fruit tumbling out of it. Unconsciously she wrenched at this cornucopia as she spoke, and felt it loose in her hands. “It depends on you what I do,” he replied. “(Promise me you'll do what I ask and get what money you can and make a bolt with me, and I go back the way I came and wait; if you won't promise me that, I come out now and speak before them all. I promised to come with that girl, but my heart failed me at the last. Come, now, am I to speak out, or do you leave all this and come away with me?” The cornucopia was loose in her hand; she found herself grasping it by the thin end, where it had fitted into the fist of the leaden boy, and a heavy thing it was. As Owen Jaggard stooped for a moment, with a little laugh, to look at the damage she had done, she swung that weapon up and brought it down with all her force upon his head. She saw him twist round and throw up his hands, without even a cry; ‘then he plunged back- wards and went headlong down through the woods; she heard the fence below crack and break and go with him, then a great stillness. With hands that trembled she fitted back the cornucopia into the fist of the leaden image, stood to listen for a mo- ment and heard nothing, then ran back through the trees to join her guests. CHAPTER XV. The Face Among the Trees. Mr. Roger Hawley had for three days been in a state of very consider- able fear. Hitherto, in his happy-go- lucky, careless existence, nothing had troubled him very much, save his many debts and lack of ready money; for the rest, provided he could borrow enough to get along upon and could find a friend to drink with, he was tolerably happy. In the present instance he had sud- denly come up against a woman he did not understand—a woman who worked in secret and who, as he shrewdly sus- pected, did not trouble much as to what methods she used, so that she got her way. Although Owen Jaggard had told him nothing definite concern- ing her, or concerning his suspicions regarding the fire, at the cottage, Rog- er had, by a simple process of putting two and two together, arrived at the conclusion thit he was in the thick of a very pretty plot, and might contrive to get himself somewhat damaged in the unravelling of it. And as Roger Hawley valued a whole skin, he did not quite see where the fun came in for him. Accordingly he kept out of the way for a couple of days to see if anything would happen in the meantime. Un- fortunately for himself, he was known in nearly every hotel and public house in the small town of Hawley, and had no wish for the news to spread that he was in the neighborhood until some- thing more definite had occurred in regard to the ownership of Hawley Park. Therefore he looked in the op- posite direction and stretched his long legs toward a village some three or four miles away. There he got a room at a crazy little inn where he was not known, and there he smoked and drank and slept the time away. ~ By the time the third day had ar- rived his fears had subsided some- what; and the mischievous spirit of the man urged him to be in whatever game was afoot. More than that, he wanted to see Jaggard; he wanted to know what had happened to that hot- headed gentleman after the interview | which he rightly guessed had taken place between Jaggard and the Grace Yarwood up at the house. people to make the fur fly, if they come to fight it out,” said Roger Haw- ley, with a laugh. “I wish the fellow had told me something about this par- ticular Woman—the one up at the house; I should have understood bet- ter what the position of affairs was. That man knew wore than any one else concerning Grace Yarwood; in my opinion he knew which was the real one and which the false. I've been tak- ing things too easily; I ought to man- age to set them both by the ears—and this fellow Jaggard is the one to help mé. Unfortunately, we haven’t a ren- dezvous since the cottage was burned down. I must go and look for myself, I suppose; although that is distinctly distasteful to me—I like other people to work for me, and bring reports. 1 should have made an excellent’ chief of police—only I should always have wanted to assist the criminals.” Mr. Roger Hawley waited about un- til darkness had fallen, and then set out to walk to the house. Perhaps he thought that, like himself, Mr. Owen Jaggard might be found lurking about in its vicinity; more probably he did not think about the matter at all. He had awakened from his lethargy, and he determined to be very active all at once. A few lights were burning here and there as he prowled about the place; one light very low down (which was, had he but. known it, that in the room in which Mr. Stock sat pondering); another in the room which Joyce Bland used as a sitting room; and another high up in a room on the second floor. He was just turning away, disconso- lately, when a shadow passed over the plind of that upper room, and then the blind itself was jerked up.. Mr. Roger Hawley promptly dodged into the shad- ow of a wall, and waited; he had ne desire to be seen. (To Be Continued.) A FORGER'S PROFITS. Altered Columbian 4-Cent Stamps and Made $349.96. A dealer in postage stamps, com- menting on the conviction and sen- tence a few weeks ago of one most expert of stamp forgers, drew atten- tion to the profits resulting from blun- ders in the government printing office. This forger made a specialty of ‘“fix- ing” the stamps issued at the time of the Buffalo exposition. These stamps were in two colors and occasional copies have turned up with inverted centers. Such specimens are so rare as to command very high prices from collectors. At the trial there were shown dozens of these altered stamps, changed with such dexterity as to de- ceive even experts for a time. In- deed, in some cases the fraud could not be detected until the stamps had been soaked in water, when, of course, the pieces fell apart. The profit can be imagined when it is known that a copy of the 4-cent inverted—a genuine one—sold at auction the other day for $350. Only six copies are known. Even the 1 and 2-cent stamps of this issue command prices ranging from $18 to $25. Many blunders have oc- curred, also, in surcharging stamps for use in the “colonies,” the surcharg- ing being printed upside down or with misspelling. The 5-cent used in Cuba, for instance, occasionally reads “Cupa,” and is quite valuable. There were mixups, too, in the case of the Civil war revenue stamps, a few of the old 2-cent check stamps being worth $5 each.—New York Post. Ferocious Rabbits. A correspondent of the Washington Post tells of a rabbit which killed a hound at one blow of its claws. .A rabbit is more dangerous than is really thought. Last winter on Pocosin creek John Hobbs, while hunting rab- bits, had his dog run one into a hollow log. As he stooped to peep into the log the rabbit leaped out against Mr. Hobbs with full force, breaking his nose and knocking him upon his dog with such force as to crush that ani- mal to death. The rabbit escaped. We don’t know as to the truth of the story in the Washington Post, but Mr. Hobbs is a living but disfigured wit- ness of the tragedy on Pocosin creek. Perhaps She Was Immune. “Why is it?” she asked, that so many of the men have shaved off their mustaches?” “J think,” he answered, “it must be because the doctors claim mustaches are likely to have microbes in them.” “Oh,” she exclaimed, “I never caught any—that is—dear me—I didn’t mean But he assured her that she needn’t mind, as he was engaged to another girl, anyway.—Chicago Record-Herald. Easier on the Man With the Hoe. An observing physician of New York who has recently traveled about the country a good deal says he finds the farmers are standing and | walking straighter now than they were twenty- five or thirty years ago. He attributes this to the use of modern apparatus on the farms. “The Man With the Hoe” is getting the stoop out of his shoul- ders by reason of the fact that he doesn’t use a hoe any more, but a cul- tivator, on the top of which he rides under an umbrella.—Savannah (Ga.) News. Fis EES UNE ESE Deserved It. “Fact is,” said the one man, “I mar ried because I was lonely as much as for any other reason. To put it terse- ly, I married for sympathy.” “Well,” said the other man, “you have mine.”—Stray Stories. ———— The man who is content is usually Jet alone. This is at once his fartune and his misfortune. “They're bdth of them the sort of HER REWARD. No Wonder the Bride Was Angry With Her Husband. “The brute,” exclaimed the bride of a year, “Have a cup of tea, dear,” said her fondest friend, and tell me all about it. What has he been doing now?” “You know I told you he has been encouraging me in learning to cook; has praised my nice little entrees, takes me fo the theater as an occa sional reward, and all that.” “No good ground for a separation in that, I imagine,” said the dearest friend, with slight sarcasm. “Your sympathy is worse than your tea,” retorted the bride, who was ob- viously out of sorts. “But I am going to tell you, anyway. Not long ago he promised me a surprise if I would turn out a nice dinner, cooked all by my- self, from soup to coffee. Last night I did so. Everything pleased him. “‘My pet,’ he remarked, ‘I believe I promised you a surprise on an occa- sion like this.’ “Yes, darling,’ I ans-vered. tell me what it is?’ “‘T shall discharge the cook at the end of the month,’ he added.”—New York Press. ‘Oh, do Proved Beyond a Doubt. Middlesex, N. Y., July 25.—(Spe- cial.)—That Rheumatism can be cured has been proved beyond a doubt by Mrs. Betsy A. Clawson, well known here. That Mrs. Clawson had Rheu- matism, and had it bad, all her ac- quaintances know. They also know she is now cured. Dodd’s Kidney Pills did it. Mrs. Clawson tells the story of her cure as follows: “[ was an invalid for most five years caused by Inflammatory Rheu- matism, helpless two-thirds of the time. The first year I could not do as much as a baby could do; then I rallied a little bit and then a relapse. Then a year ago the gout set in my hands and feet. I suffered untold agony and in August, 1903, when my husband died, I could not ride to the grave. “I only took two boxes of Dodd’s Kidney Pills and in two weeks |, could wait on myself and saw my own wood. I dug my own potatoes and gathered my own garden last fall. Dodd’s Kid- ney Pills cured me.” Rheumatism is caused by uric acid in the blood. Dodd’s Kidney Pills put the Kidneys in shape to take all the uric acid out of the blood. Had Only a Tablecloth. “Yes, that is a statue of Virgil. He was a great Roman poet.” “Was that the reason he couldn't af- ford to wear pants?” asked little Wal- do.—Chicago Record-Heratd. A Philosopher. Elder Dippem—Brudder Smiff, what fo’ yo’ allus a-singin’? Brother Smith—To keek mah mind flum dwellin’ on mah _ thoughts.— Judge. Financially Tangible. Sam—Don’t you believe in anything connected with Spiritualism? Dan—yYes, I believe you can gull a lot of people with it—Exchange. Three Times and Out. Little Eddie had just returned from a juvenile party, to which he had been allowed to go after promising that he would endeavor to restrain his appe- tite while at the table. His mother questioned him, and Eddie assured her that he had behaved becomingly. “When Mrs. Brown asked me_ to have another piece of cake, I replied ‘No, thanks,’” he said. “Did she again ask you?” “Yes. Then I told her I had enough. After awhile she once more asked me to have a piece.” “What did you answer?” “] said what dad always says—I told her to take the darn stuff away.”— RACE DONE? Not a Bit of It. A man who thought his race was run made a food find that brought him back to perfect health. “One year ago I was unable to per- form any labor and in fact I was told by my physicians that they could do nothing further for me. I was fast sinking away, for an attack of grip had left my stomach so weak it could not digest any food sufficient to keep me alive. “There I was just wasting away, growing thinner every day and weak- er, really being snuffed out simply be- cause I could not get any nourishment from food. “Then my sister got after me to try Grape‘Nuts food which had done much good for her and she finally per- suaded me and although no other food had done me the least bit of good my stomach handled the Grape-Nuts from the first and this food supplied the nourishment I had needed. In three months I was sostrong I moved from Albany to San Francisco and now on my three meals of Grape-Nuts and cream every day I am strong and vig- orous and do fifteen hours’ work. “I believe the sickest person in the world could do as I do, eat three meals of nothing but Grape-Nuts and cream and soon be on their feet again in the flush of best health like me. “Not only am I inperfect physical health again but my brain is stronger and clearer than it ever was on the old diet. I hope you will write to the names I send you about Grape-Nuts for I want to see my friends well and strong. © “Just think that a year ago I was dying, but to-day, although I am over 55 years of age, most people take me to be less than 40, and I feel just as young as Ilook.” Name given by Pos- tum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. There’s a reason. i k for the little book, “The Road -to Wellville,” in each pkg. =a