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ftW gv'-L ^yiv£\$; Sr SS§»^4« smevvmafeMil* "v- •?W^^fo,.^3i^L«vv; & • • ^ '•*.*v«^-**'* j-ra spsjjf #3P*I(* ; jf- £?""^[ y% •w^avMain --Jv-eV -m.ifl! fe, • •.... * ',Ji.itt^. V, (%«%%%•»«««%««*««%%%%«« » » ^ ^ m *S» ^ ~ • :z<-£ -<: '1 WHO IS •«£? ' SYNOPSIS.--Kenneth <3wjrnne wai live years old In the spring of 1112 when his father ran away from Kentucky with Rachel Carter, a widow. They took with them Minda Carter, Rachel's baby daughter. In tlje fall Kenneth's mother died of a broken heart His grandparents brought him up to hate the name of Rachel Carter, "an evil woman." Kenneth, now a young lawyer, seeks lodging for the night at the farm of Phlneas Striker, near Lafayette, Ind. Erv CHAPTER I--Continued. --2-- Striker grinned. "I gtfess everybody ~ 'ib thii neck o' the woods»has heerd ••bout you; a lot of the folks up In $*>wn have been lookln' down the rCrawfordsvllle road fer you ever since . four father died last August." ;; "I «ee," said the other reflectively. . !%Vere you acquainted with my father, r'4iT. Striker?" :"Much so as abybody could be. Be ,v5|rasn't much of a band fer makln' : fiends. I was Jest wonderin' whether ;,:fbu was plannta' to Uve on the farm «r up In town." ', "Well, yon see, T hm a lawyer by Profession. I know little or nothing •bout farming. My Dlans are not actually made, however. A great deal impends on how I find things. Yon know the farm, Mr. Striker?" "Yes. It's not far from here--five or six mile, I'd say, to the north an' east. Takes in some of the finest land on the Wea plain--mostly clear, some fcie timber, plenty of water, an' about Hie best stocked farm anywheres •round. Your father was one of the ; first to edge up this way ten er twelve .year ago. an' he got the pick o* the •ew land. I bought this sixty-acre jjflece offen him two year ago. 'Course, there's a small mortgage on the place, but I c'n take keet of that, I reckon." "Ahem! The mortgage, I fancy. Is Held by--er--the other heirs to his property." „ "You're right. His wldder holds It, but she ain't the kind to press me." " "Come to supper," called out Mrs. Striker from the doorway. "Just a moment. If you please," said the young mas, laying his hand on the settler's arm. "You will do me a great ' fe vor If you refrain from discussing these matters In the presence of your "«ther guest tonight. My father, as Jfou doubtless know, meant very little fti my life. I prefeF^ot to discuss him Id the presence of strangers--especially curious-minded young women." Phineas looked at him narrowly for an instant, a queer expression larking In his eyes. "Jest as you say, Mr. Gwynne. Not • word In front of strangers." "Bring In them two candlesticks, Phin," ordered Mrs. Striker. "We got / to be able to see what each other looks like, an' goodness knows we cain't ,*1th this taller dip I got out here to •bok by. Taln't often we have people Vtght out o' the fashion-plates to supper, so let's have all the light we kin." Kenneth's fellow-guest was standing •ear the stove, her back toward him, as he entered the kitchen. The table was set for four. In the •ldflle of the little kitchen; rude hand- Siade stools, without backs, were In flace. A figured red cloth covered the •fcoard, Its fringe of green hanging down . ever the edges. The plates, saucers and coffee cups were thick and clumsy. Jhere were black-handled case-knives, page four-tlned forks and pewter •poons. "Come In and set down, Mr. Gwynne," •aid Mrs. Striker, pointing to a stooL "I can't help thanking my lucky •tars, Mrs. Striker, that T got henahead of the -storm," said he, moving ••er to his appointed place, where he Remained standing. "We were Just In * time, too. Ten minutes later and we Would have been in the thick of it I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your kindness." "Oh, it's--it's nothing," said she, diffidently. "Set down, everybody." The young lady sat opposite Gwynne. fbe lowered her head Immediately as Phlneas began to offer up his established form of grace. -- The two colonial candlesticks stood In the center of the table, a foot or two •part When Gwynne lifted his head after "grace," he looked directly between them at his vis-a-vis. For a few --feconds he stared as If spellbound. Never had he looked upon a face so | taking In him. He felt rather than knew that she was studying him closej ly. If furtively, when his face v as j turned toward the talkative host j Twice he caught her in the act of i averting her gaze when he suddenly j glanced In her ^direction, and once he 'surprised her In a very Intense scru- | tiny--\yhich, he was gratified to ob- ! serve, gate way to a swift flash of confusion and the hasty lowering of her eyes. He noticed her bands. They were long and slim and. while browned by exposure to wind and sun, bore no evidence of the grinding toll to which the women and girls of the frontier were subjected. And they were strong, competent hands, at that The food %vas coarse, substantial, plentiful. Solid food for sturdy people. There .were potatoes fried In grease, wide strips of side meat, apple butter, corn cakes piping Tjol,'.boiled turnips, coffee and dried apple pie. Striker ate largely with bis knife, and smacked his lips resoundingly; swigged coffee from life sarudir thrbugh an overlapping mustache and afterwards bissingly strained the aforesaid obstruction with his netiier lips; talked and laughed with his mouth full--but all with such magnificent zest that his guests overlooked the shocking exhibition. Indeed, the girl seemed quite accustomed to Mr. Striker's table habits, a circumstance which created In Kenneth's questing mind the conviction that she was not new to thftse parts, despite the garments and airs of the fastidious East. They were vastly interested in tbe account of his Journey through the wilderness, which the young man described vividly. For a time Kenneth had been watching the face of the girl opposite. She was looking down at her plate. He observed a little frowii on her brow. When she raised her eyes to meet his, he saw thai iftey were sullen, almost unpleasantly so. She did not turn away Instantly, but continued to regard him with a rather disconcerting intensity. Suddenly she smiled. The cloud vanished from her brow, her eyes sparkled. He was bewildered. There was no mistaking the unfriendliness that had lurked In ber eyes the instant before. But In heaven's name, what reason bad Bhe for disliking him? As he turned to Striker, he caught that worthy gazing at him with a fixed, inquisitive stare. He began to feel annoyed and uncomfortable. It was not the first time he had surprised a similar scrutiny on the part of <me or the other of the Strikers. The young, man decided It was time to speak. "By the way you all look at me, Mr. Striker, I am led to suspect that yoa do not believe I am all I represent myself to be. If you have any doubts, pray do not hesitate to express them." Striker was boisterously reassuring. "I don't doubt you fer a second, Mr. Gwynne. As I said before, the whole county has been expectin' you to turn up. We heerd a few days back that you was in Crawfordsville. If me an' Eliza seem to act queer It's because we knowed your father an'--an', well, I can't help notlcin' how much you look like him. We don't mean no disrespect, an' I hope you'll overlook our nateral curiosity." Kenneth was relieved. furtive ' 11 j "1 bave only a dim recollection of George Barr McGutcheon hlm,M he 8&,d- "rou 8ee-1 m*"° my Copyright by Dodd, Mead 4 Company, Inc. ieautlful, never had he seen any one so lovely as this strange young woman Who shared with him the hospitality of the humble board. He- had gazed for • moment full Into her deep, violet •yes--eyes In which there was no smile, but rather a cool lntentness not far removed from unfriendliness--and In that moment he forgot himself, his manners and his composure. The soft light fell upon warm, •mooth cheeks; a broad, white brow | red, sensitive lips and a perfect mouih; a round firm chin; a delicate nose-- a and the faint shadows of Imperishable dimples that even her unsmiling expression failed to disturb. Not even In his dreams had he conjured up a face so bewllderlngly beautiful. S ' . W h o 8 , l e ' W h a t w a s s h e d o i n g tfcti . ®*r® ,n humble cot of the Strikers? g- ..Certainly she was out of place here. tf*» That she was a person of consequence, iSST- to whom the Strikers paid a rude sort M', 0< deference, softened by the familiar- •. Ity of long association but In no way ^ ' suggestive of relationship, he was In no manner of doubt. -•V/ He vcas not slow to remark their failure to present him to her. The *0?^ omission may have been due to lgnoranee -or uncertainty on their part, but |£$y that was ndt the construction he put upon it It was deliberate, jjy^. His slight feeljng of embarrassment, and perhaps annoyance, evidently was |\' not shared by the young lady; so far v as she was concerned the situation ffe "'-'f was by no means strained. She was ~ as calm and serene and impervious as a princess royal. 1^*%, He was subtly aware of the lively test earsSStif fiutrdcd Interact *b* ni looks were explained. UI am glad to hear that you do not look upon me as an outlaw or--" "Lord bless yon," cried Striker, "there ain't nobody as would take you fer an outlaw. You ain't cut out fer a renegade. We know 'em the minute we lay eyes on 'em. If you turn out to be a scalawag, I'll never trust my eyes ag'ln." The young man laughed. "In any raxe, you are very good to have taken me in for the night and I shall not forget your trust or your hospitality." He turned abruptly to tbe gtrt you know my father, too?" She started violently and tor the moment was speechless, a curious expression In ber eyes. "Yes," she said, at last, looking straight at him: "Yes, I knew your father very well." "Then, you must have lived in these parts longer than I have suspected." said he. "I should bave said you were a newcomer." Mrs. Striker made a great clatter of pans and skillets at the stove. The girl waited until this kindly noise subsided. "I have lived in this, neighborhood since I was eight years old," she said, quietly. Striker hastened to add: "Somethin' like ten or 'leven years--'level), I reckon, ain't It?" "Eleven years," she replied. Gwynne was secretly astonished an s rather skeptical. He would have tal e»i oath that she was twenty-two-oi three years old, and not nineteen a.« computation made her. "She ain't lived here all tbe time, volunteered Eliza, somewhat defens lvely. "She was to school in St. Louis fer two or three years an'--" The young lady Interrupted tbe speaker coldly. "Please, Eliza I" Eliza, looking considerably crestfallen, accepted the rebuke meekly. "I Jest thought he'd be interested," she murmured. "She came up the Wabash when she was nothln' but a strlplln'," began Striker, not profiting by his wife's experience. He might have gone on at considerable length If he had not met the reproving, violet eye. He changed the subject hastily. "Well, I guess we're about as lull as It's safe to be, so now's y<*ur chance, Zachariah." 1 V He pushed back his stool noisily and arose. Taking up the two candlesticks, he led the way to the sitting room, stopping at the door for a word of Instruction to the negro. "You c'n put your blankets down here on the kitchen floor when you're ready to go to bed." "Zachariah will wash the dishes and " began Kenneth, addressing Mrs. Striker, who was already preparing to cleanse and£fpttry her ooti and ptm*. , ®» lattrriipui fc|n^--L "He won't do nothin' of th» kind. I don't let nobody wash my dishes but myself. Set down here, Zachariah. an* help yourself. When you're done, you c'n go out an* carry me In a couple of buckets o' water from the well--an, that's all you can do." "I guess I'll" go out an' take a/iook around the barn an' pens," said Phlneas, depositing the candles on tbe mantelpiece. He took up the lantern and lighted the tallow wick from one of the candles. Then he fished a corncob pipe from his coattail pocket and stuffed It full of tobacco from a small buckskin bag hanging at the end of, the mantel. "He'p yourself to toboccer If you keer to guiok& There's a cduple o" fresh pipes up there--Jest made 'era yesterday--an' It ain't ag'inst ne Saw to smoke in the house on ^iny nights. Many's the time I've sot on the doorstep here enjoyin' a smoke with the rain comln' down so hard lt'd wash the tobaccer right out o' the pipe, an' twice er maybe It was three times It biled over an'--What's that yon say?" "I did not say anything, Phineas," said tbe girl, shaking her head mournfully". "I am wondering, though, where you will go when you die." "Where I c'n smoke 'thout runnln' the risk o' takln' cold, more'n likely," replied Phineas, winking at the young man. Then be went' out Into the windy night, closing the door behind hlni, CHAPTER II • Viola Gwyn. Smiling over the settler's whimsical humor, Gwynne turned to his companion, anticipating a responsive smile. Instead he was rewarded by an expression of acute dismay In her dark eyes. She met his gaze for a fleeting Instant and then, turning away, walked rapidly over to the little window, where she peered out Into the darkness. He waited for a few moments for her to recover the composure so inexplicably lost, and then spoke--not without a trace of coldness In his voice. "Pray have this chair. Yon need not^be afraid to be left alone with me. I am a most Inoffensive person." She faced hiin, her chin raised, a flash of Indignation !u her eyes. "I am not afraid of you," she said haughtily. "Why should you presume to make such a remark to me?" 'I beg your pardon," he said, bowing. "I am sorry if I have offended you. No doubt, in my stupidity, I have been misled by your manner. Now, will you alt down--and be friendly?" " His smile was so engaging, his humility so genuine, that her mauner underwent a swift and agreeable change. She advanced slowly to the fireplace, a shy, abashed smile playing about her Hps. "May I not stand up for n little while?" she pleaded, with mock snbmlsslveness. "I do so want to grow tall." "To that I can offer no objection," he returned; "although In my hu|pble opinion you would do yourself a very grave injustice If you added so much as the eighth of an Inch to your present height" "I feel quite small beside yon, sir," she said, taking ber stand at the "opposite end of the hearth, from which position she looked up into his admiring eyes. "How old are you?" she asked, abruptly. Again sh6 was serlons, unsmiling. "Twenty-five," he replied, looking down Into her dark. Inquiring i'.v«e with something like eagetnett la his . > "I Am Wondering, Though, Where You Will Go When You Di«.N own. He was saying over and over again to himself that never had he seen anyone so lovely as she. "I am six years older than you. Somehow I feel tlpt I am younger. Kather odd, is it not?" "Six years," she mused, looking Into the fire. "Sometimes I feel much older than nineteen," she went on, shaking her head as If puzzled. "I remember that I was supposed to be very large for my age when 1 was a little girl. But." she continued, shrugging her pretty shoulders, "that was ages ago." He drew a Step nearer and leaned an elbow on the mantel. "You say you knew my father." he said, haltingly. "What was he like?" She raised her eyes quickly and for an Instant studied his face curiously, as If searching for something that fied her understanding. '.He wag very tall," she said lh a ' Aa tall. M foa ; :-;- i home with my grandparents after I was five years old. Did yoa know him well?" If she heard, she-gave no sign as she turned nway again. This time she walked! over to the cabin door, which she opened wide, letting In a rush of chill, damp air.' He felt his choier rise. It was a deliberate. Intentional act on her part. She desired to terminate the conversation' and took this rude, Insolent means of doing BO. Never had he been so flagrantly <lnsulted--and for what reason? He had been courteous, deferential, friendly. What right had she --this Insufferable peacock--to consider herself his superior? He had it In his heart to go over and shake her soundly. It would be q relief to see her break down and whimper. It would teach her not to be rude to gentlemen! , She turned her heilVI and glanced up at blm over her shoulder, ile caught a strained, appealing gleamr In her eyes. > "Please forgive me If I «W rode," she said, quite humbly. ' He melted a little. He no'longer desired to shake her. "I feared I had In some way offended you," he said. She shook her head and was silent for a moment or two, staring thoughtfully at the flames. • faint slgb escaped her, and then she faced blm resolutely, frankly. "You have succeeded fairly well In concealing your astonishment at seeing me here In this hut, dressed as I am," she said, somewhat hurriedly. "You have been greatly puzzled. I am about to confess something to you. You will see me again--often perhaps--If you remain long In this country. It is my wish that you should not know who I am tonight You will gain nothing by asking questions, either of. me or of the Strikers. You will know In the near future, so let that be sufficient. I can at least account for my Incomprehensible costume. That much you shall have, if no more. This frock is a new one. It has Just come up the river front St. Louis. I have never had it on until today. Another one, equally as startling, lies In that bedroom over there, and beside It on the bed Is the dress I came here In this afternoon. It Is a plain black dress, and there Is a veil and a hideous black bonnet to go with It." "You--you have lost--I mean, yon. are in mourning for some one?" he exclaimed. -The thought rushed Into his mind: Was she a widow? This radiantly b^utlful girl a widow? "For my father," she stated succinctly. "He died almost a year ago. I was in school at St. Louis when It happened. I had not seen him for two years. My mother sent for me to come home. Since that time I hate worn nothing but black--plain, horrible black. Do not misjudge me. I am not vain, nor am I as heartless as you may be thinking. I had and still have the greatest respect for my father. He was a good man, a fine man. But in all the yearn of my' life he never spoke a loving word to m^he never caressed me, he never kissed me. He was kindness itself, but--he never looked at me with love In bis eyes. "As I grew older I began to, think that he hated me. That Is a terrible thing to say--and you must think it vile of me to say it to you, a stranger. But I have said it, and I would not take It back. When I wns thirteen years old he hired me out as a servant in a farmer's family and I worked there until I was fourteen. It was not -In this neighborhood. I worked for my board and keep, a thing I could not understand and bitterly resented, because he was prosperous. Then my mother fell HI. She was a strong woman, but she broke down In bealtb. He came' and got me and took me home. I was a big girl for my ageas Idg as I am now--and strong. I did all the work about the honse tfutll my mother was well again. He never gave me a word of appreciation or one of encouragement "He was never unkind, he never found fault with me, he never In all his life scolded or switched me when I was bad. Then, one day--It was three years ago--he told me to get ready to go down to St. Louis to school. He put me in charge of a "trader and Ills wife who were going down the river by perogue. He gave them money to buy suitable clothes for mfr-a large sum of money, it must have been--and he provided me with some for my own personal use. "I stayed there until I was called home by his death. I expected to return to school, but my mother refused to let me go back. That was last fall. She Is still In the deepest mourning, and I believe will never dress otherwise. 1 have said all there is to say about my father. I did not love him, I was not grieved when he passed away. It was almost as if a stranger had died." She paused. He took occasion to remark, sympathetically: "He must have been a strange man." "He was," she said, "I hope I have made you understand what kind of a man he was, and what kind of a fathe/ he was to me. Now, I am coming to the point. This finery you see me In now wns purchased without my mother's knowledge or consent--with money of my own. The box was delivered to Phineas Striker day before yesterday up in ^afayette. I came here to spend the night. In order that 1 might try them on. I live in town, with my mother. She left the farm after my father's death. She adoredlilm. She could not bear to live out there on the«lonely--but, that Is of no interest to you. A few weeks ago I asked her If I might not take off the black. Sne refused at first, but finally consented. So I wrote to the woman wbo used to make my dresses in St Louis--my father was not stingy with me, so I always had pretty frocks--and now they have come. My motbqr doe* not know about them. Bhe will be •hocked wb«B I tell X have them, but' she will not be angry. She loves me. Is your curiosity satisfled? It will have to be, for this Is all I care to divulge at present." He smiled djwn into her earnest eyes, "My curiosity Is appeased." he said. "I should not have slept tonight if you had not explained this tantalizing mystery. Therefore. I thank you. May I have your permission to say that yon are very lovely in your new frock and that you are marvelously becoming to itl" "Walt till you see me in my blnck dress and bonnet--and mittens," she challenged. Eliza appeared in tbe doorway. Sghe was rolling down her sleeves. "How are you twq gettlri' along?" she inquired, looking frog) one to the other keenly. The girl spoke quickly-, before ber companion could reply. ""We have had a most agreeable chat, Eliza. Are you through In the kitchen? If you are, would you mind coming into the bedroom with me? I want you to see the other dress on me. Good night," sl|e said to Gwynne. "No doubt we shall meet again," He wag dumbfounded. "Am I not to iee yoa in tbe new dress?" he u8ometimes I Feel Much Older Than Nineteen." ^ cried, visibly disappointed. "Barely you are not going to deny me tbe Joy of beholding you In--" She Interrupted him almost cavalierly. "Pray save up some of your compliments against the day when you behold me in my somber black, for I shall need them then. Ag»tn, good night." "Good night," he returned, bowing stiffly and in high dudgeon. Eliza, In hurrying past, hftd snat*tM*i one of tbe candlesticks from the nututel, and now stood holding the bed room door open for the queenly young personage. A moment lMter tbe door closed behind them. Gwynne was still scowling at -the Inoffensive door when Striker blustering into the room. "Where are the women?" he demanded, stopping short. A Jerk of the thumb yrtia bis answer. "Gone to bed r . - ^ V "1 believe So," replied elessly, as he sat down In the despised rocker and stretched his long legs out to the flre. "I fancy we are safe to smoke now, Striker. We have the parlor all to ourselves. The ladles have deserted us." Striker took the tobacco pouch from the peg on the mantel and handed it to his guest "Fill up," he said shortly, and tbnn walked over to the bedroom door. He rapped timorously on one of the thick boards. "Want me fer anything?" he Inquired softly, as his wife opened the door an inch or two. "No. Go to bed when you're ready an' don't ferget to smother that flre." "Good night Phineas," called out another voice merrily. "KJood night,' With a dubious returned to the "Women are fiUttt^Wags," said he, dragging up aMigb# dttlr. Then %» aet forth his views at great Throughout the dissertation Gwympa Had sat with his moody gaze flrti upon the flaring logs, which Striker had kicked Into renewed life with the heel of one of his ponderous boots, disdaining the stout charred poker that leaned against the chimney wall. He was pulling dreamily at the corncob pipe. His thoughts were of the perplexing girl who eagerly gave him her confidence In one moment and shrank Into the Iciest reticence the next Her unreserved revelations concerning her own father, uttered with all the frankness of an intimate, and the childish Ingenuousness with which she accounted for her raiment, followed- so closely, so abruptly by the most Insolent display of bad manners he had ever known, gave lilm ample excuse for. reflection. He was debating within himself the advisability of asking bis host a few direct nnd pointed questions. A fine regard for Striker's position deterred him. "Tills la admirable tobacco," be said. "Do you cure it yourself or does It COUM up the river from Kentucky?" "Comes from Kentucky. We don't, hqve much luck tryln' to raise terbaccer in these parts," ; Whereupon Mr. Striker went into a long and intelligent lecture upon tbe products of the soil in that Motion of Indiana. . v ^ "Whenever you feel like goitt* iftbed, Jist say so," he said at last • "I have been doing a little surmising, Mr. Striker," said the other. am wondering where you and I are to dispose ourselves." "I reckon I'll have to make up • bed here In front of tbe fireplace for myself, an' let yoa go up to the attic. We got a--" "I was afraid of this, Mr. Striker. You are putting yourselves out terribly on my account I can't allow it, sir. It Is too much to ask--" "Now, don't you worry abont ns. You ain't puttln' us out at all. There's a spare tick up in the attic what wo use fer strangers when they happen along, an' Zachariah has put yonr blankets right here by the door--an* your pistols, too, I see--so whenever you're ready, I'll lead tbe way up the ladder an' show you where yoa're to rOost. * They stepped outside the cabin, Into the fresh, brisk gale that wals blowing. Striker pointed off into the night. "Lafayette's off in yan direction. There's a big stretch of open prairie itf between, once you git out'n theM woods, an' further on there's more timber. Tbe town's down in a sort of valley, shaped somethln' like a saucer, with hills on all sides an' the river cuttln' straight through the middle. Considerable hulldln' goln* on this spring. But you'll see all tMs fer yourself when you git there." It was a few minutes past nln« when Kenneth followed his boat np tbe ladder and through tbe trapdoor into tbe stuffy attic. "IH leave the ladder here," aald Striker, depositing the candlestick on the floor. "So's I c'n stick my head In here in the mornin' an' rouse yon up. There's your- straw-tick over yander, an' I'll fotch your blankets np ta a minute or two. I reckon you'll bate to crawl , on yonr hands an* knees; this attic wasn't ballt fer fallsize men." v *'I will be all right," his gusst assured him. The clapboard roof was a scant three feet above the dusty floor of the attic. Stooping, the young man made his way to the bed-tick near tbe little window. He did not sniff with scorn at his humble surroundings. He had traveled long and far and he had slept in worse places than this He was drawing off his boots when Striker again stuck bis head and shoulders through the opening and laM bis roll of blankets on tbe floor. The trapdoor was slowly: lowered Into place as the shaggy head and broad shoulders of the ,s?ttler disappeared. The young man heard the sent ping of the ladder as It was being remoyed' to a place against the wall. "That Viola an* she's your half-sister." (TO BB CONTINUUM DEFENDING THE NAME OF FATHER Nicknames Such as "Old Man", **Pater", 'Hiad" and "Daddy" Do Not Express Affection. What b la a name? Why. everything, of course. Get a bad name and you will flnd It out. Call a man a Jailbird and he Is doomed. A great deal of time Is consumed by parents in finding a name for a new baby which comes into a home. Much thought Is given to the selection of a baby's name, because he is so precious and sweet and because he wil' carry it through life. The baby has nothing to say as to the choice. It is, thereu>re, all the more important that a name be given blm which he will be pleased with when he becomes a man. ' Unfortunately, few boyB and girls are entirely pleased with their names, nnd In many cases they seek to change them. There Is another question which arises later on, and that is the question as to what a boy will call his father." A yariety of designations have been assigned to the paternal head of the household. By some he has been called "the governor." This Is an official term and smacks of rulership. It can scarcely be called a term of disrespect, but tbe objection to it is that it lacks affection. "Pater" Is another designation for father. It sounds classical, for It is the Latin name for father. It however, seems cold and formal. Occasionally we hear a boy speaking of "the old man." This Is, of cours*. the smart Alec who considers he Is acting cleverly. There Is a swagger about an attitude of this kind which Is not admirable. Here Is unother lad wbo calls hie father "dad," Hi meana to b« respectful and even affectionate, bat this name Is not dignified, to say tbe least of It. A good father deserves .a better designation than that of "dad." "Daddie" Is tbe term many girls employ, and It Is much more tender and affectionate. But, what better name'can we flnd In our Anglo-Saxon vocabularj to call Our father than "Father?" - The Golden Rose. * A rose formed of wrought gold and blessed with lunch solemnity by thf pope In person on the fourth Sunday of Lent Is called, the "golden rose." The prayer of blessing contains a mystical allusion to Christ as "tbe flower of the field and the Illy of tbe valley." The rose Is anointed with balsam, fumigated with incense, sprinkled with musk, and is then lef. upon the altar until the conclusion ot the mass. It ts then usually presented to some Cathdlic prince or princess whom the pope desires especially to honor, with an appropriate form «f words. Just So. Jud Tonkins says that a man whe loses a hundred thousand dollars on a horse race generally Isn't as honestto- goodness unlucky as the one whe coutdnt afford to bet but tw* .v..,. j^.~. - - It Takes Tlmsk > > One who Is a radical and wants ti violently change the world should r* member that tbe world is millions oi years old and takes Its time. every meal It ttlnntatesi •p»«tlte and •Ms. " It iMlte* yowr' Sr. Whites* teeth^ w « • t e a M brtstfe « H%r£. Who. Was the Black Prince? / • The sobriquet was bestowed upohl Edward, prince of Wales, and sofa df Edward III. There Is great differenci^; , of opinion as to the origin of this afl^? peilatlon. Folssart says that he wafcf.... styled black "by terror of his arms^: while Strutt states that be was su^: •' named the "Black" for his warlik^; . prowess. The commonly accepted n<K - tlon Is that he was* called the "Black > Prince" owing to the color of his a*if l mor; but Meyrlck and Shaw both sert that bis armor was anything black. . Don't Be Dhllfrarcd. Keep Cole's Carbolisalve In the hou„ It stops pain from burn or cut quick1 and heals without scars. At all got druggists, 80c and 80c, or J. W. Cole Osu Rockford, 111.--Advertisement ?-• Fir at Manual Training Schoot Finland holds the honor of thjfc earliest use of handwork as an agenc§« In education, having developed a pla% for teaching handwork In prlmar£ - schools between 1858 and 1866. Swede% followed In 1872, Frnnce In 1873, En® land in 1886 and Germany in 1887. Ifto the United States the first steps In thl» direction were taken in New York city la ism A Standard for 90 Yeara, As a laxative and blood purifier tHere*' Is rothlng better than Brandreth Pilhp^ In use throughout the world.--Adv. Dubtou»• Friend--Why did you Jilt that uatt. who wanted to marry you? Prima Dona--I couldn't make army mind whether he was In love with. ? me or merely wanted to hear me sinjjr^ for nothing.--Boston Transcript It's pretty hard to be dishonest good natured at the same time. ft? THAT BAKE -DAY Was That's what Millions ofwoitwsw tufvedone mm V CMtnuvsii* * Sb?«t2i timaasmuchas that of any other Jxaad Cuticura Soap Clears the Skin and Keeps it Clear Sw» 2Sc, Ohfwt 25 --«ftc. Talc-- 2Sc. Relief coughs Money never grows on trees, j*f> mock of ttte obtslaed If gratu^ W. M. U- CHICAGO, NO.