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1:557?“ l t l l 'so wished. .slands looking uncertain and distressed. situttlecock in the hall. the. Angel of Death 'waving his alolo've her head! and she swallows it. a .U “I am not at all surprised." “It makes me sick t" cries she ener- getically; “let us go into the garden.” So into the garden they go; both the new one, whose luxuriant. growth of verâ€" dure is the outcome of but eight or nine years; and the old one, along whose straight walks the feet of the Moorish ladies used to patter under the orange trees. Beneath them now there are no white bundles of muslin; only on tho ground the oranges lie thick, no one in this plcntcous land thinking it worth while to pick them up. Jim and his companion pace rather silently to a pretty Moorish summer-house, dug. a W WMWfiW’W.OWO+O+O-&O+W few years ago, by the English architect CHAPTER XXXV.â€"-(Continued). As he speaks, he begins to retreat to- : wards the door, but so slowly as to give her plenty of time to recall him had she But she does not. She only He cannot take such a melancholy im- pression of her little face away for the whole night with himâ€"it would give him the blues too seriously after this dismal day-so he takes a step or two forward again. “Are not you rather lonely?" he .asks, with an expressive look round. She gives a small, uucomplaining .smile. “Oh no; I do very well. I am gener- ally alone at this time of day; they like to have their evenings to themselvesâ€"â€" at. least, father likes to have mommy to himself; I am sure it is quite natural." There is not the slightest trace of any sense of being aggrieved in either words or tone. Again that picture of the adored Eliza- beth of former days, of whose praitic "her father was never weary, whose. jokes were always considered so unequalled, and whose pro-eminence in favor was so allowed that her intercession and in- fluence were always employed by the others as certain in their eflicacy, rises before Jim’s eyes. “They are like lovers still," continues Elizabeth softly; “it is very pretty when people are lovers still after nearly thirty years.” “And youâ€"you write letters ‘3" “No, I do not; I have not anyone to write to.” A pang of shame at his unworthy sus- picion, coupled with a sense of astonish- ment at her simple confession of friend- liness. prevent his speaking; and it is she who goes on: “I was writing an Italian exercise; I began to learn Italian in l~‘lorence"~â€" with the inevitable low sigh that always accompanies her mention of that nameâ€"â€" “‘and toâ€"day, for something to do, I took it up again. It has been a long day, has not it? Oh, what a long day 1” “Long!” repeats Jim emphatically; “it might choose to call itself a day; but many a century has been shorter." “Someone was playing battlcdore and; I wonder to what number they kept it up? how many years it is since I have played battledore and shuttlecock t” There is a suppressed envy in her ton-e, which tells how far from disagree- ablc the innocent noisy pastime to which sh: alludes would be to her even now. She has sat down again'on the straight- backed chair from whose elevation she had commanded her Italian studies; a large grcyish cloak, lined and heavily collared, and bordered with fur, hangs, unfastcncd at the. throat, about her. Out of the dark beaver her delicate neck and head rise, like a pale primrose from out oi piled dead oak-leaves in a yet. wintry wood. Through the door, which] he has left open behind him, come bursts of maniac mirth from the votaries of Dumb Crambo. “What a noise they are making t" “I should think they were t" “I wonder what they are doing “I can inform you on that point; they are playing Dumb Crambo." She repeats the words after him with a lingering intonation, in which there again is, or, at least, he thinks that he detects it, a tinge of envy. “Dumb Crambo t” “Would you like to join them?" “No"â€"slowlyâ€"â€"“not quite that; butâ€" it sounds ridiculousâ€"but I should like to play Dumb Crambo again. We used”â€" in an affectionate, lingering toncâ€"â€"“iao play it when we were children.” It is the first time that she has over voluntarily alluded to the Moat, and he calls to mind her earnest prohibition ad- dressed to him at Florence against any mention of it. ‘ “i know you played with you.” SKX'OU 717 She starts. It is evident that. the un- important fact of his having taken part in their games has quite escaped her; but, a moment later, her soft and cour- teous nature evidently making her fear that. he will liik upon her obliviousncss as unkindâ€"â€"-â€"' “Oh, yes, to be sure!" Then again lapsing into reminiscence, “what odd words we used to choose sometimesâ€" words that nobody could guess! 1 won- tier what words they have chosen?” Ile thinks of saying jocosely, “shall I o and ask them ?" but refrains, because u fears it would put it. into her head to Send him away. A sort of piercing squeal makes itself heard from the salon. ,_ “Do you think that can be iii-cant for a pig ?" asks Elizabeth, her fine cars prick- cd’ in unaffected interest. “Oh t”â€"with a return of uneasinessâ€"“I wish that they would not make so much noise; father does so dislike noise. They might as well have put it off till to-morrow." “Why would to-tnorrow's‘ noise be more cndurublc than to-night‘s ‘3" “it would not have mattered to-mor- rov: father will not be here; he is go- ing to llannnam llhira.” Burgoyne‘s jaw drops. Is this the al- tcrnativc course decided upon by Mrs. Le Marchant? Ilaving failcdrto dislodge on did; once or twice 1 him from Algiers, is she going to remove herself and her daughter out of his reach? “Do you meanuare you all going to Ilammam lthira to-morrow'?â€"all going away 1’" - Is it. some effect. of light from the roseâ€" shaded lamp that makes it seem to him as if a tiny smile, and yet a smaller blush, swept over Elizabeth‘s face at the aghastness of his toneâ€"an aghastncss much more marked than he had intcnd- Ctl it should be. “Not toâ€"morrow; not all of us. Father and mammy are going there for a couple of nights to‘ see what the place is likeâ€"one hears such contradictory ac- counts; and if they are pleased with il___ll “fires 2"! “If they are pleased with it.we shall all probably move oathere in a day or two." , lie would like to be sure that this sen- tence ends with a‘ sigh. but a prodigious storm of hand-clapping from the extent- porc theatre prevents his hearing whe- ther it has that r-egretful finish. “And they are going to leave you be- hind?" “Why not? there would not be much use in taking me; and, as I tell you, they love being tet-c-a-tetc." “And you love being alone ‘3" The moment that the question is out. o= his mouth, he realizes its full unkind- ncss. lie is perfectly aware that she does not like being alone; that she is natur- ally a most social little being; that, even now, these frightened five minutes of un- satisfactory broken talk with himself has made her look less chilled, less woc- begonc, less white. Her answer, if it can be looked upon as one, must be taken by him as a rebuke. It is only that she says nervously : ‘ “One certainly does hear dreadfully plainly here with the door open.” ' i-Icr tone is of the gentlest, her look no ongrier than a dovc’s, and yet he would be obtuser than he is if he did not at. once comprehend that her remark im- plies a wish that he should presently shut that door behind him on the out- side. He complies. Willi that newly- gained knowledge as to to-morrow's I-Ianunam Rhira, he can afford to com- IJIY- ' . . "The next morning‘s light reveals that the weather, pleased with having so in- disputably proved its power of being odious, has recovered its good humor. Beyond the tree-tops a radiant sea is seen laughing far below; and the wet red tiles on the little terrace shine like jewels. A sea even more wonderful than radiant; no s-ervilc copy of the sky and clouds to-day, but with astonishing col- ors of its ownâ€"a faint yct glorious green for a part of its watery ln-cadth; then what our poverty compels us to Call blue; and then a great tablecloth of inky purple, which looks so solid that the tiny white boats that are crossing it seem to be sailing on dry land. I-‘rom amongst the glossy green of the wooded hill, mosque and campagne start out, dazzling, in their recovered lustre; one cool entrancing villa in especial, backed with a broken line of dusky stone-pines. stands, snowy-arcadcd, cnthroned high up among the verdurc. .Iim is very anxious to be out of the way at the hour of the Le Marchants' departure. He has a panic fear of be- ing waylaid by the mother, and having some earnest supplication addressed to him to abstain, during her absence, from any converse with Elizabeth. file is not quite clear at. what time they will set off, so, to insure himself against mis- takes, he resolves to spend the mornig and lunch at the Villa Watson. Arrived there, he is shown by an Arab man-scr- vant into the court, and, finding it emp- ty. sinks down into a cane chair, and lets his eyes wander round to the foun- tain, lullingly dripping into its basin; to the tiles. thc white-arched doorways. carved in low relief, and ihemselvcsvso low that it must be a humble-statured person who enters them without sloop- ing. What a home for love in idleness! Who can picture any of the vulgar work of the world done in such a house? anv harder labor ever entered upon than a listening to some lady singing ‘wiih ravishing division" to her into? The lady who presently joins .lim ap. pears, by her ruflled air, to have been engaged upon no such soothing occupa- tion as luting to a recumbent. lover. “You will not innid staying here?" asks Cecilia; “Dr. Crump is ill the d 'aw- mg_l-Oom with Sybillu; i am sure that you do not want to see Dr. Cramp t" “I cannot express how little I wish it.” “I cannot think what has happened to Sybilla"â€"wrinkling up her forehead in annoyed furrowsâ€"“but she is so dread- fully sprightly when_hc is there; she never was sprightly with Dr. Cold- strcam, ‘and he is such an impossible .man lâ€"thc sort of man who. when first he comes in, always says, IWell. how are we this morning?’ Do not you think that it stumps a man to, say.‘llow are we?” “I think it does.” . , . “He talks such nonsenserloherlk- vith irritationâ€"J‘hc tells her that he, too, is a bundle of nerves! if you could only se.; him! And one day he told her that when first he came here he had seen , would be nothing odd; out of a farmhouse, into which it had been built. It is dainty and cool, with a little dome and lovely green and blue tiles; and an odd small spring, which is taught to wander by tiny snaky chan- nels into a little basin. They go into the summer-house and sit down. “Yes, it is pretty," says the girl ab- scntly; but her mind is evidently pre- occupied by some other subject than the. beauty of the giant bignonia which is expanding the multitude of its orangeâ€" rcd clusters all over a low wall, making it into one burning hedge, and has called forth an exclamation of delight from Burgoyne. What that subject is imme- diately appears. ‘ “Do you know who is in Algiersâ€"- whom I saw driving through the Place Bressant on Sunday afternoon 1’" “Who ?" “The La Merchants. surprised !"-â€"â€"rathcr suspiciously. knew already t" Jim hesitates a second; then reflecting that whether or not. he acknowledges the fact now. Cecilia is certain to learn in a day or two at latest, he answers with a slight laugh: “it would be odd if I did not. seeing 1th they are staying at my hotel.” “You knew that when you went there?" â€"â€"vcry quickly. , “Of course not l"â€"â€"â€"with a movement of‘ impatience. A pause. “I suppose," says Cecilia, rather cau- tiously, as if aware that she is treading on dangerous ground. “that you have. not found out why they stampedcd from Florci‘ice in that ext'aordinary way.’ Oh, no, of course not !"â€"as this sugges- tion is received with a still more accent- ed writhe than her former one. “It is not a thing upon which you could ques- tion them; and, after all, it was their own affair; it,was no business of ours, was it ‘3” “Not the slightest.” “1 always used to like them." continues Cecilia pensively; “at lcast"-â€"becoming aware of an involuntary movement of surprise at this statement on the part of hev neiglibor-â€"“at least, they never gave me the chance of liking them; but I al- ways admired them. I wonder are they more accessible than they were in Flor- ence? There are so few nice English here this year; everybody says that there never was a year when there were so few nice English I” The tentative towards sociability im- plied in this last speech is received by .lim in a discouraging silence. ile has not the slightest desire to promote any over- turc on the part of Cecilia towards in- timacy with Elizabeth. lie knows that they would be. unsuccessful; and, more- over, hc is conscious that he would be annoyed it they were not. “I can fancy that this would be a very pleasant place if one had someone to gr. about with," continues she; “but father grows less and less inclined to move. Poor dear! he is not so youm,r as he was, and I am not quite old enough yet, I suppose, to go about alone.” She makes a rather wistful pauseâ€"n pause which he feels that. she intends him to fill by an offer of himself as as col-t. But none such comes. ltealizinz this. shc'gocs on with a sigh: “There are not many advantages in being old; but, at. least, one is freer. and in a youth spent as mine is, there is really not much profit or pleasure." The tone in which she makes this lugu- brious reflection is so extremely dolefut that Jim cannot refrain from a laugh. “Cheer up, old girl! there is a good time coming! It is a long tune that has no turninfl.” But he contents himself with these vague forms of consolation. ile has no engagements of his own. Why, then, is be conscious of so strong a reluctance towards tying hiil'lSOII by any promise to the broadly-hinting lady beside him~ self? There is another pause, during which Cecilia looks down on the floor with a bullied air, and traces the out- lines of the tiles with the point of her red sunshade. ' “There is a band plays twice a week in the Place de Gotlvcrtlementâ€"plays admirably. No\v,_'l suppose that there that no one could say anything; that it Would not be the least improper. considering our connection and everything, it you \\'QII(t._ take me to hear it some day '2" “i never have the slightest idea of what improper and what is not,” re- plics be; but there is more of alarm than of encouragement in his tone. “No more have l”-â€"laughing rather awkwardlyâ€"“but in this case I am pret- ty sure. Tuesdays and Fridays are fit" days on which the band plays." “Oh !" “Toâ€"day is Tuesday; is not it ‘2" “KRIS-7‘ - Another pause. “I thought that perhaps, if you had nothing better to-do, you might take me to-day ‘3" The direct proposal \VIlit'll he has in \:-§i: tried to avert has come. if hr- ac. Ah, you are not You rcpt it, of what. profit. to him will iii.) absence of the Le .\l:u-clmnt j‘ttll'L‘lilh‘ in", [lo does not formulate this fact to him self, not having, indccd. owned it. pg.- ..-, r,l (L's: own heart that he has any st-t fans upon Elizabeth's company for the after- noon. “I am afraidâ€"” he begins slowly. “You are vamping up an excuse l” cries Cecilia, reddening. “I see it in your eyes. You cannot have made any engagements here yet. You do not know anybody, do you, except the Le Mar- chants ‘2" _ ' “And they have gone to Ilammam than," replies he precipitately. He is ashamed the moment that the words are out of his mouth, for he knows that they convey a falsehood. “At least " But she interrupts him before he can add, his consciencc clause. “’I‘o-morrow, then ?" _Again he hesitates. The same objee tions apply with even greater form: to the morrow. “But the hand does not play to-mor~ row." _ “Oh! what does that matter?" sub- joins she impatiently. “I had just as soon_go somewhere elseâ€"the Arab town, the l'xabylc' village, anywher‘." lie is driven into a corner, and re- mains there silent so. long that there is a distinct. element of offence in the tone and large sigh with which the girl re- sumes. “Well, times are changed! I always used to make one in those happy excur- Eilonsi {it hFlorence; and somehowâ€"- ants 0 er, I so â€"â€" - bud third." ppose I ncx of felt a .Shc as she speaks, and takes a couple of huffy steps toward the house: but he overtakes and stops her. The allusmn to Amelia has annoyed and yct'stirrcd in him the sea of remorse. winch is always lying but a very little way below the surface in his soul. Why. Cisl" he says, in a tone of affectionate rallying, “are we goinrr to quarrel at this time of dayâ€"you and 1? Of course I will take you to the band and the [{ubylc village, and any other biased sight you choose to name, only tell me by which of them you would like to begin to ride round." As he leaves the house and the ap- peased fair one. after luncheon, an hour and a half later, he tells himself that. he has got. off cheaply in having vaguely sacrificed the whole of his Algerian fu- ture, but having preserved tic-day» and to-morrow. I (To be continued). *3 WM th tilt ltlttl. WW CAN \VI‘J AFFORD TO FEED GRAIN TO OUR COW’S‘? This question is ever present. with the dairy farmer. It will not down. Some answer it confidently by saying “Yes!” Some shake their heads doubt- fully and say “I hardly know; “Others declare, “At present prices of such feed it doesn’t pay." If we take a census JI these farmers, we will land on about this gnound: That those dairy farmers who feed a grain ration, are, as a rule, the most prosperous. They will tell you that it pays, providing you will take care to do two things: (i) Ilavc good cows. Ei- ther brch them or buy them; don‘t keep a poor cow a minute longer than you are obliged to, for she is a constant loss. A cow must yield 200 pounds of butter a year to barely ,pay for her keeping. From this conclusion. there seems to be no escape. If you want more, you must have a better cow. ('2) Take care. that the cow is stablcd and handled in a way most favorable to milk production. If by your fault. you hinder her in her best work, she will surely charge you for it and you must pay the bill. These are the two gcncralconclusions and conditions that surround the ques- tion. Front these two we may go on and deduce a score or more of other im- portant conclusions. For instance: (1) The problem is so difl'lcult that only men of active. well informed minds can make a good success of it. (2) That we must be dairytucn, using dairy bred cows, and a good supply of dairy in- telligence in fecdingns well as in pro- viding the right conditions to surround the cow. (3) That if we produce our rows by breedingwa must look into the laws and princhdcs 'of dairy breeding. We must not come at it in. loose, inp- huzard ways for we are doing work for a long time. We must. understand that breeding of .profitablc- dairy cattle is based on just as distinctive, well set- llcd principles as is the breeding of trotting horses, beef cattle, nnttton sheep, or game fowls. (-t) 3.coauso of loose, haphazard ideas of dairy breed- ing among farmers, we have the abun- dance of poor cows and the scarcity ct. geiid cows, that is seen on every hand. '5) That breed is a very important thing if it, really means what it should; if the development of dairy qualities, dairy type, dairy individuality has been made the loading purpose. A cow or bull so bred is much more apt to give results. than any other. Hence, when we choose from a certain breed, it is well to be assured of the skill and wise judg- ment of the breeder. There are wise men and foolish men among breeders. As he is. so are his cattle in a very large degree. (ii) if we buy our cows. we must be. a good’judge of a cow. else we will be throwing away our money. feed and rare. To be a good judge of the dairy quality of a cow. one must have a na- tural 'love of the animal, wcll supch- t‘n-nIrd by a study of the external signs of dairy capacity. {7) If we do well with lh‘- row. we must have also a good jpdgm m .:-f triu- d-tiry t'.illtIitItlllS. Now, ":Hl hum =h2ng< roll for study, thought, \ sur-i-cwsful dairy farmer laid-tit" it 2“; mp. ',,. ’ the same as a good lawyer must have a good legal education. It is nonsense to suppose that so deep a subject, one that means so much, can be seized successfully without a well inform mind. And all this talk has come log- cally from the single question: Shall We feed grain to our cows? Verity, the cow is a fruitful subject. BETTER POULTRY ON THE FARM. Now that. poultry is in such demand and at double the former prices for ‘ eggs and chicks, poultry on the farm has become a greater interest than ever before. It is just as easy to grow good chickens as scrubs, and they eat no more and bring much more money. A lady who gives much attention to growing chickens on the farm sends the following letter on the subject. She says: I would like to see more and better poultry on our farms, and I believe there ts no way in which we can more read- ity and surely increase the returns from our farm. The point at which we should slopincreasing the size of our ’locks is that at which there is nothing more for the fowls to clean from the fields in the way of bugs and lost grain.- 'l"he tender grass and the young clover that are to be found all over the farm in late summer and fallmakc good feed for fowls and we should utilize them as much as possible by having a large number of iowls to use it. We need more poultry on the farms, as is evidenced by the increasing price for )oultry poiviucts. This means that the demand is ahead of the supply. When the prices get high there is a trndency for the people to buy other food in, the place of poultry products; therefore we. are the losers. Thcrc is another reason why we should increase the amount of poultry on our forms and that is that poultry meat is not as solid as other meat, and th-erefore,in selling it we get more for the same food value parted with than from a like weight of beef or pork. « The better the poultry the more we will get for the food consumed, which is, of course, of great moment. We have in most of our flocks hens that cat and cat and never lay an egg. 'Some of them have passed beyond the age of laying and the owners have lost track of them in the flock. We can get better flocks by weeding out these unprofitable layers. \VI-IITE\VASH THE QUARTERS. , This the season of the year when ‘thc hog quarters should all be put. in- to the best kind of shape by cleaning - them out thoroughly, whitewashtng them inside and out wherever the hogs touch them. Air slaked lime sprinkled around the floor of the pens, especially in the corners and sides, is an. excel- lent method of treating the floor. 'l‘roughs should be whitewashed inside and out. and air-staked lime scattered freely around where the pigs are in the habit of eating. If there is some lime in the troughs it doesn’t lmrt, it is an advantage. By exercising care. sickness may be prevented. Cleanlinncss is one of the escut'als. It. is a great preventive, and the lime wash is an excellent disinfect- ant. Wc cannot endorse this too strongly. Give the hogssomc charcoal. it is a regulator and an aid to good dt» 'gestion. Have clean, sweet sleeping quarters. Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well. .â€";‘ NO FLIES ON HIM. A young couple were observed as soon as they entered a railway carriage, and immediately put down as a briday pair. But they were remarkably self-possess- ed, and acted just like old married folk, 3) that after a short time the other pas- sengers began to doubt their belief, after all. As the train moved out, however, the young man rose to remove his overcoat, and a shower of rice fell out. The pas- song-91‘s smiled broadly. But even that did not affect he youth, who also smiled, and, turning to his partner, remarked audibly : “By Jove, May, I've brought away the in‘idegroom's overcoat t" . .____.,.__.'.. DISCI-IARGED \VITH A CAUTION. A laborer was charged with a petty offence. “Have you anyone in court who will vouch for your good character T" queried the judge. _ “Yes, sir, there is the chief constable yonder,” was the reply. The chief constable was amazed. “Why, your honor. I don't even know the man,” protested he. “Now, sir," broke in the accused, “l have lived in the town for nearly twenty years, and if the chief constable doesn't know me yet, isn't that a character for you?" No alien can own a British ship, or any share or interest in one; but a limited liability company composed en- tirely of foreigners can do so, provided the- vesscl is registered .in England. “You have a splendid position here. People are constantly passing by," said Sampson. “That's just the trouble," rc- turncd thc‘ lrndcsnuiu. “’l‘hey‘ro always posing by, and never stepping in." (Lirccn: “What do you mean by say- ing John Brown is a distant relative of 'ours? I thought he was- your bro- Brown: “Well, there are twelve He’s the oldest thcr." children in our family. and I‘m the youngest.” A gentleman bought a new variety of potato-'5, and told his gardener to he sure. and plant them for enough apart. “\\'cll.. Sam, (lid you plant the potaiors far apart. as I told you?" Sam: 1 did mr. l planted some in your g. rdcn and sumU in mine, so “my art) f’:ur miles dairy education, apart." ‘V‘Vi‘IWW‘NNWfl/‘Wg‘NMWJ‘J‘J f‘va‘~/</:'/‘~/‘v’~/ V‘»./v“-/'w""4‘\/‘N~/’v ‘- . “Va . v' \:‘~.. .:;-'.:'nr.v‘fl~f%i=fr, arzais‘ctwaw ~: _;‘mv_~;--._. . .h‘" ‘..»;.Va‘ A», r t ., A we». 4 \/’\I'\r"v"‘«'"‘v"‘~’"r' .wv.wva-q‘ri.mâ€"z ‘11- cw mu. «. ~ , _ . . , w.‘