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932 + E i r t i l ..â€" s . ,...... .. .. ...-.»..... V...“ ...,..-... .n... , fi+fi+fi+fl+fii£€+fi+fi+fi+fi+ޤ +33%35+33E+3fi+3§+fi+fi+3d+fcf+fi+31§2 CHAPTER IX.â€"(Con.tiniied). Diinly I could distinguish his short, iburly form between myself and the faint light of the halfopencd blinds, "but even though all was as yet misty and indistinct, I knew that \Vllflt’h‘iltl been azvcrrcd was the actual! truthsâ€"the specialists had been. iiiistakcii-. Willi --C-ar-e and continued treatment my sight would strengthen until I became like other men. “I can see!‘ I cried excitedly. “I can use you, doctorâ€"â€"a-nd tho lightâ€"and the - blinds!" “Then you acknowledge that what I told you was the truthrâ€"tlia‘t I did not. lie to you when I told you that your «case was not beyond recovery?" “Certainly. You told me the truth." I said hastily. “At the time it seemed “too improbable, but now that you have .aâ€"‘s-hovvn me. proof. I must ask your parâ€" don if any words of mine have given ~you offence.’ " “You’ve not offended me in the slight- est, my door sfr,’ :he answered pleasant- ly. “Persevere with the treatment. and continue for another few days in dark-. mess, and then I feel confident that a - perfectly satisfactory cure will: have been effected. Of course, we must not expect a clear vision at once, but by degrees your sight will slowly become .stron ger.” , And with those words he closed the blinds and drew the curtains close, so- that the room was again. darkened. and I-Iainlplon Court, again gaze upon the green trees, windinig river, and the fields that I loved so: well; and I spent a day at lrighton, and stood for a full couple of hours watching the rolling sea beat- ing upon. the. beach. Six weeks before I was a hopeless niisantlirope whose life had been utterly sapped by the blight- ir.g afllllction upon me. Now I was strong and healthy in mind and in body, prepared to do anything or to go anywhere. When Parker was at last forced to ali‘siiiit that I was no long-er bti’iid, she declared; that the man Slade was an CllllfSSEI-‘I‘y of the Evil One, and expressâ€" ed a. pious hope that he would never “darken my doe-r" again. It was a fancy of mine to go. down to the home of my youth, I'Ieaton Ma.- iior, a place well known 'to those ac- quainted with the district around. 'l‘ew- kesbury. The great old inanslon, stand- ing in the centre of a wide, well-wooded park that slopes down to the Severn closet to the: flaw Bridge, had been closed. and in the hands of the old. scr- vant Baxter and his wife. Indeed I had never lived there since, on my father‘s death, it had pass-ed into my possession. The rooms were opened for my ins-pecâ€" liou, and as I wandered through them and down the long oak-paiinel'l-ed gal- lriry, from the walls of which rows of my timeâ€"dimmed ancestors, in their ruffles, velvets, and laces looked down Imagine the tilianlcfulness that filled SOl-emnll'. & “00d Of ~i‘it-col'lrct'ons or 'my heart! It was no illusion, 1 ma my sunny days of Childhood crowded actually seen the narrow rays of sun- light between the half-opened blind and "the dark silhouette of the short. stout, lfulllw‘bearodod man who was cffoctin g such a. marvellous cure. I grilppcdl his hand in the darkness, and thanked him. “How can- I sufficiently" repay you?" ‘I said. “T his service you have render- ed me has opened up to me an abso- lutely new life.” ‘ “I desire no repayment, Mr. Iloaton," ‘he answered in his deep, hearty voice. '“That my treatment of malignant scle- rotitis is successful, and that I have been the. means of restoring sight to one of 'my fellow men is sufficient in: itself.‘ ‘But I have. one question. I wish to ask you,” I said. “The mode in wrieh you were introduced. to me is extreme- ly puzzling. Do you know nothing of “the lady named Edna?" “I know -hei'â€"â€"that is all.” “Where does she live?” . “I regret that I am not able to answer :your question." “You are bound to secrecy regarding lher?’ “I may am." _ “It‘s extraordinary," I “‘Very extra ordin my I" “Net so extraordinary as the recovery of your vision," he observed. “Remain :perfectl'y quiet, and dealt take upon upon me. ' Seven years had passed since my last vigil, m m. The old. ivy-cnv'm‘ctl manor waS, indeed, dilapidated, and sadly out of repair. The Furniture and hangings in many of the rooms seemed rolling with damp and neglect, and as I enter- ed the nursery, and was shown. my own toys, it seemed as though, like Rip Van Winkle ,I had returned again to life after“ a. long absence. Alone, I wandered in the park down the avenue Of grand old elins. The. wide view across the brini'iiiing river, with I'lilSlllf‘ld Church, and the old Tithe Barn at Cliaceley standing pro-ininei'it in the landscape. I saw that it hard in no way changed. I looked back upon the houseâ€"a grand old home it was, one that any man might have been proud of, yet of what use was it to me? Should I sell it? Or should- I at- low it to still rot and decay until my will became proved,and it passed into the hands of my heirs and ass’gns‘.’ I [telltlotli to part with it, f if the old place had been built soon after the fierce and historic battle had been fought at ’l‘evvkdsbury, and ever since Richard l’l‘éfthll had commanded one of the friâ€" gates which went forth to meet the Armada it had been the ancestral home of the I-I-eatons. Indeed, the village of Water I’leaton, now-a-diays quite an ancient place, with its little squat. as well admit the truth â€"â€" I cj ac u I died. yourself any mental problems. A great squareâ€"spirect church and. quaint strag- deul mow depends upon your own gling street, had- sprung up around .cammess," the manor. To me the place was some- thing of a white elephant, yet, as the last of a stalwart race. who hil'tl ever rendered loyal service to their sover- eign, and the sole descendant of an honorable family, it seemed incumbent upon inc to retain it, and not allow it to go under the a'uclionccr’s lia'iiriiier. My personal needs were small, and l was not inwant of money. therefore, ere-I returned to ’I‘cwlmsibiiry, and thence to London, I gave orders for certain necessary repairs to be done. and that. a couple of rooms might be cleared and kept in readiness for my use whenever I might require them. Ilow strange it all was! At cverv turn I peered upon the world through my grey glass spectacles, and. took kicn- an interest in it. as does a child. A‘luscenied' new to me; my brain, like a child‘s, became filled with new ini- The fact that my sight was gradually returning to me seemed: too astonishing to believe. This man Slade, whoever he was, had performed a feat in sur- gery which seemed to me miraculous. Again and again I thanked him. but when he had gone and I told Parker, she only gave vent to a grunt of in.- eredulity. Yet had I not «actually seen the silhouette of Slade. and the streaks of sunlight beyond? Had I not already had ocular proof that a cure was be- ing eff-activle What would Dick, dear old Dick. say on his .return when he found me cured? I laughed as. I pictured to myself his amazement at finding me at the rail- way-station on h‘s arrivahâ€"lookinfg for 'him. 1 Through a whole month Slade came regularly each day at noon. and surely, by stow degrees, my vision became pressioiis and' fresh ideas. Afler mv Strengthened: until at length I found dull, colorless existence of sound and that, even though. I wore smoke-dark- touch, this bright life of movement lill- eiie'di glasses, I could see ahiicsil. as ed me with a delight that pen cannot well as I had done in. the. days of my describe. Imagine, however, what joy youth. The glasses destroyed all. color. it is to one who has been pronoun-cod it was .mm‘ yet. I could now go fo.rtli"iic1n'a-bly blind to look upon the. world into the busy Strand, mingle with the again and taste of its pleasures. It was bustling crowds, and revel- in their life that joy which gave lightness to my and movements. Indeed, in those, f‘ii'stllieart. ” days of the l‘?CO\'Cl‘y of my vision I went Yet over all was one grim shadowâ€" about London in cabs and mniiiibuses, the remembrance of that fateful night hither and thither, with all the enlliii- with its grim tragedy. Who was Edna? Siasni of a country ceiislii or «a. child \\'lie.re was she? What was she? on his first visit to the Melimpolis. All "l'hl‘flllgll her instrumentalin I had rc- was novel and interesting on my return gained my sight. but her identity and to a knowledge of life. her whereabouts still remained hidden. Slade, I found, was a geiitlcniaiily‘as she had plainly told me they would tel-low with the air of a clever pliysici- be before we. had parted. an, but all my efforts to discover his Ililher and thither I went. feted and abode proved iinavaiting, and. iiiore- feasted by my friends at the Savage. over, just as the cure was complete he the Devnnsliire. and other clubs. vet one. day failed to call as usual. \\'itli- my mind was ever troubled by the out. word he relinquished me just as iiiyslei‘y of the woman who had.‘ from suddenly as be had come; but he had motives that were entirely hidden.cxcrtâ€" restored to: me that prmious sense ed herself on my behalf. first in 'savina whirh is one of God's chief gifts. my life from unscrupulous assassins). In those September days, when all the and, secondly. in restoring my vision. wv-rld sceiiieil gay and bright. I went I entertained a strong desire to meet forth into the world with a new zest ‘izer, to grasp her small hand. to thank for life. I took short trips to Richmond her. I longed to see her. constantly haunted by fears. as strange as it is unjust, else in our everyday there had returned of existence, yet I was still haunted by' an ever-present dread-a terror lest some terrible mandate should suddenly be launched upon me by the unknown director of my actions. most extraordinary one. strove to rid myself of the obsession which constantly crept upon me when- ever my attention was not actually dis- tracted by the new existence so mysteriously been Opened up to me. For. it little dwell upon I was entirely helpless in the hands. of one who was, 1111120115. I keep crime, Edna. sounded so tender, 5') small and due this state of constant anxiety as to what. might next be demanded of me. The thought would. creep upon me, now pausing, now advancing. stifled out my breath, like tween the St. James’s and the United W Service Clubs. lie was a merry old ‘ fellow, with white hair and: moustache and a florid complexion, the dandifled air of attache still clinging to. him. Ills courtesy was distinctive,savc when in the heat- of argument upon European affairsâ€"of which he pride-d himself on. his extensive and peculiar knowledgeâ€" he would use strong and rather impo- lite epithets regarding those who dis-- agreed with him. As he sat at the head of his table, his habitual monocle in his eye, and the tiny green ribbon of the order of the-Crown of ltalyintlic la-ppel of his dining-jacket, he looked a perfect type of the exâ€"attaclie. His wife, a. rather spare woman of fifty, who seemed to exist externally iii a toilette of black satin and lace, was pleasant, though just a. trifle stiff, probably because of her long association with other diplo- ni'atiis'ts’ wives; while Nellie Channing was a. happy, fair-haired girl, who were pretty blouses, cycled, golfcd, flirted. and shopped in the High Street in the most approved manner of the average girl of South Kensington. Nellie and I had always been good friendls. She had lbeen at school in England while her parents had been abroad, but on completing her educa- tion she had lived some. five years or so in Vienna, and had thus acquired [something of the cosmopolitan habit of her father. She looked charming in her pink blouse a trifle deoollete, as she sat on my left at dinner, and con- gratulated me upon my recovery. (To be Continued.) _â€"â€"â€"-q¢â€". SENTENCE SERMONS. Faith easily dies without fellowship. What is given in love never lost. _tl\fany mistake faultl‘inding for fidel~ i y. . CHAPTER X. The man who. abandons all hope is This is like much life. Even though to me all the joys TEST OF SEED CORN. It is a mistake to buy seed corn shell- Cd where it can be had on the car, but inasmuch as the great bulk of eiisilage lee-(id corn. which [passes through the trade in Canada is shelled, it is large- ly a case of IIobson’s choice. Ear corn is pr ‘lcl'tlble for several reasons. In the first. place, one can see what kind and varirty of cars he is- planting from, and reject inferior ones. The embryo will. be. somewhat less liable to have had its germinating qualities impaired by heating in storage or in transit. Most important of all, he can test his corn by the ear, thereby culling out those that show inferior germinating quality. There are almost sure to be a certain proportion of these which. if used for planting, would mean either blank spaces in the field, or, what is probably a more serious disadvantage in drilled corn. weak-growing, poorly- eared- stalks. Far better in every way 'to buy an extra quantity of seed corn. plant the strong-germinating cars, and use the rest for feed. A tremendous loss occurs every year in America as a. result of inferior seed corn, says the Farmer‘s Advocate. 31“or testing corn by the ear, several casy systems have been devised. They clans-list iii numbering the ears. say, with a label on the butt, then selecting fulll‘ or five representative kernels from cacli ear, and planting in a small box of sand or garden mould, divided off into squares corresponding to the num- bCâ€"red ears. By the promptncss and vig- a with which these representa tive kernels or otherwise of the least, a My situation was, to say Valiaiitly I that had while I would let my mind the terrifying thought that without doubt, unscru- liad pledged my honor to secret that appalling midnight and to not always as directed. herself, the woman whose voice whose hands: were soft to the touch, had forced me to this. To her alone was until at length it wrapped mo round and round, and a death-mask heart would of cold clay. Then my to die, even sink, my sight seemed sound would die until there seemed an awful voidâ€"tho void- of death for ever and for ever du'iiib. a dreadful, conquer- ing silence. A thousand times I regretted that I had in. that moment of my utter help- lessness given my promise to conceal the mysterious Jriiiie. Yet, when I re- collected. with what extraordinary iii- genuilyâ€"I had been deceived by the man whom I had believed to be. a valiCC- Envy is a confession of inner destp Sl'll‘Ollt, the ad‘Vléjrt’llfli‘iy constable, the deep cunning which had tution. usuig each particular ear is determin- ed. Bulls and tips should be broken tteii displayed in obtaining from my lips a statement of all the facts I knew, and the subsequent actions of the cool-head- ed Edna. my mind became confused. I could see no solution of the extraor- dinary problem, save that I believed her to be deeply implicated in; some plot which had culminated in the murder <»f the young man. and that she her- self had some strong personal motive in concealing the terrible truth. I ought, I knew, to. have gone to Scot- land Yard and made. a full and straight- forward deposition of the while inat- l‘Souii-d doctrine does .not cure a dis- eased! heart. ‘ The pursuit of truth leternal. youth, The richs st g'fts come out of the poor- est pockets. The life of service has few difficulties of conduct. A man’s title to glory does not deâ€" pend on the glory of his title. . You never lose your own joy by lend- ing an ear to another‘s woe. it doesnt take much fortitude to bear ai‘iotlier‘s misfortune. Ilappy is he who is too rich in faith' off and used for chicken or pig feed. A man is supposed, by this method, to be able to test from five to eight bushels of seed corn in a day, locat- ing all weak or bad ears. As one writ- er has expressed it, there are dimes for minutes in this work. Those who are obliged to buy shelled earn, as well as those who cannot be persuaded to take the slight trouble of testing their corn by the. car, should at least make a. general germination test, in order to guard against the possibil- ity of sewing seed so low in vitality that it will not produce a crop. This is par- is the secret of tt-r Nevertheldss, my story was a very in “hurry oval. ,1 form,” strange oneâ€"stranger, perhaps, than A square deal has soiiiothing beside ticulai'ly important in a cold, wet sea- of the many curious romances which sharp cage; and. angles to it. son, when only seed corn of the high- est vitality may lie‘dependcd on. This test should be made, if «possible, before i’iurchasing the seed, and certainly be- fore sowiiig any of it in the field. In a little box of earth in the window, or betwacn double folds: of flannel or blot- ting paper, place one or two hundred enemies when their enemies have them fll’Cl‘flgC 'kCl‘llClS- K0013 “10 CtlI‘UL Clom down. or paper moist, but not wet. If cloth Too «many giving the poor crusts on 0" llibIK‘l‘ is “50d. it ShOllld b0 ill the the street are stealing their bread in bOH-Olll Of a 13111110 0? diSh. With a110mor the alley. plate inverted over it. The promptiicss, When a man tells the truth about liim- vigor and DCI‘CCDUISC 0f SOl'mmfll'iON Wm self he is anxious for some one to can indicate whether the corn is fit to saw him a liar. or not, and, if sown, how much extra He who believes nothing until he un- seed should be used to make up for llarstaiids it fully must have a limited defunct grains. A few llOl].â€"Vltlb10 0110s iaiigc of knowledge. . in a sample are not of very serious con- Religion never makes a permanent- sequence in cnsilage corn, providing the ly pov'ei'fiil impression without steady proportion is known and allowed for, p 'actical expression. but any considerable number of weak, When you hear a man decrying the noii-vlgarmis kernels may. occasion good: you .may know he is discounting much loss. - what he cannot acquire. Seed corn should be tested every year, There would be little religious infidel- as a matter of course. but indications ity in this world but for our attempts are that it will be particularly necessary to force the forms of one man’s faith this spring. as- tlic iii‘iusually cold, wet on other men. season of 1007, in the corn-belt States, (lid not allow the corn to mature and dry out well before the scason of frost. the lilii'eclor Of The cross is irksomo only when we try to climb .it as a pedestal. The man who cannot find a god' in‘ the universe discovers one in a mirror. Only the morally asligmalic sec ly- ing as the only refuge in time of trouble. Some men are ready to forgive their are daily laid lief-tire iCriiiii=nal Investigations. After all, it might not. have been believed. I had no idea. where the scene of the tragedy was situate-d. and, having been. sight.- less at the time, had actually witncswd nothing. Theory upon thoui'y I foi'iilcd, but when I dug down to their roots I found that they inept-1y drew their strength from my own fear or imagin- ation, and were utterly worthless. Once or twice I contemplated disregarding my promise and making a [lllll slate- 'ii'ic.ii.t to the police; but on calm reflec- tion I saw that such a course was now absolutely useless. 'l‘wo months. had elapsed since the fateful night. and the bodyâ€"«or bodiesâ€"had, without doubt, 'l‘K‘CIlr disposed of long ago. Such in- genious ovild-ners would exert the ut-V most care in the disposition of the cor- piis dilecti, and would never run. i‘is'x of detection. They feared me, I felt as sured, and it was this ‘t.liought which constantly harassed me. f or if such were actually the case, then they had every incentive to take my life on the wellâ€" es-tabl'ishcd principle that. dead men tell no. tales. ' With the return of my vision- my sense of hearingr had, curiously enough, lee/nine bo'lli w *akcned and dislmted Sounds which I heard when bl. id pre- sented quite a different i'iiipresczien new that I could see. The blind hear where those with eyesight can detect nothing The ea rs of the former train tli-eiiisclvee to act. as. eyes also, yet the men-nit the vision. is recovered the sharpened sense of hearing again {lSSlllll‘rS its it"l‘- mat capacity. Hence I fouili that I could not new distinguish vale); and sounds so quickly as before; ll‘nlfl"fl. the voices.- nf those about me sounded sr'ce how different now that I had rec‘oi'eiv_-d my sight. My friends. into whose circle they declared. I had returned like. one from the grave, welcomed me everywhere, and I confess that, notwithstanding the impression. constantly upon- me, 1 en- joyed. iiiiyself to the top of my bent. I still remained in my dingy, smoke- griiiml rooms in Essex Street. really more for Parker's sake than for my own, and also, of course. in order to be near Dick when he returiiei'l, but nearly every evening I was out some- where. or other, going here and there aloui‘t town. I had long a go been a member of the Devonshirc, and had now returned, and si’eiit a good deal of tl‘pic there, even though- the main distinction of the club was the number of old f-o-gics who af- fteted it. hit I fcund it. a conweniently central- place to dine and idle away any llCll-I‘S of the day that I had to spare. In the middle of October, when most men I knew were away on the moors, I had. a. dinner ciigagen'ient one even- ing with the Channings, in Corn-wall Gardens. Colonel Clianning, a retired officer of the Guards, was a man I had known during the greater part of my lifetime. His service had been mainly of a di-pldiiiatic character, for he had served as British military attache at Berlin and Vienna, and new lived wilh us who and daughter in London. and seemed to divide his time mainly lw. v ’x‘ GRO\\’N UP \VITII HIM. An Irishman was in trouble about a gun found in his possession. The law, unfortunately for him, adopted. the un- kind: suggestion that he had stolen it. While awaiting his trial, he. was visit- ed by a friend, who urged him to stead- fastly adhere to the staleiiicnt that he had owned the gun for years. The friend, furthermore. cited how be him- self, when in similar difl‘icul-ty about a hen, had preserved- both- the hen and his character by swearing he had p09 sessed the bird since it. was a Chicken. The wisdom of this advice was not lost 011 Pat, and lie henceforth regarded his trial with the settled serenity of, if not conscious innocence, sanguine an- ticipaticn. On the. day appointed, when conclu- sive evidence against him had been ten- dered, he. was asked formally whether he had anything to say for himself. Pat throwing a. glance of shrivelling con- tempt at the prosecutor, turned to the judge and said: “The man's a perjuer villain, yer hori- (ll‘. That gun's bin in my possissioii, yer honor, ivcr since it was a’ pistol.‘ â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€">B TIIE DOOR ’DO OUR FEELINGS. Every person's feelings have a front door and a side door by which they may 'be entered. The front door is on the street. some keep it always open, some keep it latched, some locked, some bolted with a chain that will let. you pccp in but not get in, and some nail it up, so that nothing can pass its threshold. This front door leads into a j‘iassage which opens: into an ante- i'oem, and this into the interior apart- ments. The side door opens at once into the secret chamber. There is al- most always one key to the side door. This Is carried for years hidden in a mother‘s losom. Fathers, brothers, tors. and friends, often. but by no ‘iitcans so universally. have duplicates of it. The weddingâ€"ring conveys it “Oh, yes I am,” protested the over right. to one: alas. if none is given with dressed young lady. “Ma‘s at. liciiio it Be vt-i-y careful to whom you trust piecing a quilt'aiitl I'm out picking a (no of llzes: keys of the side door. spread.” CHURN CREAM SWEET AS POSSIBLE I have come to the conclusion that the shorter the time elapses between the. milking of the cow, and the manu- facture of butter, the better will be the quality of the butter. What we call a ripened cream flavor of the butter is an acquired taste. The true butter fla‘ vor is that which is made. from sweet cream, churned as soon as possible- af- ter the milk cemes from the cow. This so-called ripened cream flavor, is some- thing for which we have to develop an unnatural taste, and I put it in the same class as smoking cigars. drink- lug whiskey, and all these bad habits which the animal nil-iii has acquired. The butter which brings the high-est price in the iiiarkels of (treat Britain is made from cream with very little acid in .it. I think it. Is wrong for the but- ter-maker to develop 5-6 of acid in the Cl'Cfill'l before churning. It would be letter to churn the cream directly after separating, pasteurizlng and cooling. I thing I am safe. in saying that we have .l:.cen i‘i'iakiiig a iii-istake. in our melluids (2f i'i‘iaiiufactui-iiig butter. The. so~2mer we get it made -iiita butter after the milk CDllif‘S from the cow the better it will be. Many of the bad flavors in cream are caused by holding it too long before- churnlugsâ€"Prof. Dean. >I‘ PASSING OF THE PA'l‘l‘LNT. lliggiiisI-â€"“\\‘hat are you blackiug these shors forâ€"uncut they patent lca- tlicr?" \V’llfiglllfiâ€"“Tllff‘y were, out has expired.” but the pat. _. __..__.z. -.._ .__ SIMILAR BUT Dil’lrlilll'liVT. “I reckon you ain't. much like your ma.” said the old-fashioned woman as they met on the slret-t (-oriirr. . .A. summits. .... "H um“ . . .a