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THE LA CHAPTER I--(Contid.) "You don't know stage life as I do," he continued seriously. "There are women--and men for that matter ~--who go into the profession clean % skinned, clean souled. They speiy} their lives in it and come out clean; but there are experiences they never forget." "Is lif as bad as that?" the girl asked simply. "Life is as bad," her brother an- . swered slowly, "and yet I would as willingly see you go on the stage as into « society--I mean fashionable society, as I know it here in New York. A newspaper man sees the under side of life." "It would not hurt me." The girl tossed back a heavy braid of hair which fell over her shoulder, and knelt at Wentworth's knee. 1 have you always to turn to, big . _ brother," she whispered. She laid her : cheek fondly against his hang, "Don't you remember that used to be the only name I had for you? You were so big, © 80 strong, so wise and so--old. I used to sit on the gatepost, waiting for you to come home. Don't you remember our Saturday tramps, how we used to play 'I spy' in the orchard, and went bird's-nesting, picnicking and fishing, or playing Indian camp on the is- land 7" Enoch clasped her hands tightly. "I remember, little Dorry. They were . the happiest days of my life." "Let us get out of the city," cried the girl. Their eyes turned to the sunlit square below. The morning rush of New York life hal begun, with its clang of bells and thunder of vehicles. ' "Dorcas, I'm off to bed. hut en eye for 24 hours." I haven't ' CHAPTER II "A week later Wentworth and his sister left town for a vacation. They had discovered an old-fashioned farm- * house on a quiet stretch of shore, and - settled down contentedly to a simple, outdoor life. One morning a telegram poke their solitude. i "I have half an hour to catch a "train to the city," said Enoeh, as he 'tumbled out of a hammock. "You may 'drive me to the depot if you wish, orcas." = "You're not called back to that hot ee," she cried wistfully "after a aca of only three days?" * "It isn't the paper. Dorcas, it's ery. Get into the buggy; I'll tell ju about it on our way to the station. PSE OF ENOCH WENTWORTH By ISABEL GORDON CURTIS, Author of * The Woman from Wolvertons "' is filled with y | stay with us till we go hom AAD "| 'worth an ve ie fresh, young | i his head Pk Seren " m. delighted," cried hook and 16oke s «1 think he ought to be 'waked up. "To join our Rehing erin]: 5 #1 mean waked in his ambitions. He seems to mé like a man who has no ! ight. He needs something to goal In Sight, last night of one! work for. He spoke ambition he has--" You may 'drive" He leaned back comfor'ably in the wide seat. "You like driving I don't" : "What's 'the matter with Mr. Merry?" Dorcas asked. "Is he ill?" "Not that, but he's in danger of kill- ing his career. He's going up the state to a little one-horse town to play lead- ing roles in a ten, twenty, thirty stock company." hy " does he do that?" "I guess he's broke. I can't tell until IT see him, I'll be back to-night, or to-morrow at the latest. I'll wire you what train. You'll meet me, won't you?" ; "Of course," she promised. Next morning tre two men stood on the platform of the smoker on a shore accommodation train, which sauntered from one small sation to the next, skirting the water for miles. Andrew Merry tossed a half-smok- ed cigar 'into a swamp besile the track where the thin, green blades of cattails were whipped by the breeze. "I don't beliéve I want to mix odors this morning," he said. "It is great ozone." Wenteworth lifted his hat to let the wind cool his head. "There)q the little station now! I'll bet that speck of white is Dorcas!" "How queer that I've never met | wring the heart your sister," Merry suggested. "Is she grown up?" Wentworth laughed. = "Almost," he admitted. "You did see her once." | Merry followed Wentworth as the | train stopped. In a half-dozed fash- ion he shook hands with a tall young woman in a white linen gown. Was | this the child--long limbed, gawky-and shy---he had imagined he might meet? Somewhere back in his mind lay an impression that Enoch had referred to his sister as a young colt. The thought was so sbsurd that he smil- ed; any coltish awkwardness must, have disappeared with short frocksj Merry stared at the girl with bes wildered admiration, wondering now why he had never felt the milpest curiosity about Wentworth's sister, He became conscipus that he was making a mental analysis; she had black-fringed gray eyes; warmth and dancing blood glowed in her face, for she had the coloring of a Jack rose; a mass of suburn hair was coiled in a loose knot at the back of her head; she wore no hat; a band of dull-blue|. velvet was tied about her head and fell in a loose bow over her ear, but strands of hair, which glowed like copper in the sunshine, had escaped anyl blew about her face; she had the "Sort of sagouligh eried her brother. 3rd i No--not that. He's determined to jump straight into a part that will out = his listeners: cI "That's. foolish. . The public want: just so much versatility. ou can't kill off. a beloved comedian to: resur- rect a new emotional actor, no matter] how good he may be. People won't stand for it." vena "He isn't satisfied." The girl pulled up her line and tossed away & morsel of nibbled bait, covering the hook with |, a fresh clam. . "Some greedy fish had a square meal off your bait and never got the hook in his gullet. He'll come back for more, then get caught, It's the panie way with human beings." "Philosopher!" laughed Dorcas. She dropped her line again into deep wa- ter an} waited for her brother's pre- diction to come true. i Merry had breakfast before their return. He sat upon the vine-grown piazza, gazing at the sparkle of 'the ocean, when the two agile figures stepped across his vision. "Well, Sir Lazy, so you're up!" cried the girl. "You should have been with us to find an appetite. See our fish! Here's a dinner for you!" ? "I'm going to turn over a new leaf," said Merry. His ayes were fixed on: the girl's gdowlng face, and for a mo- ment he shared her intense enjoyment of life. "Will you turn it over to-morrow morning at sunrise?" she demanded. "Even so soon, most gracious lady." He swept her a stage bow, his soft hat trailing the ground as if it 'had been a cavalier's cap loaded with plumes. Matching his grace, the girl turned to him, laughing, with the mock dignity of a queen. "I command that at early dawn, when the tide goes out, ye hie three to yon flats and dig clams for our savory mea " "Ishallobey, most royal highness," answered Merry solemnly. "I believe he is waking up," thought Dorcas as she ran upstairs to dress for the noon dinner. "If he does that, I'll believe he has some backbone." When Dorcas and her brother came down next morning for breakfasy, Merry had disappeared. "I'm glad I'm not your victim," said Wentworth, with a note of sym- pathy in his voice. "Enoch," the girl turned to him gravely, "I told you he needed waking up, and this is a good start. It won't hurt him a bit." "Poor Merry! What a sight!" They watched him come tramping over the beach. He wore Farmer Hutchins'. gveralls rolled up to his knees and a flapping cow-breakfast hat. He carried a clam fork and oec- se . [/ / IE ® k ry -- 4: 3, k for the 3 solutely % , a. Ta 1a lor every pack solves instantly in your teacup or on V 2and5-1bh Cartons casionally shifted a heavy basket of clams from one arm to the other. Dorcag Wentworth stopped on the crest of a cliff and looked down. A few feet below her, on a ledge likea wide' shelf, Merry lay watching the waves as they broke against the jag- ged walls of a narrow cove. #"Day-dreaming, Mr. Merry?" cried the girl CHAPTER IIL .'He sprang to his feet. "Why, I never heard you. Do you wear velvet shoes? Let me help you down." He began to climb the uneven steps. "The idea of helping me down, after 1 have made my way alone over these chasms!" She pointed to the wall be- hind her. Then resting one hand on his shoulder, she leaped -past him lightly. "What a heavenly retreat!" "Yes," answered Merry, dreamily*k ft Gassiopea's Chair." " "Who was Cassiopea? "47've forgotten. Some satellite crea- ture, I believe, Her name has a rest- ful sound, and this plac is destful and lonely." = . ! The girl laughed. dreaming?" : "I suppose so. I was watching these waves. Most of them break withouta splash; then once in 2a while, away out as far as your eye can reach, you see one roll up, gathering force from you can't imagine where, and it comes on tempestuously throigh a calm sea, to crash againstithe oliffs. £. metimes it throws its sprays up here" He painted to a wet line an the rack just below them. "Then again, one which promises to be a ripper amounts to nothing when it breaks". "Yes it is fascinating," she agreed. "Yesterday I pent an hour watching them: It makes me think of people." "What people?" he demanded, not understanding. ¥ "All sorts. People who never do anything, who saunter through life and are the failures, and the few who lives after their work is done. : "Merry," in her intensity the girl adressed him as her brother did; "they make me think of you. You could' make a towering big wave of your life. "You don't!" oh The man turned quickly and looked into her eyes with flushed face. He did not speak. "I .wih--oh, I do wish"--Dorcas' voice was like that of an ardent child "I wish I could rouse you to make the best of yourself. There is so much you could do!" an "Do you deally think so?" § "No, IT don't think it, Iknow it. You are two Jecplej one is lazy and indifferent with just ambition enough to 'do the work you have to do. You found it several days ago. I've called "Were you day- can't help doing it well--you could.not |" do it badly. 'Then there is the other--| a | with vivid imagination, feelin emotion, | Labllieys but jt lo so h 9 Toll zy ER he Wein The calf 'be with its mother for away {rom the cow and if possiple of 'her sight and hearing. sus During the first week after rémoval from its mother, it should: receive about 9 Iba. of milk a day, divided into two or three feeds, preferably in- to three. After this, skimmed milk should begin gradually to replace ti whole milk, so that by the time calf is three weeks old, it getting skimmed milk only, according to th esize and thriftiness of the calf. A teaspoonful of blood flour added to each feed of skimmed milk adds to its feeding value and prevents scours. The skimmed milk should always be fed warm, 98 to-100 degrees or blood: heat, being about Ein in e bucket from which \ fed should be washed he -- after each feeding. The use of filthy slop buckets and unclean and sour milk will surely resu thrifty calves and in of Eh with scours, Gét On' Feed Within three or four weeks the calf will begin to eat bran and shelled corn, and will nibble at hay. A fmall 'amount of these materials should, therefore, be provided. Good clean clover or alfalfa hay gives the hest results. Care should be ' taken not to give too much grain. A safe rule is to give a little less than the calf wil clean up. . . At the age of ten to twelve weeks, if a good pasture is available, the calf will be able to get a living from al BT quan sl mi only, the - Care should be taken at this time ge avoid stunting the' calf, and enough' grain should be given to keep it in a | thrifty growing condition ,but. not fat. Teaching the calf to drink out of a bucket requires' a little patience. Gently back the calf into a corner of +the stall, stand astride the youngester, wet the fingers in the milk and Tet the calf get a taste of the milk. Then gently lower the head into the pail.-- Canadian Farm. = 0 © Co The Farm Office. Farming is a business and the manager of one is, or should be, a business man. Every city business 'man has an office because it hag proven an asset to his business. A few farmers have also tried it and proven its efficiency. = should have a business office, even if it is no more than a space parti- tioned off in the tool house, ave' as <h When this is the case; the | "A few reasons why every farmer |' SG /AS THE TRIAL a | 1. Bulletins adapted to every phase of the farming business are now a- vailable, and urless these are filed away, they are never to be found hen wanted. when the successful farmer will know: something of 'sclence, and an office a good place to make his experiments on soils or other mater- ; There is no farmer but keeps some accounts, more or less correct according to the business ability of the man. He should have a place LY | to keep these account books. Neatly great deal of trouble fointed farm stationery, and a typeT writer in his office will help the farm- er to find a better market for his pro-. ducts. : ¥ The cost of fitting a farm office can depend upon the inclinations of the man. It should contain a desk, pre- ferably roll top on account of its many. drawers and pigeon holes, an exten sion of the 'phone from the house; shelves or cabinet for filing his books, pamphlets and samples; a stove and a table for his experiments. Other equipment nay be added as is needed. --@G. D. Fuller, in Farm and Dairy. =~ The Horse Collar. The horse collar should fit snugly. It should not pinch at the crest of the neck and there should be room en- ough between the collar and lower part of the neck to admit the hand freely when not pulling. ' The contact surface 0 fthe collar should be smooth and plastic and distributed over as much bearing surface as possible. The incrustations that form on a collor should be removed daily to prevent in- 7 creased friction. Sweat pads onvalse J] collars should not be used except - cases where the animal has been gal ed or hag a collar boil, and in this. case a window should be cut in the pad so as to prevent the bearing sur- face of the collar coming in contact with the injured part--S. O'Toole, North Dakota Experiment Station. _ Any kind of shell is to produce. : Powdered © sulphur. quenches fire '| more rapidly than water. follows : "SI "Silver Gloss" has been doing very expensive