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4 -^; \* ' ; " "'. v- % " N r - ---.- .• \ :,•-• * , .**" -*'•«< ,-*. 7- *--y „ - <v<* • V : . . - ^ . - - - " V . ' ^ f C - ' V i ' i h . - ? l -'. '•..* : MoHBXRY PLAINDEALEB, McHEimr, Ti*. ^ M *-» ~p*w:S '•$*- «*9*f mmmtrnik -i- a -f n-r • • •. 'mk;:. • •. ^.. ^ ^>••# -«titf -?>• * ' . "•• **i '*' • ' ->- •1• $. u- • ..'/•w*-- ••• -vr/;* ' jS^m Ma fir GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON **'** ^. :*r-- ' . , . . ; C o p n U h t b j r ' S s M , Km4 41 Otmwiv. Ibo. •#» .at ^,7;. ;* J! •jfi* iiar'- irtr-ffi?! #,r "VIOLA GWYN, YOUR HALF-SISTER%; r&~ <rH •'V<* * & two colonial candlesticks stood in the center of the frtbfe, a foot or two apart. When Gwynne lifted his head after "grace," he looked directly between them at his vis-a-vis. For a few seconds he stand as if spellbound. Never had he looked upon a face so beautiful, never had he seen any one so lovely as this strange young woman who shared with him the hospitality of the humble board. Re had gazed for a moment full into her deep, violet eyes--eyes in which there was no smile, bui rather a cool intentness not far removed from unfriendliness-- and in thai moment he forgot himself, his manners and his composure. The toft light fell upon warm, smooth cheeks; a broad, white brow; red, sensitive lips and a perfect mouth; a round, firm chin; a delicate nose--and the faint shadows of imperishable dimples that even her unsmiling expression failed to"disturb. Not even in hit dreams had he conjured up a face so bewilderingly beautiful. Who was shef What was she doing here in the humble cot of the Strikerst Certainly she was out of place here. That she was a person of consequence, to whom the Strikers paid a rude sort of deference, softened by the familiarity of long association but in no way suggestive of relationship, he was in no manner of doiibt. He was not slow to remark their failure to present him to her. The omission may have been due to ignorance or uncertainty on their part, but that was noi the construction he put upon it. It was deliberate. That's the way the hero and herein* of thi# early tale bf (IndMna met for the first time. The hero ia Kenneth Gwynne, a young lawyer from Kentucky, going to Lafayette to take possession of lands left him by his father, recently deceased. When he was a small boy his father had run away with Rachel Carter, a widow, leaving his mother to die of a broken heart. Ken had been brought up to hat( the very name of Rachel Carter. His father's will had divided extensive properties between him and Rachel Carter. He stopa for the night at a fafm house near Lafayette, where ho ia known. He becomes quite interested in this handsome, mysterious girl, who says she knew his father well, but refuses to disclose her identity. By morning she Is gone. His host tells him, as he leaves, "That girl was Viola Gwyn, an' she's your half-sister." Inasmuch as Ken dldnt know that he had a half-sister, the statement is naturally a shock. Vioia Gwyn, daughter of his own father and the hated Rachel Carter! And he in love with her at first sight! Well, mystery follows mystery. Ken and Rachel Carter even become friendly, after a fashion. Ken and Viola quarrel and make up and grow friendly. And when Ken learns that Viola is not bis half-sister, he is bound hand and foot by the double secret of mother and daughter. Of course it ail turns out well---as all love stories should. The author Is George Barr McCutcheon--no need to say more. He proved that the story's the thing--not the author's name. After making his name famous through the "Graustark" stories, he wrote "Brewster's Millions" anonymously---tha moat popular of all his stories. Of late years he's writing largely about his native state, Indiana, or some other part of the Middle West. PROLOGUE 0-- • * --1-- •'Sr The Beginning. ^itaetli Gwynne was five years old when his father ran away with Rachel Carter, a widow. This was in the spring of 1812, and in the fall his mother died. His grandparents brought him np to hate Rachel Carter, an evil woman. She was his mother's friend and she had slain her with the viper's tooth. From the. day that his questioning intelligence seized upon the truth that had been so carefully withheld from him by his broken-hearted mother and those who spoke behind the hand when he was near--from that day he hated Rachel Carter with all his hot and outraged heart. He came to think of her as the embodiment of all that was eviL He rejoiced in the belief that In good time Rachel Carter would come to roast in the everlasting fires of hell, groveling and wailing at the feet of Satan, the While his lovely mother looked down upon her in pity--even then he wondered if such a thing were possible--from her seat beside God In His Heaven. He had no doubts about this. Hell and Heaven were real to hfm, and all sinners went below. On the other hand, his father would be permitted to repent and would instantly go to Heaven. It was inconceivable that his big, strong, well-beloved father should go to the bad place. But Mrs. Carter would ! Nothing could save hpr! God would not pay any attention to her if she tried to repeht; he would know it was only "make-believe" If she got down on her knees and prayed for forgiveness. He was convinced that Rachel Carter could not fool God. At first they told him his father had -gone off as a soldier to fight against the Indians and the British. He knew tfcat a war was going on. Men with guns were drilling in thte pasture up beyond his grandfather's house, and there was talk qf Indian "massacres," and Simon Girty's warriors, and Brit- Ish redcoats. He overheard his jjrandfather and the neighbors discussing a battle on Lake Erie, and rejoiced with them over the report of a great victory for "our side." Vaguely he had grasped the news of a horrible battle on the Tippecanoe river, far away in the wilderness to the north and west, in which millions of Indians were slain, and he wondered how many of tjiem his lather had killed with his rifle-- • weapon sp big and long that he came lass than liaff way*up the barrel when -ht stood beside it. And then, In the fall, his mother Went away and left him. They did not If 11 him she had gone to the war. He u would not have believed them if they - had, for she was too sick to go. She had been in bed for a long, long time; the doctor came to see her every day, tnd finally the preacher. He liated both of them, especially the latter, who prayed so loudly and' BO vehemently • that his mother must have been terrifcly disturbed. Why should every one caution him to be quiet and not make « noise because it disturbed mother, tod yet say nothing when that old /frencher went right into her room and yelled same as be always dld' ln; tfiurch? He went to the "burying," and was !f pore impressed by the fact that nearly ^|H1 of the men who rode or drove to .....the grsm>y«rd down in the "hollow" enrrk'd rifles and pistols than he was by the strange solemnity of the occasion, for, while he realized in a vague, •riatrustfui way that his mother was to be put under the ground, his trust clung resolutely to God's promise, accepted in its most literal sense, that the dead shall rise again and that "ye. shall be born again." He was very lonely after that. His "granny" tucked him in his big feather bed every night, and listened to his little prayer, but she was not the same a* his mother. She did not kiss him in the same way, nor did her hand feel like mother's when she smoothed his rumpled hair or buttoned his flannel nightgown about his neck or closed his eyes playfully with her fingers before she went away with the candle. His grandfather lived in the biggest house In town. It had an "upstairs"-- a real "upstairs"--not Just an attic. And his grandfather was a very important person. Everybody called him "Squire"; sometimes they said "your honor"; most people touched their hats to him. When his father went off to the war, he and his mother came to live at "grandpa's house." His father was the biggest man in all the world, there could be no doubt about that. Why, he was bigger even than grandpa, or Doctor Flint, or the parson, or Mr. Carter, who lived in the cabin next door and was Minda's father. For the matter of that, he was., himself, a great deal bigger than Minda, who was only two years old and could not say anywhere near as many words as he could say--and did not know her A B C's, or the Golden Rule, or who George Washington was. He was very.fond of MSnda's mother, "Auntie" Rachel. She was good to hlra. She gave him cakes and crullers and spread maple sugar on many a surreptitious piece of bread and butter, and she had a jolly way of laughing, and she never told him to wash his hands or face, no matter how dirty they were. In that one respect, at least, she was much nicer than his mother. He was four when they brought Mr. Carter home in a wagon one day. Some men carried him into the house, and Aunt out to the barn-lot, where their horses were tethered. Uncle Fred nnd Uncle Dan had their rifles. He stood at the kitchen window and watched them with wide, excited eyesa They all talked at once, especially his uncles-- and they swore, too. Then his grandpa stood In front of them and spoke very loudly, pointing his finger at them. He heard him say, over and over again: "Let them f<K I ttyt Jl teH yoto, let them go!" A He wondered why his father was not there, if there was any fighting to be done. The next day he went up to grandpa's with his mother to stay, and Uncle Fred told him that his pa had gone off to the war. He believed this, for were not the rifle, the powder horn and the shoe flask missing from the pegs over the fireplace, and was not Bob, the sery fastest horse in all the world, gone from the barn? He was vastly thrilled. J But he was troubled about Minda. Uncle Fred, driven to corner by persistent Inquiry, finally confessed that Minda'also had gone to the war,* and at last report had killed several extremely ferocious redskins. It was not until some time after his mother went away--after the long-tobe- remembered "fooneral," with its HIS Granny Tucked Him Big Feather Bed. in -His hymns, arid weeping, and praying-- that he heard the grownups talking about .the war being over. The redcoat's were' thrashed and there was much boasting and bragging among the men of the settlement. "Do you s'pose pa will know how to find me, grandma?" he would inquire. " Cause, you see, I don't live where I used to." And his grandmother, beset with this afd similar questions from one day's end to the other, would become very busy over what she was doing at the time and tell him not to pester her. Then one day lie saw ills grandparents talking together on the porch. He distinctly heard his grandma say: "I think ne ought to be told, Richard. It's a sin to let him go on thinking--" The rest of the sentence was lost to him when she suddenly lowered her volee^- - They were all looking at him. Presently his grandfather called to him, and beckoned with his finger. His grandfather took him on his knee, and then and there told him the about his father. "Now, pay strict attention, I£enne You must understand everything Ttiay to you. Do you hear? Your father is never coming Jiome., We told you lie had gone to the war. We thought it was best to let you think so. It Is time for you to know the truthN You are nearly six years old. Quite a man, my lad." He paused to look searchtruth^ Ingly into the child's face, his bushy eyebrows meeting In a frown. "The devil of It Is," he burst out, "you are the living Image of your father ., You tire going to grow up to l6ok like him." He groaned audibly, and went on in a strange, hard voice: "Do you know what It Is to steal? It means taking something that bstoags to somebody else." "Yes, sir. "Thou shalt not steal.' It's 1q the Bible." "Weil, you know that Indians and gypsies steal little boys, don't you? It is the very worst kind of stealing, because it breaks the boy's mother's heart. It sometimes kills them. Now, suppose that somebody stole a hus band. Your father was a husband. He was your dear mother's husband. You loved your mother very; very much, didn't you? Don't cry, lad--there, there, now I Be a little man. Now, listen. Somebody stole your mother's husband. She loved him better than anything in the world. She loved him, I guess, even better than she loved yon, Kenneth. She Just couldn't live without him. Do you see? That is why she died and went away. She Is in Heaven now. Now, let me hear yon say this after me: My mother died because somebody stole her husband away from Ivor." " 'My mother died because somebody stoled her husband away from her.' H rfepeated the boy, slowly. "Say this: My mother's heart was broken and so she died." " 'My mother's heart was broken and she--and so she died.' "• "You will never forget that, vriil~you, Kenneth?" "No, sir." i- "Now, I am going to tell you who stole yoxjr ipother's husband away from her. You know who your mother's husband was, don't you?" "Yes. sir. My pa." "One night--the night before yon came np here to live--your Auntie Rachel-- that Is what you called her, Isn't It? Well, she was not your real aunt. She was your neighbor--just as Mr. Collins over there is my neighbor--and she was your mother's friend. Well, that night she stole your pa from your ma, and took him away with her--far, far away, and she never let him come back again. She--" "But pa was blgger'n she was," Interrupted Kenneth, frowning. "Why didn't he kill her and get away?" The old squire was silent for a moment. "It is not fair for me to put all the blame on Rachel Carter. Your'father was willing to go. He did not kill Rachel Carter. Together he and Rachel Carter killed your mother. But Rachel Carter was more guilty than he was. Site was a woman and she-stole what belonged in the sight of God to another woman. So now you know that your pa .did not go to the war. He went awuy with Rachel Carter and left your mother to die of a broken heart. He went oft into the wilderness with that bad, evil woman. Your mother was unhappy. She died. She is under the ground up in the graveyard, all alone. Rachel Carter put her there, Kenneth. I cannot, ask you to hate your father. It would not be right. He is your father in spite of everything. You know what the Good Book say si 'Honor thy father and--' how does the rest of it go, my lad?" " 'Honor thy father aftd thy mother that thou days may be long upon thou earth,'" murmured Kenneth, bravely. "When you are a little older you will realize that your father did not honor his father and mother, and then you may understand more than you do now. But you may hate Rachel Carter. You must hate her. She killed your mother. She stole your father. She made an orphan of you. She destroyed the home where you used to live. You must not be unhappy over what I have told you. Everything will.be all right with you. You will be safe here with granny and me. But you must no longer believe that your father went to the war like other men In the village. If he were my son, I would--" "Don't say it, Richard," cried Kenneth's grandma, from the dooryay behind them. ~ "Don't ever say that tc him." Rachel cried, and his mother went over and stayed a long, long time with her, and his father got on his horse and rode off as fast as he could go for Doctor Flint, and he was not allowed to go outside the house air day --or old Boose would get him. His father did the "chores" for "Auntie" Rachel for a long time, because Mr. Carter was not there to attend to them. There came a day when the buds were fresh on the twigs, and the, grass was very green, and the birds that had been gone for a long time were singing again in the trees, and it was not raining. So he went down the road to play in Minda's yard. He called to her, but she did not appear. . No one appeared. The house was silent. "Auntio" Rachel was not there. Even the dogs were gone,- and Mr. Carter's horses and his wagon. He could not understand. Only yesterday he had played in the barn with Minda. Then his grandma came hurrying through the trees from his own home, where she had been with grandpa and Lncle Fred and Uncle Dan since breakfast time. She^took him up In her arms and told him that Minda was gone. He had never seen his grandma look so stern and angry. His mother was in fhe bedroom with grandpa and Aunt Hettle, and he was not allowed to go in to see her. Uncle Fred and Uncle Dan were very solemn and scowling so terribly that he was afraid to go near them. After a while all of the men went QUEEREST ENGLISH HAT STORE 8tock Has Been Kept on the Second Floor for More Than Hundred Years.% A man who attended thfe meetings of the International chamber of commerce came back by way of England.* He wanted a hat, and a business acquaintance, a man who" had tlttd for years in England, suggested a place to go. The shop was small and somewhat dingy, but Its windows held H hat which appealed. An old man appeared to be the only attendant. "Walt a moment, said the shop^ keeper, "and I'll bring you down a bat like the one In the window." . Bringing down the hat meabt a trip up a flight of stairs In the corner of the shop, and while the proprietor was gone the American looked about the place. There were hat boxes on the shelves, but no hats were on display, except in the window. , Presently down came the proprietor with the hat. It seemed to he whnt the American wanted, but he asked to see some other colors. Back ,up the steps went the shopkeeper, and down he came with more hats. The purchase was made, and while the hat was being wrapped -the American made some Inquiries regarding the business. He learned with astonishment that the hat store had been operated for more *han a hundred years; that the present proprietor that most of the stock of hats had been kept on the floor above the score ever - since the business had been started.--Nation's Business. Air Guards Us Worn Rain. If it were not for the resistance of the great ocean of air above, hailstones and raindrops would travel earthward with such a velocity that tl\fy might even kill us. A recent investigation, however, has shown that there is happily a limited speed which raindrops c&nnot exceed, because the faster they move the greater is the resistance of the air, and so at last they cease to move any faster. As an Illustration, suppose that a raindrop which had been formed in the sky had to drop through empty space to the earth. In tjrfe first second it would cover 16 feet, in the second It would cover 48 feet, and so on, and if we knew the height from which it commenced its downward career, we should be able to calculate its speed when It reached the earth. The people who study the speed of ships In water know that the same thing applies here also and that the faster the ship moves the greater.!* the resistance of the witer. was the grandson of the founder, and more heat. More Than Likely. If setin's janitor were anything like the average apartment house brand his tenants would mob be kicking for CHAPTER I •Shelter for the Night. Night was falling as two hontitaMn drew rein In front of a cablp at the edge of a clearing In the far-reaching somber forest. A man stood partially revealed in the doorway. His left arm and shoulder were screened from view by the jamb, his head was bent forward as he peered intently through narrowed eyes at the strangers In the road. "Whp are you, and what do you want?" he called out. "Friends. How far Is It to the tavern at Clark's Point?" "Clark's Point is three miles back, replied the settler. "Where you bound fer?" "Lafayette. I guess we're off the right road. We took the left turn four or five miles back." "What's takin'yon to Clark's Point? There ain't no tavern there." "My name is Gwynne. I left Crawfordsviile this morning, hoping to reach Lafayette before night But ^je road is so heavy we couldn't--" "Been ralnin' steady for nearly two weeks," interrupted the settler. "Hubdeep eyerywher*. I guess mebby we c'n find a place fer you to sleep tonight, and we c'n give yon somethin' fer man an' beast. If youlf jest ride around here to the barn wfell put the bosses up an' feed' em, and--Eliza, set out a couple more plates, an' double the rations all around. Where dq you come from?" he inquired* after a moment's hesitation. • , "My home hr ln Kentucky. 1 B*e at--" • "y- v ^'Kentucky, eh? Well, that's a good place to come from. I guess you're all right, stranger." ^ The gaunt settler conducted the unexpected guests to the barn, where, after they bad dismounted, he assisted in the removal of the well-filled saddlebag^ and roffs from the backs of their jaded horses. "Water?" he Inquired briefly. "No, suh," replied Zacharlah, blinking os the other held the lantern up thfe better to look into his face. Zacharlah was a young negro--as blaek as night, with gleaming white teeth which he revealed in a broad and friendly grin. "Had all dey could drink, marster. back yander at j3e crlck.,,v "We can't offer you much in the way of entertainment, Mr. Gwynne, but what we'V$ got you're welcome to." "I shall be greatly Indebted to you, -sir. The time will surely come when I may repay you-*-not in money, but In friendship. Pray do not let us discommode you or your household. I will be satisfied to sleep on the floor or In the barn, and as for Zacharlah, he--" "The barn 1s for the hosses to sleep In," interrupted the host, "and the floor is for the cat. 'Tain't my idee of fairness to allow human beln's to squat on proppety that rightfully belongs to hosses an* cats--so 1 guess you'll have to sleep in a bed, Mr. Gwynne." He spoke with a drawl. "Zacharlah c'n spread his blankets on the kitchen floor an' make out" somehow. Now, if you'll jl&t step over to the well yander, you'll find a wash pan. Eliza--I mean Mrs. Striker--will give you a towel when you're ready. Jest sing out to her. Here, you, Zacharlah, carry this plunder over an' put it In the kitchen. Mrs. Striker will show you. Be careful of them rifles of your'n. They go off mighty sudden If you stub your toe. You'll find a comb and lookin' glass in the settin' room, Mr. Gwynne. You'll probably want to put a few extry touches on yourself when I tell you there's an all-fired purty girl spendin' the night with us. Go along, now. I'll put the feed down for your hosses A be with you In less'n no time." "I am prepared and amply able t pay for lodging and food, Mr. Striker, so do not hesitate to--" "Save your breath, stranger. I'm as deef 4s a post." • With that he entered the barn door, leading the horses. Gwynne and his servant hurried through the darkness toward the light in the kitchen window. The former rapped politely on the door. It was opened by Mrs. Striker, a tall, comely woman well under thirty. He removed his tall, sorry-looking beaver. "Madam, your husband has instructed ray servant to leave our belongings in your kitchen. I fear they are not overly clean. Yonr kitchen is as clean as a pin. Shall I Instruct him to return with them to the barn and--" "Bring them in," she said, melting in spite of herself as she looked down from the doorstep into his dark, smiling eyes. His strong, tanned face was beardless his teeth were white, his abundan brown hair tousled and boyishly awr; --and there were mud splashes on his cheek and chin. He was tall nnd straight and his figure was shapely, despite the thick blue cape that hung from his shoulders. "I guess they ain't any dirtier than Phin Striker's boots are by this time or the year. Supper'H be ready In tftn or flteen minutes, Mr. Gwynne." His smile broadened. He sniffed gratefully. A far more exacting woman thah Eliza Striker would have forgiven this lack of dignity on his part. Zacharlah deposited the sadnlebags and rolls in the corner and then returned to the door, where he received instructions which sent him hack to open a bulging saddlebag and remove therefrom a pair of soft, almost satiny calfskin boots. As he hurried past Mrs. Striker he held them up for her Inspection, grinning from ear to ear. She gazed in astonishment at the white and silver ornamented tops, such as were affected by only the moat fastidious dandles of the day. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed, and then went to the sitting room to whisper excitedly to the solitary occupant, who. it so chanced, was at the moment busily and hastily employed In rearranging her brown, wind-blown hair before the round-topped little looking-glass over the fireplace. "I thought you said you wasn't gohf to see him," observed Mrs. Striker, after imparting her Information. "If you ain't, what are you fixin' yourself up fer?" "I have changed my mind. Ellaa," said the young lady, loftily. How floe* my hair look?" "You've got tiie pnrtleat hair la all the--" ' ' "I>on't be silly. It's terrible, aaoap of the time." "Well, it's spick an* span now, tf that'* what yon want to know," grumbled Eliza, and. vanished, fingering her straight, straw-colored hair feoniAwhat resentfully. Meanwhile, Kenneth Gwynne, having divested himself of his dark blue "swallow-tail," was washing his face and hands at the well. The settler approached with the lantern. "Storm's comln'," he shouted above the howling wind. "I guess you'd better dry yourself in the kitchen. Hear her whlzzin' through the trees? Gosh all hemlock! She's goin' to be a snorter, stranger. Hurry Inside!" They bolted for the door and dashed into the kitchen just as the deluge came. Phineas Striker, leaning his weight against the door, closed It and dropped the bolt The sitting-room door opened suddenly and the other guest of the house gilded Into the kitchen. Kenneth Gwynne bowed very low to the newcomer. * The dim candle light afforded him a most unsatisfactory glimpse of her features. He took In et * glance her tall, trim figure, the burnished crown of hair, and the surprisingly Biotiish frock she wore. He had seen no other like It since leaving the older, more advanced towns along the Ohio. He was startled. In all his journeyings through the land he had seen no one arrayed IlVe this. It was with difficulty that be overcame a quite natural impulse to stare at her as if she were some. curiosity. The contrast between this surprising creature and the gingham aproned Eliza was unbelievable. 'There was but one explanation: She was the mistress of the house^EUsa the servant « "Now's your chance to get at the lookln'-glass, Mr. Gwynne," said Striker. "Right there In the slttln' room. Go ahead; I'll manage this." Seated in a big wooden rocker before the fireplace, Gwynne stretched out his long legs one after the other; Zachariah tugged at the' heavy, madcaked riding-boots. "Dere won't never be any mo'oln'," gulped the unhappy Zacharlah, bending lower to his task, which now had to do with the boot-straps at the Bottoms of his master's trouser-legs. Then he pulled the trouser-legs down over the boots, obscuring their upper glory; after which he smoothed out the wrinkles and fastened the instep straps. Whereupon, Kenneth arose, stamped severely on the hearth several times to settle his feet In the snug-fitting-boots, and turned to the looking-glass. He was wielding the comb with extreme care and precision when his host turned from the wimdow and approached. "'Pears to me the worst Is over, don't you reckon so?" said he. Kenneth, having adjusted his stock and white roll-over collar to stilt his most exacting eye, slipped bis arias into the cost Zacharlah Was holding The Other Quest-of the Houee QllcM Into the Kitchen. for him, settled the shoulders with a shrug or two and a pull at the fiarlag lapels, smoothed his yellow brocaded waistcoat carefully, and then, spreading his long, shapely legs and at the same time the tails of his coat, took a commanding position with his back to the blazing logs. "Are you referring to my toilet, Mr. Striker?" he Inquired amiably. "I was talkin' about the storm," explained Phineas hastily. "Are you1 plannln' to work the- farm yourself, Mr. Gwynne, or are you goin' to sell er rent on shares?" Gwynne looked at him In surprise. "You appear to know who I am, after all, Mr. Striker." ' Kenneth meets a handsome and mysterious young woman. '•" Va* • Child's Best laxative falifomia Fig Syni| It H""'. • - •a'r^V W' •Si*,. : Hurry Mother! 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' So saying she turned condescend^ " ingly to the lubor leader's wife. - \ "Oh, I don't clean mine," said thdj V" latter sllkliy. "When they are dirty ) I simply throw them away."--Detroit^ ^ News.: * r-' GIRLS! HAIR 'hXyiT (TO M OONTUIDIftl . % 6-..^ *' • •" THICK AND BEAUTIFUl^ 8£Cent "Danderine" Does Wonders fo£. Lifeless, Neglected Hair. - • gleamy tna*i^ r of luxuriant ,hafcj^. full of gloss, lUSi- ' ter and life short* - ly follows a genu?. r ine toning up o| neglected scale with dependably "Danderine.** Falling h a 1 r; Itching scalp an^ the dandruff corrected Immediately. Thin, dryj| wispy or fading hair la quickly invlgot, rated, taking on new strength, color, and youthful beauty. "Danderine" 1%. delightful on the hair; a refreshing, stimulating tonic--not sticky or greasy t Any drug store.--Advertisement Firet U. S. Army Uniform* At the beginning of the AmericaiT^ Revolution each regiment provided it4^^ #|g own uniforms. As these were dls^W^ V " carded the soldiers wore any clothe^^^ -* that were available. Such uniform^ n as were worn were English In design, ' substituting blue for scarlet coats. At , the close of th&. war uniforms werer procured for the few "troops retained - In service. They resembled the French; uniforms of the day, the infantry . wearing blue faced with white, and the artillery blue faced with red. Later cavalry was added, the uniforms be* Ing green faced first with white, later - with black. . ' --- •ukiTr Cuticura 8oap for the Complexion. Nothing 'better than Cuticura Soapi daily and Ointment now and then asL needed to make the complexion clear. Scalp clean and hands soft and white. Add to this the fascinating, fragrant Cuticura Talcum, and you have the Cuticura Toilet Trio.--Advertisement, College Gets Rare Manuscript , " The Beehive,' a monumental manuscript written by Francis Daniel PastoriUs, founder of Germantown, has been loaned to the University of Pennsylvania by his descendants," says the Philadelphia North American. "The book, which consists of about" 1,000 closely-written pages, was written, according to I'astorlus, a£ a leg-' ' acy to his son and to rest his mind of, many facts that are in it. It was never" printed. The volume is written in several different languages, including Latin, Greek, German and English. It - contains much dry humor mixed with: :m . philosophy." , """ *CASCARETS" FOR LIVER AND BOWELS--10c A BOX,. * j Cures Biliousness. Constipation, 81ckP. Headache,Indigestion. Drug store*.^.dr, ' ® "• ad Time to Think *Cf!trrles, do you love ine as as you thought you would before we were married ?" H didn't think before we were flUUS rted. 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