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"MINDA 18 ALIVS" , ft".".: ffTNOPSIS.- was five years old tp the spring of lfcU when his father ran away from Kentucky with Ruchel Carter, a widow. They took with them Minda Carter, Ra-:hels baby daughter. In the fall Kenneth'* mother died of a broken heart. His grrandparents brought him up to hate the name of Rachel Carter, "an evil woman." . . Kenneth, now a young lawyer, seeks lodging for the night at the farm of Phlneas Striker, near Lafayette, Ind. It appears that Ken's father has recently died and that he Is on his way to take possession of extensive lands he haa inherited. The Strikers bought their farm of Ken's father and a mortgage runs to his father's widow--the Rachel Carter. A beautiful nineteen-yearold girl, who says she knew his father well and refuses to give her name. 1s visiting the Sirikora. Ken is much interested in lmr. In the morning the girl i(tfk"ie. Striker tells Ken she wasflanning to elope with Barry Lapelle and her mother came In the night and took her home. As Ken goes on his way Striker tells him: "That girl was Viola Gwyn an' she's your half-sister." A handsome dashing young fellow rides up and Introduces himself as Barry Lapelle. Isaac Stain a farmer, gives Ken a message from Viola to ball. At Lafayette Ken finds that the will divides an extensive property between Ken and Rachel Gwyn. Viola is not mentioned, but has decided not to oontest. Ken calls at Viola's home and finds Rachel Instead of Viola. . > . CHAPTER VI--Continued. The sound of her voice released him from the brief spell of srupefaction. , "I know you. I remember you. You •re Rachel Carter," he said hoarsely. She was staring at him as if fascinated. Her Hps moved, but no sound Issued from tbem. He hesitated for an instant and then turned to pick up his hat and gloves. "1 came to see your daughter, madam ---as well you know. Permit "me to take my departure." "You are so like your--" she began' *rltb an effort, her voice deep and low With emotion. "So like him I--I was lightened. I thought he had--" She broke off abruptly^ lowered her head lb an attempt to hide from him the trembling lips and chin and to regain. If possible, the composure that had been so desperately shaken. "Waltl" ihe cried, stridently. "Walt! Do not «° away. Give me time to--to---" "There Is no need for us- to pro- ' long--" he began In a harsh voice. "I will not keep you long," she Inter- ,' ^ iupted, every trace of emotion vanishing like a shadow that has passed. She %as facing him now, her head erect, her voice steady. Her dark, cavernous •yes were upon him; he experienced an odd, indescribable sensation--as of V 'Shrinking--and without being fully \ %ware of what he was doing, replaced , lUs hat upon the table, an act which --Signified involuntary surrender on his - -fart. "Where Is Viola?" he demanded sternly. "She left word for me to come here. Where Is she?" "She is not hwe," said the woman. "She has gone over to spend the afterv (boon with Effle Wardlow. I will be frank with you. This is not the time for misunderstanding. She asked Isaac Stain to give you that message fit my request--or command, if you -Want the truth. I sent her away be- 'tause what I have to say to you must said In private. There Is no one if; In the house besides ourselves. Will you do me the favor to be seated? Very well; we will stand." ; She walked to one of the windows and, drawing the curtains aside, swept the yard and adjacent roadway with a long, searching look. - The Strong light fell full upon her face; Its warmth seemed suddenly to «|>alnt the glow of life upon her patlid ikln. He gazed at her Intently. Ost f^f the past there came to him with - Startling vividness the face of the Rachel Carter he had known. Time and JJhe toil of long, hard hours had brought ;<$eep furrows to her cheeks, like lines {hlseled In a face 6f marble, but they %ad not broken the magnificent body of the Rachel Carter who used to toss fclm joyously into the air with her strong young arms and sure hands. jBut there was left no sign of the Itroad, rollicking smile that always attended those gay romplngs. Her lips were firm-set, straight and unyielding --a hard mouth flanked by what seemed to be absolutely Immovable lines. She faced him, standlr^ with her back to the light "Sooner or later we would have had to meet," she said. "It Is best for both of us to have it over with at the very start." "1 suppose you are right," said he , stiffly. "You Jcnow how I feel toward you, Rachel Carter. There is nothing either of us can say that will make the situation easier or harder, for that matter." ? **Y«s--I understand," said she cnlmljr. "You hate me. You have been A brought up to hate me. 1 do not question the verdict of those who condemned me. but you may as well understand at once that I do not regret what I did twenty years ago. 1 have : not repented. I shall never repent. We need not discuss that side of the - question any farther. You know/ my history, Kenneth Gwynne. You are the only person la thljf. part of the world who does know k. When 4 he controversy first came up over the settlement at your father's estate. I • feared that you would reveaitbe story ^ cf tny--" r 1 H» h«i-i a*> Ms hand. Interrupting X k*r. "I eaa say t.* you now, Rachel I do not intend to up that ugly story. I do not make war on helpless women." Her lips writhed slightly, and her eyes narrowed as if with pain. It was but a fleeting exposition of vainerability, however, for In another Instant she had recovered. "You could not have struck harder than that If yon had been warring against a strong man," she said gently. A hot flush stained his cheek. "It Is the way I feel, nevertheless, Rachel Carter," he said deliberately. "You can think of me only as Racltel Carter," she said. "My name is Rachel Gwyn. Still It doesn't matter. I am past the point where I can be hurt. You may tell the story "if It suits your purpose. I shall deny nothing. I wanted you to come here todfty, to see me alone, to hear what I have to say--not about myself--hut about another. I am a woman of quick decisions. When I learned early this morning that you would be In Lafayette today, I made up my mind to take a certain step--and I have not changed It." "If you are referring to your daughter-- to my half-sister. If you will--I have only to remind you that my mind is already made up. You need hhve no fear that I shall do or say anything to hurt that Innocent girl. I am assuming, of course, that she knows nothing of--well, of- what happened back there in Kentucky." "She knows nothing," said the woman, In a voice strangely low and tense. "If she ever knew, she has forgotten." "Forgotten?" he cried. "Good G--d, how could she have forgotten a thing so--" She moved a step nearer, her burning eyes fixed on his. "You remember Rachel Carter well enough. Have you do recollection of the little girl you used to play with? Minda?" "Of course I remember her," he cried impatiently. "I remember everything. You took her away with you and--why did you not leave her behind as my father left me? Why could you not have been as fair to your child as he was to his?" She was silent for a moment, pondering her answer. "I do not suppose It has ever occurred to you that I might have loved my child too deeply to abandon her," she sald^a strange softness in her voice. "My father loved me," he cried oat, and yet he left me behind." f "He loveo you--yes--but 'fce would not take you. He left you with some one who also loved you. Don't ever forget that, Kenneth Gwynne. I would not go without Minda. No more would your mother have gone without yon. Stop! I did not mean to offend. So you do remember little Minda?" "Yes, I remember her" But" she Is dead. Why do you mention her--" "Minda is not dead," said she slowly. , "NoUjfrwhy. she was drowned In the--" "No. Mlnda Is alive." Ton saw her last night--at Phlneas Striker's house." He started violently. "The girl I saw last night was--Mlnda?" he cried. "Why, Striker told me nhe was--" "I know--I know," she Interrupted Impatiently. "Striker told you what he believed to be true. There is not a drop of Gwyn blood In her body?' "Then, she is not my half-sister?" he exclalnu-d, utterly daaedthjit aware 'hi m old when we came away--too young to remember anything. She Is nearly twenty-two now, although she believes she is but nineteen. She does not remember any other father than Robert Gwyn. She has no recollection of her own father, nor does she remember you. Sh»--" "Last night sh% described heir father to me," he Interrupted. "Her supposed father, I mean. She made it quite plain that he did not love her as a father should love his own child." "It was not that," she said. "He was afraid of her, mortally afraid of her. He lived In dread of the day when she would learn the truth and turn upon him. He always meant to tell her himself, and yet he could not find the courage. Toward "the end he could not bear to have her near Jiiia. I do hot believe he would .have loved a child If one had come to him and me, no child of mine cotiljl take J.he place you had In his heart." She spoke with calm bitterness. "You say she told you about him last night. I a to not surprised that she should have spoken of him as she did. It was not possible for her to love him as a father. Nature took good care of that. There was a barrier between them. "I have told you the truth, because 1 am as certain as I am that I stand here now that you would have found it all out some day, some day soon, perhaps. In the first plac,e your father did not mention her In his will. That rilone Is enough to cause you to wonder. Ydu understand I cannot exact any promises from you. You will do as you see fit In the matter. There Is one thing that you must realize, however. Viola has not robbed you of anything--not even a ,father's love. She does nt>t profit by his death. He did not leave her a farthing, not even a spadeful of land. I am entitled to my share by law. I earned my share--I worked as hard as he did to build up a fortune. When I die my lands and my money will go to fliy daughter. You need not hope to have any part In them. I do not ask you to keep silent on my account. I only ask you to spare her. Now you know everything. There Is no need for you to speculate. There Is nothing for you to unravel. You know who Viola is, you know why she was left out of your father's will. The point Is this, when all Is said--she piust never know. She must always--do you hear me?--she must always look upon you as her brother. She must never know the truth about me. I put her happiness, her pride, her faith, In your hands, Kenneth Gwynne." He had listened with rifcld attention, marveling at the calm, dispassionate, unflinching manner In which she had stated her case and Viola's--indeed, she had stated his own case to him. "There Is no other course open to me," he said, raking up his hat. He was very pale. "There la nothing more to say, now or hereafter. We have had, I trust, our last conversation. I hate you. I could wish you all the unhappiness that life can give, but I am not such a beast as to tell your daughter what kind of a woman you are. So there's the end. Good-day, Rachel Carter." He turned away, his hand was on the door latch, before she s;>oke again "There is something more," she said, without moving from the spot where e had stood throughout the recital, was my pleading, back in those other days, that finally persuaded Robert Gwyn to let me brln^ Minda up as his daughter. He waS^bitterly opposed to it at first. He was as firm as a rock on one point, however. He would bring her up as his daughter, but he would not give her his name. It was after be agreed to my plan that he changed the spelling of his own name. That was his real, reason for changing his name. "In the beginning, as I have told you, he believed It to be hls^duty to tell her the truth about herself. He was sincere 'n that. But he did not have the heart to tell her after years had passed.. Now let me tell you what •be *It he did a few weeks before he passed away, and you will know what a strange man he was. He came home one duy and said to me: 'I have put Viola's case in the hands of Providence. I hav"e written It all out and I have hidden the paper In a place where she Is not likely ever to find It --where I am sure she will never look. I will not even tell you where It Is hidden, for I do not trust you--no, not even you. You would seek It out and destroy it. If she ever comes across the paper It will be a miracle, and miracles are not the work of man. So It will be God Himself who reveals the truth to her.' Now you can see, Kenneth, that the secret Is not entirely In our keeping. There is always the chance that she may stumble upon that paper." "You are right," he said, deeply Impressed. "There is always the chance that It will come to light. Are you sure that no one else knows that she Is not his daughter?" "I am sure of It," she repUed with decision. "And there Is nothing more you have to tell mef "Nothing. You may go now."* As he walked rapidly sway fro!* the house In the direction of Main street he experienced a sudden sense of exaltation. Viola was not his sister 1 As suddenly came the reaction, and with It stark realization. Viola could never be anything to him except a sl«t«t|N-.->v CHAPTER VII Brother and 8leter.' As bfe turned into Main street he espied the figure of a' woman coming toward him from the direction of the public square. His mind was so fully occupied with thoughts of a most disturbing character that he paid no attention to her, except to note that she was dressed in black and that, in holding her voluminous skirt well off the ground to avoid the mud puddles, she revealed the bottom of a white, beruffled petticoat. His meditations were Interrupted and his Interest suddenly aroused when he observed that she had stopped stock-still In the path. After a moment, she turned and walked rapidly, with scant regard for the puddles, in the direction from Which she had come. Fifteen or twenty paces down the road she came to what was undoubtedly a path or "short cut" through the wood. Into this she turned hastily and \yas lost to view among the trees and hazel brush. He had recognized her, or rather he had divined who she was. He quickened his pace, bent upon overtaking her. Then, with the thrill of the hunter, lie abruptly whirled and retraced his steps, chuckling in anticipation of her surprise when she found him waiting for her at the other end of the "short cut." He could hear her coming through the brush, although her figure was still obscured by the tangle of wild wood. She emerged, breathless. Into a little open spot, not twenty feet away, and stopped to listen, looking back through the trees and underbrush to see If she was being followed. Her skirts were drawn up almost to the knees and pinched closely about her gray-stock, inged legs. Hev gallantly turned away and pretended to be studying the house,across the road. Presently he felt his ears burning; he turned to meet the onslaught of her scornful, convicting eyes. "Ah, there you are," he cried, lifting his hat. "I was wondering whether you would .come out at this--" "Can't you see I am trying to avoid you?" she demanded with extreme frigidity. "I wish yon would go away. I don't want to see yqxt--or talk to you." "Then why did you leave word for me to come to your hofise to see yon?" he challenged. ^ , "I suspect you know by thl« time," she replied, significantly. Itated, regarding out." •xmx+z+x*x*x*z*x*x+x+x+x*x»x+x<>x*x*x+»x*x«x«+x+x» "Live Wires'* Are of Two Kinds "The 8ecret Is Not Entirely in Our Keeping." of the exquisite sensation of relief that was taking hold of him. "She Is no blood relation of yours," "Does she know that she Is not my father's daughter?" "No. She believes herself to be his own flesh and blood--bis own daughter," said she with the dellberateness of one weighing her words, that they might fall with full force upon her listener. "Why are you telling me all this?*' he demanded abruptly. **What Is your object? If she does not know the truth, why should I? Good G--d. woman, you--you do not expect me to tell her, do you? Was that your purpose in getting me here? You want me to tell her that--" •No I" tfbe cried out sharply. "I do not want you or anyone else to do that. Listen to me. I sha'nt beat about the bush, I will not waste words, So far as Viola and the world are concerned, she is Robert Qwyn's daughter. That is clear to yoo. Is It not? She was leas than two fears Some Really Serve, While Others Merely Flaah and Crackle to No ' *Partlc%i»ar Purpose * •. Barftrg and since the World war, the term "live wlf<" has been popular as applied to tt«n of energy In any phase of the wo* Id's activity and particularly In politfi-u. It Is a significant term and when Med properly denotes the Ideal citizen. Too often, however, the used of the term has in mind the dangling ^nd broken wire, sending out sparks, craHeles Mid perhaps a blue flame, and there a-*fl men like that who are never in an/ company without emitting sparks at controversy and starting fires of Aicontent. These are neither the wires nor/the men who connected from achievement, whose efforts are expended In sparks, noise and flames, spectacular, perhaps, but contributing little or settling to progress in any line. Especially In popnlar appeals Is the sparky "live wire" likely to have a temporary advantage oveis the steady serious thinker, whose motto is selfsacrifice and service. The sooner the ^American people learn to distinguish between "five wires" that serve and those that flash* and crackle but accomplish nothing, the better It will be for our government and the sooner will be restored that normal prosperity which rans In- fertilising rivulets through all classes. do the work of the w&rld, says the Somervllle Journal. The useful live wife carries Its tremendous burden of power for lighting municipalities and turning the wheels of large factories In the quietest manner possible and attracting little or no attention. Only when discontented and accomplishing no useful purpose does It display fireworks. So with human "live win**." The real ones who carry the burdens of politics and business, who solve difficult problems and accomplish great purposes, are quiet and self-controlled, practicing the old-fashioned virtues of industry, patlefice, economy and chinking In the clearest and Blmp'.est way. Such men perform brilliant service for humanity and civilization, but the credit for what they do Is too often taken by counterfeit "live wire*" 4Ia» • i -• • . ' - V. " ; '* ^ Confederate Soldier Pensions. Pensions for Confederate soldiers and their widows are provided by all 11 of the former Confederate states. These pensions are supported by a. special tax on assessed property Qr taken out of general treasury funds. Pension administration Is usually under direction of the state auditor or comptroller, though Tennessee, Louisiana, and Florida have state pension boards, and Georgia and Texas each have a pension commission. Through Indirect taxation the people of these states also contribute to support the pensions paid by the federal government to former Union soldiers. . , An Iowa man advertises In his borne weekly: "1 am in a position to natch your eggs at 6 cents a doxea."--Kansas City 8ia% mean?" he fenced. "Well, you surely know that It was my mother who wanted to see yon, and not I," she said, almost Insolently. "Are you going to keep me Standing here In the mad and slnsh all day?" "No, Indeed," he said. "Please coine uum jr«"l RW arraj. J "Why don't you want to talk to tnte7 What have I done?" "You know very well what yon have done,""*he cried, hotly. "In the first place,el don't like you. You have made ft very" unpleasant for my mother-- who certainly has never done you any harm. lu the second place, I resent your Interference In my affairs. Waltl Do not Interrupt me, please. Maybe you have not exactly Interfered as yet, but you are determined to do so--for the honor of the family, I suppose." She spgke scathingly. "I defy you--and mother, too. I am not a child to be--" "I must interrupt" you," 'he exclaimed. "I haven't the slightest Idea what you are talking about." "Don't lie," she cried, stamping her foot. "Give me credit for a little intelligence. Don't you suppose I know what mother wanted to see you about? There! I can see the guilty look In your eyes. -1 am a naughty little girl and my big brother has been called In to put a stop to my foolishness If you-- What are you laughing at, Mr. Gwynne?" sfce broke off to demand furiously. "I am laughing at you," be-replied, succinctly. "You are like a little girl In a tantrum--all over nothing at all. Little girls In tantrums are always amusing, but not always naughty. Permit me to assure you that your mother and I have not dlseussed your ^Interesting affair with Mr. Lapelle. We talked of business mat--" "Then," she cried, "how do you happen to know anything about Mr. Lapelle and me? Aha! ,You're not as clever as you think you are. That slipped out, didn't It? Well, what is the verdict? What are you going to do to me? Lock me in my room, or tie me hand, and foot, or--* Please stay where you are. It is not necessary to come any nearer, Mr. Gwynne." He continued his advance through the thicket, undeterred by the ominous light In her eyes. She stood her ground. "Viola," he said, affecting sternness, "as a matter of fact, I do not intend to threat myself upon you or your mother. That Is understood, I hope. We have nothing in common and I daresay we can go our own ways without seriously Inconveniencing one another. I want you to know, however, that I went to that house over there this afternoon because I thought you wanted to consult with me about something. I was prepared to help you, or to advise you, or to do anything you wanted me to do. You >yere not there. Your mother--my stepmother--got me there under false pretenses, solely for the purpose of straightening out a certain matter In connection with the-- well, the future. For your Information I will state that your mother did not refer to the affair at Striker's, nor did I knew all about It, however. I know that you went out there to meet. Lapelle. Y6u planned to run away with him and get married. I may add that it Is a matter in which I have not the slightest interest. If yon want to marry him, all well and good. If you were to ask for my honest opinion, however, I should--" I am not asking for It," she cried, cuttingly. '--I should advise you to get married In a more or less regular Bort of way in your mother's home." "Thank you for the advice," she said, curtly. "I shall get married when and where I please--and to whom I please, Mr. Gwynne." In view of the fact that I am your brother, Viola, I would suggest that you call me Kenneth." I have no desire to claim yon as a brother, or to recognize yon as one,1 said she. He smiled. "With all my heart deplore the evil fate that makes you a sister of -mine." She was startled. "That--that doesn't sound very--pretty," she said, a trifle dashed. "The God's truth, nevertheless. At any rate, so long as you have to be my sister, 1 rejoice in the fact that you are an extremely pretty one. It Is a great relief. You might have turned out to be a scarecrow. I don't mind confessing that last night I said to tnysfelf, There Is the most beautiful girl in all the world,' and I can't begin to tell you how shocked I was this morning when Striker informed me that yon were my half-sister. He knocked a romantic dream into cocked hat--and--But evap so, sister or no sister, Viola you still remain beyond compare the loveliest girl have ever seen." There was something In his eyes that caused her own to waver--something that by no account could be described as brotherly. It was something she had seen in Barry Lapelle's eyes, and in the eyes of other ardent men. She was flustered and a little distressed, but recovered herself. "Who told you about Barry Lapelle and me?" shfe demanded. "You mean about last night's ad venture?" he' countered, a trifle I maliciously. She colored. 1 suppose someone has-- Oh, well. It doesn't matter. sha*n't ask yon. to betray the sneak who--" "At any rata, It was not your mother," he said. "I have Striker's permission to expose what you call his treach. er.ay . He tho,"u7 g•"-hS"t . I.•t* "w" as his duty 'M3 His heart smote him as he saw her eyes fill with tears. He did not' mistake them for tears of shame or contrition-- far from it, he knew they were born of speechless anger. He had hurt sorely, even deliberately, and he by a sudden charge of He was not surprised by him, her head high, her white with anger, her stormy eyes denying him even so much as a look of scorn. He stood aside, allowing her to pass, and remained motionless, gazing after her until she turned In at her own -gate and was lost to view. He shook his head dubiously and sighed. "Little Mlnda*." be mused, under his breath. "You were my playmate once upqn a time--and now! NoW what are" you? A rascal's sweetheart, If all they say is true. Gad, how beautiful are!" He was walking Slowly down the path, his head bent, hla eyes clouded with trouble. "And how you tire hating me at this momenta What a devil's mess it all Is I" His eyes fell upon something white lying at the edg© of the path a few feet ahead. It was a neatly folded of note paper. She must have dropped It as she came through. A perhaps, from Barry Lapeit* Grace Hotel Epoch and £ra Epoch and era are usually usefl^f synonymously. In history either on|f ~ denotes ^ fixed point of time, comjty. itionly selected on account of some markable event by which It has distinguished, and which is made beginning or determining point a particular year, from which other years, whether preceding ensuing, are computed. Some ers distinguish between the epoch and era. According to then%-'*~ both mark important events, but a$ - era is an epoch which Is chronologic? cally dated from; an epoch is notmarked in this way. The birth of.* Christ, was both an epoch and ag according vto this view. - ^--: M More Seriout The Man (gloomily)--I Was tbU tfr go abroad at once. The Girl--Nonsense! These doctora# mustn't frighten you out of your Ilficff!; " -:;- like that : The Man--It wasnH a doctor. was a lawyer.--London Opinion. She Turned in at Her Own Get*. smuggled to her through the connivance of a friendly go-between. He stooped to pick It up, but before his flngeni touched It he straightened up and deliberately moved it with the toe of his boot to a less exposed place among the bushes, where he would have failed to see It in passing Then he Strode resolutely away without so much as a glance over his sh-wider. His conscience would have rejoiced had he betrayed It by secreting himself among the bushes for a matter of five minutes--for he would hava seen her steal warily, anxiously lnt?» the thicket In search of the lost mlsSL'.vo-- and he would havo been further exalted by the little cry of relief that fell from her lips as she snatched It up and sped Incontinently homeward, as If pursued by all the eyes In Christendom. As a matter of fact. It was not a letter from Barry to Viola. It was the other: wiy round. She had written him a long letter absolving beirelf from blame In the contretemps of the night before, at the same, time confessing that she was absolutely In (he dark as to how her mother had found out about their plans. Then she went on to . say that, all things considered, she was now quite sure she jcould neve^. never consent to make another attempt. I am positive," she wrote. Ingenuously, "that mother Will relent In time, and then we can be married without going to so much trouble about It." Farther on she admitted that, "Mother is yery firm about It now, but when she realizes that I am absolutely determined to marry you, I am sure she wt111 give In and all will be well. I love you, but I also love her. Please be kind and reasonable, dear, and do not think I am losing heart" I am Just as determined as ever. Nothing can change me. I do wish you would stay away from that awful place down by the river.- Mother would feel differently toward you, I know, if you were not there so much. She knows the men play cards there for money and drink and swear. By this time you must know that my brother hai come to Lafayette. She signed herself, "Your loving and dovoted and loyal Viola." She had been unable to get the letter to hin^ that day, and for a very good reason. Her messenger, Bflle Wardlow's young brother, reached the tavern Just in time to see Barry emerge, quite tipsy und In a vile temper, arguing loudly -with Jack Trentman and Syd Butt the town's most notorious gamblers. The three men went off toward the ferry. The lad very sensibly decided this was no time to deliver a love letter to Mt. Lapellef so forthwith r»> turned it to the sender. The first thing Viola did upon returning to the bouse with the recovered letter was to proceed to the kitchen, where, after reading It over agiftn, she consigned it to the flames. She was very glad It had not been delivered to Barry. A safe and soothing ^^remedy for cuts* burns, or skin tumbles. 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