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m Q ___ _ _ ft "*• ~n- £>Y CHA&LLc5 CLARK MUffff COPYRIGHT, /906, erLOTH&OP, LEE UCHEPARD CO. girlie,1* he assured her, "for ye're the best o' company, 'n' I'd rather see yer face n any posy that ever grew. But you've got to quit workin' so much in the sun. 'Twill get yer hands all cal­ loused 'n' face freckled, an' I won't have it. I want ye to injie yourself, read books, pick flowers, 'n' sit in the shade. I see ye've got into the habit o' workin', which ain't a bad 'un, but thar ain't no need on't here." 8YNOPSI9. Chip McGuire, a 16-year-old girl living Tim's place in the Maine woods is sold by her father to Pete Bolduc, a half-breed. She runs away and reaches the camp of Martin Frlsble, occupied by Martin, his wife, nephew, Raymond Stet- ean, and g-uides. She tells her story and is cared for by Mrs. Frisbie. Journey of Frisbie's party into woods to visit father of Mrs. Frisbie. an old hermit, who has resided in the wilderness for many years. When camp is broken Chip and Ray oc­ cupy same canoe. The party reach camp of Mrs. Frisbie's father and are wel­ comed by him and Cy Walker, an old friend and former townsman of the her­ mit. They settle down for summer's stay. Chip and Ray are in love, but no one realizes this but Cy Walker. Strange canoe marks found on lake shore in front •of their cabin. Strange smoke Is seen across the lake. Martin and -Levi leave for settSement to get officers to arrest McGuire, who is known as outiaw and escaped murderer. Chip's one woods friend, Tomah, an Indian, visits camp. Ttav believes he Sees a bear on the ridge. Chip is stolen by Pete Bolduc who es­ capes with her in a canoe. Chip is res­ cued by Martin and Levi as they are re­ turning from the settlement. Bolduc es­ capes. Old Cy proposes to Ray that he remain in the woods with himself and Amzi and trap during the winter, and he concludes to do so. Others of the party return to Greenvale, taking Chip with them. Chip starts to school in Greenvale, and finds life unpleasant at Aunt Com fort's, made so especially by Hannah. Old Cy and Ray discover strange tracks in the wilderness. They penetrate fur­ ther into the wilderness and discover the hiding place of the man who had been sneaking about their cabin. They Inves­ tigate the cave home of McGuire during liis absence. Bolduc finds McGuire and the two fight to the death, finding a watery grave together. Ray returns to Greenvale and finds Chip waiting for tiim. Ray wants Chip to return to the woods with them, but she. feeling that the old comradeship with Ray has been broken refuses. When they part, how­ ever, it is as lovers. Chip runs away from Aunt Comfort's and finds another home with Judson Walker. She gives her name as Vera Raymond. Aunt Abby, Aunt Wandy Walker's sister, visits them, and takes Chip home with her to Christ­ mas Cove. Chip goes to school at Christ­ mas Cove. She tells Aunt Abby the storv of her life. Aunt Abby tells her of theif family, and she discovers that Cy Walker is a long-lost brother of Judson Walker, but fear of betraying her hiding lare prevents her telling of Cy. Old Cy nvestigates McGuire's cave in the wild­ erness and finds a fortune that belongs to Chip. Old Cy returns to Greenvale with the money belonging to Chip. fr CHAPTER XXVI.--Continued. Somehow this strange wanderer, this unaccounted-for waif, had crept into his life and love as a flower would, and "Pattycake," as he had named her, with her appealing eyes and odd ways, was never out of his thoughts. And so the winter dragged its slow, chill course. Spring finally unlocked the brook once more, the apple and cherry blossoms came, ttie robins be­ gan nest-building, and one day Uncle Jud returned from the eornec with a glad smile on his face. "Pattycake's school's gom' to close In a couple o' weeks more, 'n' then she's comin' home," he announced, and Aunt Mandy, her face beaming, made haste to wipe her "specs" and read the joyous tidings. For a few days Uncle Jud acted as if he had forgotten something and knew not where to look for it. He lingered about the house when he would naturally be at work. He peer­ ed into one room and then another, in an abstracted way, and finally Aunt Mandy caught him in the keeping- room, with one curtain raised,--a thing unheard of,--seated In one of the haircloth chairs and looking around. "Mandy," he said, as she entered, "do you know, I think them picturs we've had hangin' here nigh on to 40 year is homely 'nuff to stop a horse, *n' they make me feel like I'd been to a funeral. Thar's that "Death Bed o' Dan'l Webster,' an' 'Death o' Mont­ calm,' 'specially. I jest can't stand em no longer, an' 'The Father o' His Country.' I'm gittin' tired o' that, 'n' the smirk he's got on his face. I feel jest as though I'd like to throw a stun at him this minute. You may feel sot on them picturs, ^ut I'd like to chuck the hull kit 'n' boodle into the cow shed. An' them winder curtains," he continued, looking around, "things so blue they make me shiver, an' this car­ pet with the figgers o' green and yal- ler birds, it sorter stuns me. "Now Pattycake's comin' purty soon. She must 'a' seen more cheer­ ful keepin' rooms'n ourn, 'n' I'm cal- latln' we'd best rip this 'un all up an' fix it new. Then thar's the front chamber--in fact, both on 'em--with the yaller spindle beds 'n' blue cur­ tains, an' only a square of rag carpet front o' the dressers. Say, Mandy," he continued, looking around once more, *'how'd we ever happen to git so many blue curtains?" His discontent with their home now took shape in vigorous action, and Aunt Mandy came to share It. Trip after trip to the Riggsville store was made. Two new chamber sets and rolls of carpeting arrived at the sta­ tion six miles away, and came up the valley. A paperhanger was engaged aid kept busy for ten days. The daath-bed pictures were literally kick­ ed into the cow shed, and in three weeks four rooms had been so recon­ structed and fitted anew that no one would recognize them. Meanwhile Uncle Jud had utterly neglected his "craps," while he worked around the house. The wide lawn had been clipped close. A new picket fence, painted white, replaced the leaning, zigzag one around the garden. Weeds and brush disappeared, and only Aunt Mandy's protest saved the pic­ turesque brown hous* frcm a coat of paint. And then "Pattycake" arrived. Nearly a year before she had been brought here, a weary, bedraggled, dusty, half-stal-ved waif. Now Uncle Jud met her at° the station, his face 6hining; Aunt Mandy clasped her close to her portly person; and as Chip looked around and saw what had been done in her honor and to make her welcome, her eyes filled. "I never thought' anybody would care for me like this," she exclaimed, and then glancing at Uncle Jud, her eyes alight, she threw her arms about his neck and, for the first time, kissed And never In all his life had he felt more amply paid for anything he had done. Then and there, Chip resolved to do something that now lay in her power --to face shame and humbled pride and all the sacrifice it meant to her in the end, and reunite these two long- separated brothers, But not now, no, not yet. Before her lay two golden joyous summer months. Aunt Abby was com­ ing up later. She could not face her own humiliation now. She must wait until these happy days were past, then tell her wretched story, not sparing herself one iota, and then, if she must, go her way, an outcast into the world once more. How utterly wrong she was in this conclusion, and how little she under­ stood the broad charity of Uncle Jud, need not be explained. She was only a child as yet in all but stature. The one most bitter sneer of ttkalicious Hannah still rankled and poisoned her common Bense. Its effect upon Chip had been as usual on her nature and belief, and this waif of the wilderness, this gnome child, must not be judged by ordinary standards. Like reflec­ tions from grotesque mirrors, so had her ideas of right and duty been dis­ torted by eerie influences and weird surroundings. There was first the un­ speakable brutality of her father; then the menial years at Tim's Place, with no more consideration than a horse or pig received, her only educa­ tion being the uncanny teachings of Old Tomah. Under this baleful tui­ tion, coupled with the ever present CHAPTER XXVIi. For many weeks now Chip had suf­ fered from a troubled conscience, and, like most of us, was unable to face its consequences and admit her sin. Time and again she had planned how she could best evade it and yet bring those two brothers together without first confessing. Old Cy must be told, of course. She could explain her con­ duct to him. He would surely forgive her, she thought, and then, maybe, find another home for her somehow and somewhere. Oversensitive as shfe was, to now confess her cowardly conceal­ ment and her deception of those who had loved and trusted her, seemed horrible. BUt events were stronger than her will, for one day in the last of August, Uncle Jud returned from the village store, bringing dress materials and startling information. "Cap'n Bemis is failin' purty fast," be said, "so Aunt Abby writes, an' she ain't comin' up here. It Won't make no difference to you girlie," he continued, turning to Chip. ' I've brought home stuff to rig ye out fer school. Miss Solon, the dressmaker's comin' to-morrer, 'n' we'll tafce keer o' ye in good shape. We've made up our minds ye belong to us fer good, me 'n' Mandy," he add­ ed, smiling at Chip, "an' I shall go with ye to Christmas Cove, if Cap'n Bemis atn't improvin', 'n' find ye a boardin' place." "I'm awful sorry to hear 'bout the Cap'n," interrupted Aunt Mandy, as if the other matter and Chip's future were settled definitely; "but if he drops off, Aunt Abby must come here fer good. I dunno but it'll be a relief," she addeA, looking at Uncle Jud and sighing. " 'Twan't no lovematch in the first place, 'n' Abby's mind's al­ ways been sot on your brother Cyrus, yW{<k A We'll All Love Ye Ten Times More." menace and mystery of a vast wilder­ ness, she passed from childhood into womanhood, with the fixed belief that human kind were no better than brutes; that the forest was peopled by a nether world of spites, the shadowy forms of both man and beast; and worse than this, that all thought and action here must be the selfish ones of personal gain and personal protec­ tion. Like a dog forever expecting a blow, like any dumb brute ever on guard against superior force, so had Chip grown to maturity, a cringing, helpless, almost hopeless creature, and yet one whose inborn impulses and desires revolted at her surround­ ings. Once removed from tnese, however, and in a purer atmosphere, she was like one born again. Her past impres­ sions still remained, her queer belief of present and future conditions was still a motive force^ and the cringing, blow-expecting nature was yet hers. For this reason, and because this new world and these new. people were so unaccountable and quite beyond her ken in tender influence / and loving care, what they had done and for what purpose seemed all the more impres­ sive. But it was in no wise wasted; instead, it was like God-given sunshine to a flower that has never known aught except the chilling shadow of a dense forest. And now ensued an almost pathetic play of interest, for Chip set herself about-the duty of giving instead of ob­ taining pleasure. She became what she was at Tim's Place,--a menial, so far as they would let her,--and from early morning until bedtime, some step, some duty, some kindly care for her benefactors, was assumed by her. She Worked and weeded in the garden, she drove and milked the cows, she followed Uncle Jud to the hayfleld. Insisting that she must help, until at last he protested. "I like ye 'round me ail the time, 'n' fche never quite gin up the idee fie was alive." And now a sudden faintness came to Chip as the chasm in her own life was ttius opened. 'Only one instant she faltered, and then her defiant courage rose supreme and she took the plunge. "Oh, your brother Cyrus isn't dead, Uncle Jud," she exclaimed; "he's alive and I know him. I've known it all summer and dare not tell because I'm a miserable coward and couldn't own up that I lied to you. My name isn't Raymond, it's McGuire; and my fa­ ther was a murderer, and I'm nobody and fit for nobody. I know you'll all despise me now and I deserve it. I'm willing to go away, though," and the next instant she was kneeling before Uncle Jud and sobbing. It had all come in a brief torrent of pitiful confession which few would be brave enough to make. To Chip, seeing herself as she did, it meant loss of love, home, respect, and all else she now valued, and that she must become a homeless wanderer once more. But Uncle Jud thought otherwise, for now he drew the sobbing girl into his lap. "Quit takin' on so, girlie," he said, choking back a lump; "why, we'll all love ye ten times more fer all this, an' ez fer bein' a nobody, ye're a blessed angel to us fer bringin' the news ye hev." And then he kissed her, while Aunt Mandy wiped her eyes on her apron. The shower, violent for a moment, was soon over; for as Chip raised her wet eyes, a sunshiny smile illumined Uncle Jud's face. "If Cyrus is aliye," he said, "as ye call ate, I'll thank God till I set eyes on him, and then I 'think I'll lick him fer not huntin' me up all these years. "But mebbe he found Abby was mar­ ried 'n' didn't want to," interposed Aunt Mandy. "We mustn't judge him yet." "No, I won't judge him," asserted Uncle Jud; "I'll jest cuff him, good 'n' hard, an' let it go at that. "Ez fer you, girlie, an' jest to set yer mind at rest, we found out what your right name was and where ye run away from last fall, but never let on to nobody. 'Twas your business and no­ body else's, an' made no difference in our feelin's, ez ye must see; an' now I'll tell ye how I found out. "I was down to the Corners one day arter ye went to Christmas Cove, 'n' a feller--nice-lookin' feller, too, with honest brown eyes--was askin' if any­ body had seen or heard o' a,runaway girl by the name o' McGuire. Said she'd run away from Greenvale That's 'bout a hundred miles from here,' he said--an' he was huntin' for her. Nobody at the Corners knew about ye 'n' I kept still, believin' ye had reason fer not wantin' to be found out." And now another tide--the thrill of love--surged in Chip's heart, and her face became glorified. And so the clouds rolled away. That night Chip wrote a brief but curious letter, so odd, in fact, it must be quoted verbatim: Mr. Martin Frisbie: Please send word at once to Mr. Cyru» Walker that his brother Judson, who lives in Riggsville, wants to see him. No one else must be told of this, for it's secret. ONE WHO KNOWS. But Chip's secret was a most trans­ parent one, for when this missive reached Martin three days later, he recognized its angular penmanship and similarity to the note Aunt Comfort still treasured, and knew that Chip wrote it. It startled him somewhat, however, for Old Cy's youthful history was un known to him, and suspecting that some mystery lay beneath this infor­ mation, he told no one, but started for Riggsville at once. The tide of emotion that had upset the even tenor of Uncle Jud's home life slowly ebbed away, and a keen sense of expectancy took its place. Chip, after giving uim her letter, ex plained that Old Cy was most likely in the wilderness, and that the letter might not reach him for weeks. And then one day a broad-shoulder­ ed, rather commanding, and somewhat citified man drove up to the home of Uncle Jud. "Does Mr. Judson Walker live here?" he inquired of Aunt Mandy, who met him a tthe door. Her admission of that fact was scarce uttered when there came a rustling of skirts, a "Why, Mr. Fris bie!" and Chip was beside her, at which Martin, collected man of the world that he was, felt an unusual heart-throb of thankfulness. A little later, when Uncle Jud had been summoned into their newly fur­ nished "keeping-room," disclosures astonishing to all followed. "We have been searching for you, Chip, far and near," Martin assured them, "and Old Cy is still at it. He left us at the camp, almost a year ago, came to Greenvale, found you had run away, and came back to tell us. It upset us all so that we broke camp at once, taking Amzi with us, and re­ turned to Greenvale. Old Cy there bade us good-by and started to find you. Ray also began a search as well. I've advertised in dozens of papers, have kept Levi on watch for you at Grindstone ever since, and now I hope you will return with me to Greenvale." "I thank yuu all, uh, so much," an swered Chip, scared a little at this proposal, "but I don't want to. I'm nobody there and never can be. I'd be ashamed to face folks there any more." "I guess she best stay with us," put in Uncle Jud, "fer we sorter 'dopted her, 'n' not meanin' no disrespect to you folks, I callate she'll be more con­ tent here. I'd like ye to get word to Cyrus, though, Boon's possible. I hain't sot eyes on him fer 40 years, 'n'," his eyes twinkling, "I'm jest spil- in' to pull his hair 'n' cufT him." "I will help out in that matter at once, and more than gladly," replied Martin, again looking at Chip and not­ ing how improved she was; "but I still think Miss Runaway had better return with me. We need you, Chip," he continued earnestly, "and so does some one else I can name, more than you Imagine, I fancy, and my wife will welcome you with open arms, you may be sure. As for that foolish Han­ nah, she's the most penitent person in Greenvale. There's another reason still," he added, glancing around with a smile, "and no one is more glad of it than we all are. It's a sixty-thousand- dollar reason--your heritage, Miss Vera McGuire, for your father is dead and that amount is now in the Riverton Savings bank awaiting you." (TO BE CONTINUED.) Spider Webs Sure Cure for Cuts. Primitive Treatment Fails, However, and Receives a Black Eye. Caramba, la.--Spider webs are still used by many persons to cure cuts. How this idea started is not known, but there are hundreds of families in this and adjoining counties that be­ lieve in the cure implicitly. It id the impressien that no matter how serious a fresh cut is, the appli­ cation of a wad of spider webs will quickly check the flow of blood and materially aid in healing the wound. A common sight In farmhouses when %ne of the help gets a slash with the corn knife is the housewife gath­ ering a bunch of cobwebs on the end of a broom and slapping them against the wound. This primitive treatment, which has been condemned by physicians, got a black eye last summer *when lockjaw developed in the case of one patient who tried the web treatment, and he died in agony. Since then the dust-covered webs have been permitted to remain on the ceilings. . You cannot establish your citizen­ ship in heaven by dodging your taxes here. • ,W ERICA1SH HOME Mr. William A. Radford will answer questions and give advice FREE OF COST on all subjects pertaining to the •subject of building lor the readers of this paper. On account of his wide expe­ rience as Editor. Author and Manufac­ turer, he is, without doubt, the highest authority on all these subjects. Address all inquiries to William A. Radford, No. 194 Fifth Ave., Chicago, 111., and only enclose two-cent stamp for reply. A square built house sfyle that is becoming very popular of Jate is shown in this design. The size on the ground is 24 by 30 feet, which is from two to four feet shorter than most houses built on this plan, still the number and size of rooms is quite satisfactory. The saving in room is partly gained by building the stair­ way so it doubles back upon itself. A great deal depends upon the con­ nection between the different floors. You can waste a whole lot of room in building a stairway, or you can put up one like this in a very compact space. No other kind of a house stair­ way will reach an attic so econom­ ically as this one, and there is no cheaper way to get into the cellar. Builders often forget that they must provide headroom for a stairway and that a one-storv stair takes space on two floors, but this up and down com­ bination gives and takes at each land­ ing, so the headroom question is re­ duced to a minimum and the spread of the stair is less than with almost any other arrangement. Another advan­ tage is that when you reach the at­ tic the landing is under the high part toward the center, so that even in the -A.RADFORD EDITOR for low, dark cellars, but with our advanced knowledge of building houses and our tacilities for keeping them comfortable we have done away with many old-fashioned notions. We can now make a cellar high enough to sport a plug hat in. and we can partition off a cold room in one corner for fruit; we can build a B£D ma*f aro man // Xf*-* aeo ROOM CAME AT INOPPORTUNE TIME. ^Hi- Second Floor Plan. laundry on the sunny side and still leave room for a good furnace near the center where it will work to the best advantage. The proper arrange­ ment of the cellar depends a good deal upon the direction you face the upper story the headroom question I B taken care of by the natural slope of the voof. When you look at this house and consider the size you wonder how it is possible to get four bedrooms in this amount of space. Of course, you have an advantage in working with a square plan; it lays out better than any other style of house in regard to the rooms, but there is more in the general careful lay-out of rooms. Another very great advantage in this style of house is in the heating. Six tons of hard coal will keep this house comfortable all winter, pro­ vided, of course, the coal is carefully administered to an economical fur- owc noa*t t/MK JKOw /TZC HALL /o-< x//-< First Floor Plan. nace. You can waste coal as easily as anything else, and this is a question that should be taken into considera­ tion when a house plan is selected. You only build a house once, but you have it to heat each winter afterward, and some of the winters are provok- ingly long and cold. There is a grade cellar entrance to this house that is appreciated by those who make proper use of a cel­ lar. A good housekeeper objects to having cellar supplies carried through the kitchen, and you can't blame her. A womap spends much time and labor to keep a kitchen clean and she very properly objects to having mud tracked in from the garden or ashes from the cellar. A good many cellars have outside entrances with sloping trap doors over the steps, but this costs more than a grade door, and it is not so satisfac­ tory. The snow has a habit of piling on this sloping door and sometimes it melts and freezes at the bottom so you can't open the door without the aid ®f an ax, but this grade entrance door is never bothered that way; the door also is protected from storms by the projection above. This house is set up well above grade, which gives an opportunity to set in deep cellar windows. <©ld- fasbioned builders never could get a cellar deep enough to stand up in. It is difficult to say whether their eco­ nomical ideas of space were respon­ sible or whether they wante£ to get the house right down to the ground to prevent frost working in. Years ago, when furnaces were not plentiful, there might have been some excuse iiouse. A north irout lays out to itie best advantage, because you natural­ ly want the fruit room in the north under the front of the house and you want the laundry under the kitchen to the south or east where you can have a good light and good venti­ lation. SEEING BY EYES' OWN LIGHT. Miner's Experience One He Does Not Care to Duplicate. "I used to see in the dark by the light of my own eyes," said a miner. "The power was a disease, but not a bad disease for miners to have in this country, where the mines are not looked after as carefully as they would be if their owners worked in them themselves. "I once w&s entombed two weeks in a mine. It is a common enough oc­ currence with us American miners. I wouldn't speak of it but for the eye disease it gave me. "You see, after I had been en tombed a week--I lived on dead horse --I suddenly found that I could make out everything about me. The walls, the corpses, the feeding rats--yes, 1 could see. "And I continued to see in the dark. I could read in the dark for over a year. I went around exhibit lng myself to doctors. I had a dis ease called lucifuga. The fundi of my eyes--whatever fundi are--had be come excessively luminous. Little lamps, they illuminated the night, casting clear yellow rays, pencils of golden light, this way and that, ac­ cording as I turned them. "But they hurt. They hurt like the very old Harry. I was glad when a great Chicago specialist put out those two extraordinary lights of mine. The speeclalist said lots of people who stay overmuch in a dark place get lu­ cifuga." Blessings of the Blind. The calamity of the blind is im­ mense, irreparable. .But it does not take away our share of the things that count--service, friendship, humor, im­ agination, wisdom. It is the secret inner will that controls one's fate. We are capable of willing to be good, of loving and being loved, of thinking to the end that we may be wiser. We possess these spirit-born forces equally with all God's children. There fore, we. too. see the lightnings and hear the thunders of Sinai. We. too. march through the wilderness and the solitary place that shall be glad for us, and as we pass God maketh the desert to blossom like the rose. We, too. go in unto the Promised Land to possess the treasures of the spirit, the unseen permanence of life and nature. --Helen Keller, in Century. In Bohemia. The attic poet tore, with a faint rip­ ping sound, a dangling thread from the sawlike edge of his cuff. "You can't express the value of a spring poem like this in terms of mere dollars," he said. "No. you can't," the editor assent­ ed. "Fifty cents, and not a penny more, is what the thing is worth. Shall I write you ah order?" The youth eagerly assented Community Just Then Looked Disfavor on Wart Curers^l. **I have 'come Into this wild country to tell my famous wart cure," an­ nounced the wandering faker. "Wall, stranger," drawled Amber., Pete, "it would be advisable to leave by the next stage. The last man that Introduced a wart cure in this section is dead." "Indeed! And what kind of a cure was it?" "Wall, he had some cotton In a satchel and he told the boys if they wanted to get rid of their warts all they had to do was to rub the warts with the cotton. It turned out to W gun cotton." "And did they get rid of the warts?" "They did, and they got rid of the wart doctor, also. That's his tomb­ stone by the borax mountain. Don't step on it when you leave town, stranger, and see that you leave town early." HOW TO APPLY PAINT. Greatest care should be taken when painting buildings or implements which are exposed to the weather, to have the paint applied properly. JJo excellence of material can make up for carelessness of application, any more than care in applying it can- make poor paint wear well. The surface to be painted should be dry and scraped and sandpapered hard and smooth. Pure white lead should be mixed with pure linseed oil, fresh for the job, and should be well brushed out, not flowed on thick. When painting is done in this manner with National Lead Company's pure white lead (trade marked with "The Dutch Boy Painter") there is every chance that the job will be satisfac­ tory. White lead is capable of ab­ solute test for purity. National Lead Company, Woodbridge Building, New York, will send a testing outfit free to any one interested. He Saw a Difference. Barney Malloy and Mike Calrey were shingling a roof. "Barney,'* Mike asked, removing a bunch of shingle nails from his mouth, and set- ling back comfortably, "what is the difference between satisfied and con­ tent?" "The diiference? Sure there's none," answered Barney. "If you're satisfied you're content, and if you're content you're satisfied." "That was my opinion, too, Barney, me boy, up to now, but it struck me sudden like as put that last nail in that I am satis- fled all right that Molly Cairey is my wife, but I am durned sure I am not content." ^ Ate Sausages to Win Wife. When Ileinrich was courting Mary he had a rival, one Johann Biermann. •The two met one evening at her home and got into a dispute as to their c» pacity for frankfurters. In the demonstration which followed both ate 47 links, when Johann be­ came ill and had to retire hors de com­ bat; Johann will act as best man at the wedding.--Exchange. It Cures While You Walk. Allen's Foot-Ease is a certain cure f<*" hot, sweating, callous, and swollen, achina feet. Sold by all Druggists. Price 23c. Don t accept any subetil"it". Tri-.l package FRBE. Address Allen S. Olmsted. Le Roy, N. Y. "There's a man who buys cham­ pagne on a beer income." "How can he do it?" "He's a brewer."--Louis­ ville Courier-Journal. Lewis' Single Binder -- the famous straight 5c cigar, always best quality. . ~ Your dealer or Lewis' Factory, Peoria Uity. , IU. The ancestor of every action la a thought--Emerson. A SURGICAL OPERATION If there is any one thing that a woman dreads more than another it is a surgical operation. We can state without fear of % contradiction that there are hun­ dreds, yes, thousands, of operations performed upon women in our hos- , pitals which are entirely unneces­ sary am! niahv have hv.. avoided by LYDIA E. PINKHAM'S VEGETABLE COMPOUND Fur L iOuf of tills Statement i'cad the following letters. Mrs. Barbara Base, of Kingman* Kansas, writes to Mrs. Pbikham: " For eight years I suffered from the most severe form of female troubles and was told that an operation was my only hope of recovery. I wrote Mrs. Pink ham for advice, and took Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound, and it has saved my life and made me a well woman." Mrs. Arthur R. House, of Church I Road, Moorestown. N. J., writes: " I feel it is my duty to let people know what Lydia E. Pinkham's Vege* table Compound has done for me. I suffered from female troubles, and last March my physician decided that an operation was necessary. My husband objected, and urged me to try Lydia £. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound, and to-dav I am well and strong." FACTS FOR SICK WOMEN. For thirty years Lvdu K. l*ink- ham's Vegetable Compound, made from roots and herbs, has been the standard remedy for female ills, and has positively cured thousands of women who have been troubled with displacements, inflammation, ulcera­ tion, fibroid tumors, irregularities periodic pains, and backache. Mrs. Pinkfaam Invites all sf<?k women to write her for She has guidtnl thousand* l»-rm'TK Addiwa luysust M an