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thur, thin; broke in, with an agitated voice; "he's mine, he's all I’ve got. I’ve bred him up so far, and he's more .to meâ€"I tell ’oe I can’t give him up. Sir Arthur." . "If 3011 are indeed attached to the child ” "I am, I mu," Meade interposed. “You surely would not stand his light," continued Sir Arthur, gravely. "consider the advantages you refuse for him." "1 hov considered them, Sir A1. .i. in Ar- "How would you like to ride a little horse like Master Medway's Philip '? And go and live at Mar- well Court with Sir Arthur, and have servants to Wait. on ye, and fine ladies to cosset ye, and books to read, and plenty of money ?" the miller asked. "Very much," he faltered. "And leave poor old dad and mother and the little maid ?" con- tinued Meade, crushing the child's hand tighter. “No doubt. you are attached to the chil'd, Meade, and of course it would baba} hard pull to give him upâ€"” "I can'tvgive hifil up," thé miHer broke in, with an agitated voice; “The boy is mine, Sir Arthur," said Mr. Meade’s voice. "He Was left by his oWn flesh and blood, and already started for the workus when I took him anu bred him for my own." Philip, in the meantime, was ab- sorbed in cutting his initials on the frame, and, the windows being open, heart! the wellâ€"known voice of Mam- hew Meade mingling with the less familiar accents of Artiiur Modway, heard without liem'kening until some- thing was said which interested him. "Well l you are n. Buffer l” mutter- e'd Claude, revolth at Philip's ignor- ance, and marching away to reâ€" examine the mill. “How much ?" asked Claude. thinking that all three names beâ€" longed to him. “Well, you're a queer little beggar, names and all. How 1111‘ are you in Latin? Do they fag at your school ? I suppose they are all ends at this." “\lhat's a. cad ‘2" asked Philip. "Oh! Why, a. day-boy that lives In the town”. "Then We are all ends," returned Philip, cheerfully, "and I ain't out of llclectus yet. I say, lend us that knife, Medway." . "I‘m going to Eton next term," said Claude] handing him the knife. “Where’s that?" asked Philip, in- differently, going up to the window- l‘ramc of the best parlor to try the knife upon it. Perhaps Pdilip was not very sorry for the interruption, when he walked home With the comfortable con- sciousness of having given “that great brute Brown" a good thrash- ing, before he was himself pounded into a. jelly. 'A secret conviction that. the affair might now honorably be considered at an end, together with a. strong suspicid’n that Brown would think dili‘erently, made him Very glad to reach the mill, whither Brown would not, dare to follow him. “My name's Philip Randal, and Mr. Meade, the miller, is my fathâ€" er," he replied defiantly to Cluude's question. It was considered a good fight, and traditions of it still linger in Cleeve Grammar School. Blood was shed on both sides. and how it would have fared with Philip against his older and stronger adversary, but for the untimely appearance of the head-master upon the scene and the consequent hasty flight of both con- tending parties, it is impossible to say. Philip colored before replying. Only that morning in school at, catechism he had given his name as “Philip Randal,” and been dumb when point- edly and repeatedly told to give only the Christian name. Until that, moment, it had not struck him as strange that Randal was his baptis- mal and surname in one. After school there was a fight in the playground in consequence of the frequent repetition of the usher's words, "But Randal is your sur- name." “I'm Claude Medwuy, and my father‘s Sir Arthur Medway," re- plied the lad. "Are you the mil- ler's son ? What's your name ?" "Had you? I dare say. What other poor child have you been bullying?" "He was a little bigger than you." said Philip, with u. scoi‘iiul glance over him. "I like that. As if any fellow of my size wouldn't scorn to touch a kid like you. Go indoors. my dear, and ask your immune. for vinegar and brown paper." MmmmmMemm‘ CHAPTER I.â€"(Continued.) â€"aye, and I mean to save "Nzthing," replied Philip. loftily; scrape for him, and I'll bring h "I had to thrash a. fellow this morn- to be 1‘3 gentleman Please G?‘ mg, that's an". lh'c 'cpu' rsuAy, no mole in the u A DYENQ WWEE g OR, THE MISSING WILL 9 Then, calling his son, he Went out through the garden gate, first presâ€" :sing into Philip‘s astonished hand a “Solid golden sovereign, the like of which he was first afraid to keep lest it should have been given by mistake, and mounted the beautiful .bay horse While Claude sprang upon 'the brown cob, and they rode away. Matthew and Philip stood beneath the plane-tree and watcned them clatter over the bridge and vanish up the hill, each with a tumultuous stir of feeling. The miller had taken the child’s hand in his powerful grasp, and clutched it so firmly that the small fingers were all white and vcrarnped together and aching; but Philip was unconscious of any phy- sical senSation in the whirl of feeling with which he gazed upon the splenâ€" did sLeeds and their gallant iidcrs, 'and eSpecially upon Sir Arthur, who :inspired him with mingled admiraâ€" tion and repulsion. It was as if all} the glory of the world opened upon lhis spiritual vision through this ,man. "Not. _for the world," he replied. lialf crying. and they turned, both tOO much moved to speak, and went in. Why did Sir Arthur want What; interest could hc [105 He looked up at his foster-father's weatherâ€"beaten face, which was drawn with anxiety and gray with care, at his striped collarless and floury jacket. and for the first time he took his outward measure and reckoned him a. common old man, more meanly dressed than the meanâ€" est Workingâ€"man, and contrasted his stubby chin with' Sir Arthur’s careâ€" fully shaven, finely moulded face. Just. then Meade looked at. him and the boy’s heart. melted. "You are tall and strong for your age, Philip," he said, removing his hand ta last; "never missuse your strength; be gentle, loyal, and :11- Ways think of others.” “So this is the boy," said Sir Arthur, laying his strong. slender hand with gentle firmness upon Philip’s head, pushing back the tumâ€" bled hair and turning the face up- ward for the s'onrching scrutiny he gave it. A long, long glance he bent upon Philip’s llmhing face, kind though stern, and “iii a, mingling of sorrow, compunction. an'd yearn- ing which vaguely touched the boy's self-steeled heart, and gradually sub- dued the bold defiance of his upward The listener in the meantime, screened by the myrtle growâ€" ing about the window, was pale as death, the knife falling from his nerveless hand. What should all this mean ? Was the schoolâ€"boy taunt but the bare truth, or how? When Sir 'Arthur came out of the porch with Mr. Meade, Philip had pulled himself together, and was able to come forward calmly at his father’s call. “Yes, Sir Arthur," replied Meade, awed in spite of himself by the im- posing presenco of the baronet, whose head only just escaped the heavy beams of the old-fashioned parlor, a man in the prime of life, with a gracious smile and winning aha. “I will say no more at present.” he observed at last, rising and takâ€" ing his hat; “we are both of us conâ€" vinced of the child’s identity, though I am not sure that we could prove it. in a court of law. You will think over what. I have said at your leisure, and weigh the pros and cons of it till we meet again.” “It won't, it can't be," returned Meade, earnestly. "What, do you care for him. sir? You've got yourn, there’s Master Cluu'de and the rest of them, and mine would be nobody, a poor stray bird among them all What's money beside a father's heart ? And a, mother's, too 7" Again Sir Arthur gazed silently and thoughtfully upon the millcr’s earnest, face, and when he saw him draw the back of his~brown hand hastily across his eyes, his own be- came dim. "These feelings 'do you credit, Meade," he said, after some wonder as to how the miller proposed to breed up a gentleman. "But. you would, I am sure, "deeply regret that your afiection for the boy should spoil 'his chances in life." “It. won't, it can't be," returned Meade, earnestly. "What do you â€"a.ye, and I mean to save and scrape for him. and I'll bring him up to be a. gentleman, please Godâ€"" he could say no more in the fullness of his heart. Sir Arthur smiled, and looked sil- ently at. the rough man in his floury miller's clothes, whose chest, was heaving with strong feeling; whi!e the words broke gaspineg from him. “Better than my own blood, better better." ‘1 him ? >ibly have "Right," corroborated Meade, "that's quite right, Martha, and you took to him as though you'd bore him in your own body. And we wasn’t, doing well, if you mind. So many farmers failed, and we’d been unlucky with the dairy, and there was bad debts in the town and one thing and another; but you said, ‘the child’s bite and sup was nothing, and I thought he'll be bet- ter off in the poorest plme than in the workhouse, though I did Want. to breed him up a gentleman, knowâ€" ing, as the landlady tole me, the poor dead mother was a. honest woman and real lady. But I thought, may be we shall see better days be-i fore ' tis time to begin the boy’s schooling. Right enough. So it fell out. Everything throve with us from the (lay the child came. And now I'm reckoned a. warm man here- m 1 l i l "Ah! But so fur as I can make out, they hev a. right to en. Then there’s His prospex! I reckon you wouldn’t stand in Phil's light Mar- as well-spoke as fou could wish' t6 see, and a. good boy, Mat, though I say it myself." "Aye, she Wrong herself. the lad had a. name." "And they left him to the work- housel his own flesh and blood !" she cried; “and now they think to take him from we after all we done for him, and he grown a. fine lad, “Yes, Matthew, you are warmt and thankful I am, when I think of them times," replied Mrs. Maude; "and so Randal was the wrong name after all 7” ' now I’m abouts." lpresent for ye, mother,’ you says. and it Was long since you’d a, calleJ mo mother; for it, always made me sorrowful, thinking of them that was gone. and so I felt all a tremble. And I thought to nieself, 'I do hope Meade haven't been spending his money on nonsense to pleasure me,’ though my best bonnet was that shabbod I.di(ln't like to go to church of a fine Sunuay. ‘It's alive, moth- er,’ you says, sort of excited. And I thought 'sure it must be some prim poultry, he‘ve got. Then I went out to the cart in the dark and heard a little Child crowing to it- self,and I began to cry thinking of them We’d lost. And you told me to look pleasant and not frighten the little boy. ‘l’or,’ you says. ‘the Lord has sent us an orphan child, Martha! And we brought, him in and he cuddled up in my arms, and laid his little head again my arm and went oil to slepp like a. little angel." "Yes, Meade, and he did bring a blessing," interposed Martha. drying her kind eyes; “there was little Jesâ€" sie sent us in our old ageâ€"" "Ay, the little maid was sent. bless her I" “And such a boy as he was. to be sure, and no trouble with him. I mind that night when you came home from Chichester, 'Here's u present for ye, mother,’ you says. and it. Was long since you’d a, calleJ me mother; for it alwavs lnndn mp "And the Lorh did send him.” cried Meade, szniting his fist on the table so that the candle jumped and the flame flickered. "You mind what I said, when I brought him home seven years ago, Martha. A voice seemed to whisper plain to me ‘The same hand that made you childless, made this boy an orphan; save him from the workhouse, and he’ll bring a. blessing on the hearth you take him toâ€"" ladies wishing to throw jam across Mrs. Meade's kitchen, but, went on to explain the importance of Sir Arthur‘s mission, to tell of the serâ€" ies of clues by which he had traced Philip‘s identity, and of his great desire to take into his own care and bring 'him up. The merits of Mrs. Meude’s jam were now as nothing to her; when the thought of losing Philip, which penetrated but slowly into her brain, did at last reach it, she put away her work and cried at the thought. “The many we'xe buried, Meade," she subbed, "and it, did seem as though the Lord had sent us this one to make up." "Me come ? What, and me right in the middle of the plum jam ? And Sarah no more {it so much as to stir a spoon when your eye's oll‘ her," returned Mrs Meade. dropping the stocking she was mending and looking reproachfully across the can-- dle's dim pyramid of flame at lzcr husband. "There, Meade, I will say this for ye, of all the menâ€"folk, I ever came across you're the very worst for putting any understanding into. Not but you’ve your good points, and have been a. middling husband, as husbands go." “Well, there, Martha, I Can't say what sort of a. wife you’ve a. boon. for I haven't, had a. muny wives to try you agen," the miller replied, "but I wish the dance would fly ofi‘ with your jam. I do. Anybo'dy med think the world depended upon your jam." “The Whole world may depend upâ€" on my jam,” re'torted Mrs. Meade. "Any lady in the land might walk into my kitchen to-morrow morning and throw all the jam I’ve got across the room, if she'd a. mind to; it's jellied that solid.” Matthew Meade did not stop to doubt the probability of high-born "Why ever Martha '2" h( Arthur said hi right over tr self." Mr. Meade said nothing more On the subject. to Philip that. night, partying his questions and bidding him wait. But when the children were gone to bed, he sat long by the light, of the single cumilc in the parlor, smoking his short, clay pipe and talking to his wife. in the miller's adopted child? Philip wondered. AIR T'ICEldC Said nothin mnrn nn never said but 'twas She was hiding, and right, to his christened er hadn't you come. he asked, testily; "Sir himself you had as much the boy as I 'had my- till is now a. necessity in every farm kitchen. In harvest and thrashing majority are fitted to burn both Wood and coal, _and with 41 system of dampers that, properly manipulated, will keep a fire all night. Someâ€" times, with a good chimney, the draft is so strong this cannot be done, yet is no fault of the range. A damper in the pipe is the remedy. when burning coal it is usually more satisfactory to use a little wood with it when baking. No wood range is really right that is not fitted With a. drop door to the fireplace that permits no ashes to fall on the floor. A GASOLINE STOVE. tha, just to let him bide long witli The young housewife, or one famili- ar only with a, cook stove, hardly knows What to expect of her first range. Good ranges are never cheap and poor ones are dear at .any price. All modern ones have asbestos lin- ings, which insure a. warm oven and a. cool kitchen. The heat should be uniform in every part of the oven, and it should be unnecessary to turn anything around While it is baking. The warming oven permits the cook to easily serve "warm meals at all hours." Many ranges have no dain- per for the reservoir and the Water is always warm with no concern save keeping the reservoir filled. The majority are fitted to burn both Wood especially for kitchens is now made that can be cleaned by Wiping with a. damp cloth, and is said to be very satisfactory. Never having used any, I cannot vouch for it, but I can say a. good Word for the painted Walls. They are pretty and pleasing and sanitary and with such walls, wood- work and floor a kitchen is Very easily kept clean. do not show upon it,rand' limb and dirt slide it in the most delightful way. The Woodwork may be painted any preferred color, if one doesn’t object to repeating the process every three of four years. If one Wishes to do it but once “and be done with it," and wants something really nice, it is best to have it, grained and given a. hard oil finish. It will need re- varnishing once in several years, but the thrifty housewife can do that herself, if so inclined, and Will find it much easier than painting. Such woodwork cleans easily; finger marks WHAT'S THE USE? You’ll never Want to eat off it, any- Way! And surely there are higher ambitions in life than that of hav- ing the most beautiful kitchen floor Ein the neighborhood. Altogether, noâ€" thing I've ever used, or seen in use, has proven so satisfactory as linole- um. It can be put down over any old floor, and it comes in pretty pat- terns th.at are stamped all the Way through, so it never Wears off, but it looks Well as long as it lasts. It Wears well. We have some that has been in use for ten years and does not look at all worn. It should be laidiby an experienced workman, for it must be very carefully matched and cut to fit into all the corners of the room and about all the curves of the door frames. When down it is down to stay till Worn out, and the floor always looks clean. Personally, I’ve no use for a carpet on a kitclien floor. A grease spot on a. carpet stares one out of counten- ance, and it’s wonderful how fast they will appear. Oiled floors are ‘nice, but it's no light task to keep them oiled. Painted floors are an abomination, for the paint soon wears 06‘, making the floor unsightly. Even the beautiful white ash floors our grandmothers loved are not exactly a joy forever, for they require so much scrubbing and mopping. Of course. it's lovely to have a floor always beautifully white and clean enough to eat of? from, but, after all, “wimmen folks" to satisfy, and all too often the work is made extra strenuous by lack of conveniences to work with, Writes .0. correspondent. A conveniently arranged kitchen, well stocked with modern utensils, is a source of pride and joy to every housewife so fortunate as to own one; and her sister who does not has always in her “mind's eye" a. mental picture of the ideal kitchen she means to have some day when the mortgage is paid, or the new house built, or John has all the new fences and binders and corn harvesters he Wants. It is with a desire to help make that mental picture a. reality that this is written. So much of the time of the farm- er's wife and daughters is of neces- sity spent in the kitchen that it. real- ly Ought to be the pluasantest room in the house. The outdoor life and Work of the farmer and his hired men create appetites that, require strenuous exertion on the part of U113 gWM THE FARM KITCHEN. 33 About WQQQQM£§ his pockets and it question; the ca )1, he lighted anoth went on discussing hard upon midnight (To be Coutim A WA LL PAPER Continued.) House the If the brass fixtures of lamp have become tarnish dcmption paint them wit] amcl. Then you can gild Somebody has discover boiling: water is poured 0V and they are left in it. utes they will bake in a the usual time. But we cook as fast in the oven hot water? What is gain The "cellar smell" is extremely dis agreeable. It is apt to permeate the whole house. Place a dish of unslak- ed lime in the vegetable cellar and it will absorb the moisture in the air and also the unpleasant odor. If the brass fixtures of a hanging 'Did you ever try baking potatoes on the top of a stove? Turn on iron pan or basin over them and they will bake nicely. I! the fire is very hot place them on an asbestos mat. They should be turned occasionally. It is convenient to know this, in case one wants baked potatoes, but. does not wish to keep up the kitchen fire. Of course rather more time ii required than when baked in the ovI en. A correspondent of an exchange tells how to make a. paste that. will always be conveniently ready for use. Take a handful of flour, mix it smooth with cold Water, and pour on boiling water sufficient to cook it. Add a teaspoonful of powdered alum, and a. few drops of carbolic acid and oil of cloves. Strain through :1 thin cloth and put into a. wide-mouthed bottle. The warm, moist air of a kitchen is usually very favorable to plant growth, and a. few geraniums bloom- ing in the WilldeS add the artistic touch that all women love. Finally, let no young housekeeper grow dis- couraged because the conveniences she desires are long in coming. “Rome was not built in a. day." and it is Worth While to Work and wait and plan for even so prosaic a thing as the furnishing of a. kitchen. SALT FRIED PORK, lboiled cabbage and scorched pan- :cakes to be really agreeable. Too much care cannot be taken with the ventilation of such a room. There should, if possible, be a. ventilator in the ceiling above the range, and the windows should be so fitted that they may be lowered from the top .as Well as raised from the bottom. The col- lapsible screens, so handy in other parts of the house, have no place in a kitchen. The screens there should be large enough for the Whole win- dow. Mosquito netting tacked on the outside of the window frames an- swers the purpose very well. Few new houses are built Without a separate diningâ€"room, but in many old ones the kitchen must do double duty. Some very pretty pen pic- tures have been draWn of the big. sunny, old-fashioned kitchen, with the kettle bubbling on the hearth, the cat basking before the fire, and the family gathered about the table load- ed with Viands “that mother used to cook," but the prosaic fact re- mains that such a kitchen is apt to be too redolent of the odors of like the famous city, is set on a. hill. for she can install any system of plumbing she likes and need have no fear of the dreaded typhoid fever germ. As nearly all farms have now either a. windmill or a gasoline engine for pumping water, it is a simple matter to have the water pumped into a tank in the kitchenâ€"so simple one Wonders why it is not more often done. Many a hard cold and attack of la grip‘pe can be traced to the lack of this convenience. is often a. troublesome piece of furni~ ture. It's really the handiest thing in the room, if properly placed. drained and Cured for, but on level ground the problem of drainage is a, serious one. If any reader of this has satisfactorily solved the problem, I shall be very grateful if she’ll tell me how it was done. Fortunate, in- deed, is the housewife Whose home, like the famous city. is set on a. hill. save many steps. The better ones are warranted dust and mouse proof. Many modern kitchens have a. broad zincâ€"covered shelf in the place of a table. which is particularly handy ii it can be built about a. corner, and may be as broad and as long as the size of the kitchen and the taste oi the housewife permits. A narrow strip of wood is placed about the edge of such a. shelf, under the zinc. to raise it above a. level and prevent any drip falling to the floor. Under- neath it cupboards are arranged for the various articles that every house- wife Wants out. of sight when not in use. Ll\Uly uuw mung, DUE Et DIOI‘C con‘ \‘enient and useful article was never invented; it deserves all the popular- ity it is winning. Such cabinets are made in many styles and at prices to suit all purses. The larger ones are really pantry, storeroom and kitchen table, all in one. They have a. place for everything needed when baking or preparing a. meal, and they Save many steps. The better ones are warranted (lust and mouse proof. Many modern kitchens have a. broad time. when the range is hardly cqutu to the demands upon it, the gasolim stow: can join forces and make tm hard work much lighter. And “than the thermometer is up in the 90'! It! can boil :1 teaâ€"kettle in less time than a. fire can be built. in the big range, and with ' far more comfort and economy. The kitclmn cabinet is a company tivcly new thing, but a more con. Venient and useful article was never invented; it deserves all the popular- ity it is Winninn‘. Such cnhinets nrn HOUSEHOLD HINTS THE KITCHEN SINK ith Id nancial ro- moncy the 11:00:] min- )out half xldn't they as in tho hat, if otatoes nging st re-