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.â€" The Gypsy’ I . OR A SECRET wwwwwrwrw+ CHAPTER II, .And now I should like to be able to say that he. made them a nicel speech about temperance and plain living, and with u. “Bless you, niyg worthy friends," went home. ’l‘hisf is what the ordinary heroes of ro~ mance invariably do. But then young man, though strong as a! lion and lightâ€"hearted as a lark,‘ was not, nlasl prudent or wise. Hcl allowed himself to be lcdâ€"carriedl ratherâ€"by the crowd to the nearest: drinking booth, where he stood’ treat many times and oft; and drank: as well as paid for drink. An hour later, flushed and hot, he‘ remembered the girl whose beautiful face had been upturned to his with- such anxiety; and with a halfâ€"defined. idea. of finding her and assuring her! that he was not hurt, he got away from the crowd and went out to look for her. The sun had nearly set by thisi time; a faint breeze, harbinger of‘ the cool eventide, stole through the heat and dust. He wandered about looking every- where as he went, but though he saw several redâ€"shawled faces, he could not find the one he sought. Presently a clockâ€"it was the one in the turret of Monk Towersâ€"struck eight. He pulled up short and put. his hand to his headâ€"it was burn- ing hotâ€"us if he were trying to re- member something; then he whistled half remorsefully, half comically, and strode out of the fair and onto the common, his face set in the dir- ection of Monk Towers. A lane led from the common, and‘ stepping briskly along it he came. to a. bridge over a brook. Here he took off his coat, waistcoat, and collar, bared his broad chest and the Antinous neck, and bathed his head in the clear, cool water. Springing to his feet with renewed freshnessi and strength, “’I‘hat‘s.l.)etter!" he. said with a long breath. “What with Long Bill's hugs and the liquor ‘I felt still and seedy; all right now." He put on his things quicklyâ€"there were bruises on his arms and chest, great bands of rod that would be black and blue in an hour or twoâ€" and went on his way. The lane led to which in a slight hollow were iron gates of the avenue to Towers. He passed through the gates and‘ a. hill, beneath the Monk up the avenue, seeing no one; the lodge-keeper had stolen off to the fair. The elm-lined road Wound round and round like a ydlow ser- pent; but presently the long front of the great mansion loomed white» ly before him. His handsome face grew rather grave as he looked up at the house but the seriousness did not last long, and he was humming again presently as cheerful and careless as before. A moat, dry now, surrounded the house; he crossed the. time-worn bridge and ran up the broad stone steps to the hall door. But there he paused. Perhaps the view of the interior, the polished oak, the spot- less floor of white and black marble, the plush hangings, the lines of pic- tures in their heavy gilt frames, awoke in him a sense of his dusty and disordered condition. He look- ed down at his clothes, at his boots â€"-tho water of the brook had turned the dust on them to mudâ€"-and shook his head; and as he heard the sound of a servant's footsteps coming from the back of the hall he turned quick- ly and went down the steps again. “I'll get in at the back and get a wash," he said to himself. "Madame hates this kind of thing," and he looked down at himself ruefully. He passed along the side of house and had nearly turned corner when he heard, through open casement, a voice singing. It was a. girl’s voice, fresh and swoet. She was evidently singing to herself, for the voice was low and broke of! now and then, and then went on again as if the singer were singing unconsciously. He stepped up to the window cau- tiously and looked in. . The room was a small one, paneled in dark, shining oak. The floor was of walnut, the pictures were old, in tarnished frames, the hangings of silk damask were of a dull, faded gray; the only spot of light in the dusky room was the white dress of a young girl, who stood on an an- tique chair reaching down some books from. an ebony cabinet. If the young man had been an‘ar- tist he would have felt his soul swell and throb with delight at the picture his eyes rested on. as it Was, the dusky room, the air of quiet and repose, the slight figure of the girlâ€"all in whiteâ€"touched him with a vague pleasure. , The dress was made in the oldâ€"it is now, however, the newâ€"fashion; the skirt in plain folds, the sleeves full. Only a girl with a graceful figure can wear this dress successful- I ; this girl made hers bowitching. fier back was turned to him; a. the the on mass of yellow, waving hair, caught. by a. ribbon, fell on the white, soft| cashmere. All unconscious of a. spectator, she some way, lrecovered his presence of mind sufhâ€" l s Saarifice‘ Mmrk'i‘m'i‘i‘WkW REVEALED J Hunt+++++Ms~+++~i~~i~+m~r ¢4M~erhi~r dwkiuhlfld'i‘w blew the dust from a booksopened it, and, resting the edge against the bookshelf, turned the pages, singing to herself all the while in the low. sweet voice. The young man watched her with a smile on his mobile lips, and sudâ€" denly, as if she had immune conâ€" scious of the burden of his eyes, as she if she felt them on her back, turned her head. She (lid not cry out. but she dropped the. book and stood still for a moment, the color coming and go- ing on her face. It was a pure oval, very fair: the eyes, wide open with surprise, gradually growing into pleasure, were of a violet blueâ€"«a lovely, girlish face that matched the golden girlish hair, and the slight, alm0st frail. figure. The young man seemed startled in but as he stepped in he cicntly to take off his cap. “Royce!” cried the girl in a voice as low and soft as the gone in which she had sung. “Royce, is it you?" “Yes. It’s me, Irene!" he said with the beautiful disregard for grammar which distinguishes the publicâ€"school boy. She dropped lightly as a feather from the chair; and he made as if to take her in his arms; then stopped and grew red and awkward. But there was no awkwardness on her part, now that the first moments of surprise had passed. "‘Oh, Royce, I am so glad! When did you comeâ€"how?" and she took him by the hand and swung it up and down, almost. drawing him into the room. “Just now," most of the way. n he said. "Walked But I say, Irene “Well!” looking up at him with welcoming' eyes. “What is the matter? Why do you stare at me 50? Come and sit down or I shall go and fetch the countess?" “Hold on!” he said, holding her hand lightly. “Wait a minute. I'm staring becauseâ€"I say, how you’ve grow nâ€"altered ! ' ' She blushed and laughed and she said, her eyes fellâ€"but only for a momentâ€" bcfore his fixed and wondering re- gard. “Have I? I suppose I have! You didn't expect to find me just the same after all this time, Royce?" “Yes, I did," he said. “I was looking forward to seeing a little girl in short frocks and a pigtail. I meant to pick you up and give you a jump." She drew away from him an inch or two, laughing still, but a little shyly. “Why shouldn't I grow like the rest of the world? Why, you've grown yourself.“ She seemed to recognize the fact for the first time, and her look became still more shy. But it was only momentarily. “Why, Royce, you are quiteâ€"a man." He laughed and got hold of her other hand and swung them together in boyish, light-hearted fashion. “Have 1? Well, then I’ll forgive you. But you've grown in other ways, Irene. By George, I can scarcely believe that this lively young lady is the little kid who used to climb the old apple treeâ€""- The blood stained her face again and she burst out quickly, as if to stop him. “But how tired you must be! How far have you walked? Let me go and tell the countess, Royce." "Not yet," he said. “How far? Oh, nearly twenty miles, more or less." “0h! How tired you must be!" she exclaimed. “Not a bit, but I’m as hungry as a wolf. 'And I think I'd better put myself to rights before I see the mater, you know how particular She isâ€"oh, Renie? I was stealing around to the back entrance, mean- ing to get a wash: when I heard you piping up like a linnettâ€"" "And so came into the cage. said. "But you are so hungry! Sit down here, Royce,” she pointed a slim finger to an easy chair, “and I will go and get you something to eat " “And drink, please; I am thirsty, too." “And drink. I sha'u't be gone long; you shall see how quick I can n she be. And then, when you have had your supper, I will tell the coun- toss." “Yes, I shall want strengthening for that ordealâ€"eh, Renie?" She rose, seeming scarcely to touch the floor, so light and airy was the movement; and Royce Lanâ€" don leaned back and looked around the room. His eyes rested on two portraits hanging side by side over the ancient fireplace. One was that of his fath- er, the late Earl of London, in a general's uniform, the other of his mother, the countess, in a. dress of black satin and broad Honiton. His face grew grave as it lingered on the latter. came in after a few minutes inter- val, carrying a small tray with a pic, some bread, a dish of straw- berries, and claret. that- Irene she saiil triumphantly. "There," “Now come and he fell,” .q as he sat down. llenic. “Bravo,” he said l'Help me yourself, big piece to begin with. I_\'ou the pattern of the bottom of that pie dish directly: and then 'shall cat the dish itself!" Laughing she. helped him and sat by, leaning lu'l‘ elbows on the table, flllll her chin on her hands, regardâ€" ing him smilineg while he ate. llaving satisfied his appetite, he leaned back in his chair and asked: "Now, what‘s the news?" "News? there is no nous. liveryâ€" ibing at the ’l‘owers goes on the .same year after year; just the same. ‘I’ve got a new ponyâ€"you must see him, Royce! Such a perfectly lovcâ€" ly little dear!" "Andâ€"my brother, Seymour?" "'l‘bu earl is very well," she said, ,quietly. “And what's; his last lad?" lloycc. “I don‘t quile know; see, very much of him; but 1 think it is in some way connected with Timbuctoo. But tell me all about yourself, Royce," she went on quick- ly. "llow did you get leave so soon again? I thought you had onâ€" ly just gone back to the regiment." His face, clouded, and grew grave and embarrassed, and he kept his eyes fixed on the claret jug as replied : “Yesâ€"so I bad, butâ€"â€" Oh, tell you all about it. presently." "Oh, Royce," she fallered. “You â€"-you haven't been getting into anâ€" other scrape, have you?" He laughed uneasily, bis brows knit together, and his face grew hot and fierce. "Let's talk of something else,” said. “We shall have plenty asked we do not I'll be of bit. But look hereâ€"I must go and put myself tidy." "Yes," she. said, "Where is your luggage? Have you had it sent on? Perhaps it is in your room." “I haven't any luggageâ€"that isâ€" there, I'd better tell you right oul, I suppose. Theâ€"tho fact is, Renie, I have been getting into another scrape, as you call it. And this time it's the worst scrape of all-â€" What‘s that?" be broke off, looking toward the door. She listened for a moment, then sprang up, her face paling a little. “It is the countess; I know her stop. Go, Royce! Let me break it to her that you are here. Go, quickl”. And she pointed to the window. He rose and went a pace or two, then stopped, and facing around, throw back his head. "No!" he said. “No use running aWay, after all. I'll face it!” (To be Continued.) M »s . REM K... APPLYING LIME . Lime may be applied to the land in three different conditions, either as the ground, freshâ€"burned lime, hy- drated or dryâ€"waterâ€"slaked lime, and the air-slade lime. The eicht of lime in the soil may also be con- sidered as 01‘ two general classes: First, in correcting acidity of the Soil, and second in bringing about certain chemical and physical changes that are desirable, such as stimulating the decomposition of or- ganic matter and aiding in the gran- ulation of flocculation of the soil. Suppose we start with one ton of freshly burned lump lime. In one case we grind this so that it may be applied to the land by means of a drill or sown broadcast like any other fertilizer. In another case we waterâ€"slake it. For agricultural purposes the best method of doing this is to scrape back the surface of the soil in the field and throw down about a barrel of fresh lime in a place at convenient intervals. If the soil is quite dry, throw a pail of water over this lime and COVer it with soil. The lime will begin to slako by the absorption of water from the soil, and as it slakes it will swell and cause cracks to ap- pear in the covering of earth. These should occasionally be filled to exâ€" clude the atmosphere. 'After three or four days the lime will have falâ€" len to a fine powder and may be disâ€" tributed over the land. The earth with which it was covered, mixing with the lime, aids in its distribu- tion. rl‘his is what we call the hydrated lime. In the next case we Simply expose the lime to the action of the atmosphere. Sometimes it is thrown in piles on the ground where it receives rain and (lows, and ab- sorbs some water from the soil, but most of the change that takes place in it is the result of the action of the atmosphere, the lime absorbing carbon ‘oxide as well as water. If this no ion is allowed to progress long enough, or if the lime is proâ€" tected from rains, the mass will be come, after a time THOROUGHLY AIR-SLAKED. If we were to weigh the resulting product after these actions have taken place, we would find that the 2000 pounds with which we started had been increased to about 2610 or 2630 pounds in the case of the hydrated lime, and to 3600 pounds 1in the case of the thoroughly airâ€" :slaked lime. However, as lime is usually prepared for agricultural uses, we have a mixture of hydrated and air»slaked lime rather eithcr of them separate. As to the elIcct of using these var- :\ gomb I will slust l i he ‘ time, for I’m going to stay home a} than I ious forms, so for as neutrali/ing incidity in the soil is Concerned, there ill: lilllo difference. The 26-10 pounds .oi hydrated or the illitul of illl".§llll§l'(l lime produce I'u‘nciicnlly the 2mm.) (llll‘l'l us the BMW! pounds of :il‘iuxiinl. l‘i‘e~lil_\'-burnerl llllll'. So for us ifs ‘slimukition of (be decomposition of organic matter in the soil or of the illoccululiun of the clay nml [lie :bringing about of a granular i-mnliâ€" ition of the soil, 26.10 pounds of pure hydrated llilll‘ produce practically .. ‘ -lbc same chm-i as the 3mm pounds .of ground linn'. llut the, :moo pounds of thoroughly illi".\llll-I'(l lime “ould probably lil‘inllli‘n willy about :70 pm, of the effect of iii.» ground lime. ‘ ll', tin-n, the object of applying lime in the land is simply to neulrnâ€" ‘lliyc 1hr- ncidity of the soil, it will gmake little dillircnre whether the iliine is spread upon 11.0 iron-n ground and allowed to be there un- til spring. when it. will be worked into the oil, or whether it, be applied at the time the. soil is worked, in ‘eiiher of the llll'i'i‘ forms. If the soil is a heavy one and uvcils to have its physical condition improvâ€" ed, or if the object is to sliinulale ,(lecomposilion of organic mailer in 'lbe soil and to assist in liberating jplant food the 3600 pounds of airâ€" slnkml lime is not nearly so effective as the. 2000 pounds of freshlyâ€" grouml lime or the 20-10 pounds of .hydrated lime. The so-called agriculâ€" liural lime that is usually 0cher in the market is not only air«slakcâ€"d to in considerable (legume, but frequently refuse material, as ashes and the [more impure portions of the lime. It is, tbcrcfore, probable that a .dressing of 1000 pounds of freshly burned, ground lime of good qual- ‘ily would be at least equal to a jdressing of £2000 pounds of agricul- tural limo. 1N ll’lb'l‘lili. l A cheap shelter will do very nicely {for sheep if it has a tight roof, iwhich will not leak every time it ‘l‘ains or the snow melts on it. Have 'the shed well boarded and baltcned ion the north, west and east. It lQuay be left open on the south. Nail in board across the front to keep the ST f i‘ll'Il’ cows and Calves out, writes a cor- respondent. The clean snow 'or ground is a, good place to feed sbecp corn iod- ‘der, bean porls or hay. I am not so sure that sheep lack sense. They are pretty good iimckcepers for one thing. They know when it is time to be fed, and what they like to eat, and there is no peace until they get :it. And if one fimls a good thing it will call all the flock. I do not agree about the snow for drink in- stead of water. My sheep go to a stream of spring water to drink. In winter it gets slippery at the edge and some are afraid to drink there, so I flip the water into a pail or tub. I have known them to travel to the stream half a dozen times or stand around and wait until I dip- ped in the water. And they had plenty of snow. too. 1 have three fine present, Februrary l.0; one tipped the scale, at 12 pounds. When the lambs come. so early and the weath- er is cold, I feed them a little warm milk, sometimes before they are on their feet, using a bottle with a rubber nipple. If they seem chilled, I roll them up in a blanket and put in a basket by the kitchen stove un- til thcy are warm and lively. lambs, at the 1 Itlfl’ ‘AllDl'NG GROWTH. Digging deep holes for setting peach trees has many years ago pins.st the experimental stage with me, says John M. Stub’bs. It is not a theory but 3, Well established fact, that the deeper the lioles are made for trees, in reason, especially if the su‘bsoil is still clay, the more certain are they protected against early blooming in the spring, as Well as against ex- cessive drouth in the bearing period. The results obtained from deep holes and strong manures on the bottom thereof, and around the outer rim of the hole, is a root system deeply established and reaching down into the Cold clay, Where it retards the upllowing of the sap in the spring, and Conscgucntly the blooming periâ€" ed. The warmth of the sun that comes with too much force someâ€" times in February, and starts the. sap in motion, does not warm up the earth down into the clay, but only on the surface, and conseipmntâ€" 1y does not start the tree. Another not much less important result is that the root system, being deeply established, is not allcctetl nearly so readin by rlrouib in summer or anâ€" tumn. Some years ago 1 set a peach orchard of about 16.0lhll.re-‘s, adlieiu ing strictly to the deep Ihole system, and when orchards all over the slate failed I have had good crops. In a recent exceptional year, in which a great many orchards had a. largo num‘ber of trees killed by frost, I did not lose a free. i attribute this to the deep hole system and deep cultiâ€" vation following, during the first two of three years. +._. said the husband, who “Of course." ,bas mixed with it a. good deal of the. .-â€"â€".â€"â€"w- viiioufieipit fill} HOSPITAL FOR 9v! sir SlCK CHILDREN 9 For it Cares for Every Sick Child in Ontario whose Parents Cannot Afford to Pay For Treatment. Ffl'fl' The Hospital for Sick Children, College street, Toronto, nppnals to the fathers and moi hers of Ontario for funds to maintain the thousand sick children that it nurses within its walls every year. v " " ’ ' “ The Hospital is not a local institutionâ€" hut Provincial. Thu sick child from any place in Ontario who can't ail'ord to pay has the same privi« logos as the child living in Toronto and is treated free. The Hospital had last year in ils beds and cots 761 patients, ‘267 of these were from 190 places out- side of Toronto. The cost is 98 cents per patient per day, and there were [‘29 V __-__ M sick little ones a. day “coon DAY, nocron." in the Hospital. Since its founda- tion the Hospital has treated 10,371 children â€" a b on b 7,500 of these were unable to pay and ,were treated free. ' Every dollar may he the translator of your kind thoughts into the llospitifl kind deeds. I-lvcvybodys dol- lar may be th 0 Friend in Need to Somebmly‘s child. Let the money of the strong be mercy to the weak. The Hospital pays out divi- ’ ‘ "' " ‘ " (lends of health and happiness to suffer- ing childhood on every dollar that is paid by the friends of little children. If you know of any sick child in your neighborhood who is sick or crip- pled or has club feel: send the par- ent’s name to the L____.._ Hospital. “SHE'S KNITTING" See the cvsmple of what can be done for club-foot children. There were 14 like cases last year and hue- dreds in 28 years. MASSAGE. BEFORE Arum Please send contributions to J. Ross Robortson,Chairman, or to Douglas David- son, Sec.-Trea.s., of The Hospital for Sick Children, College Street, Toronto. â€"â€"â€"+ WEAR TWO PAIRS 0F SOCKS. Shoe Salesman Tells How to Keep the Feet Warm. “I see you wear two pairs of socks," said the shoe salesman to the customer. "You are very wise. A good many people are beginning to do it, especially between seasons. "People ought to do it all through thewinter. There is more warmth in two pairs of summer socks than there is in the heaviest pair of wool- lens that ever was manufactured. “If you are troubled with cold feet, you will find that the combination of a pair of Woollens and a pair of light weight socksâ€"baibriggan or lisle threadâ€"will fix you up Comfortâ€" ably the coldest (lay that comes. If your feet are tender, you can wear the thread ones inside and the wool without. If you are. extra cold, reâ€" verse the process. Whichever you do you will find the thin pair easily doubles the value of the thick one. “There is, generally speaking, an altogether wrong notion as to the best way to keep the feet warm. People ask for heavy soles and cork soles and insoles and fleece soles, and think they are protecting their feet. , “It is all a mistake. The soles of the feet are not sensitive to cold, It is not through the soles that you Catch cold or feel cold. Any ordin- ary shoe affords the feet all the pr0< tection necessary. so far as temper- ature is concerned. “To avoid cold feet, the ankles. and instep should be protected. That is where your second pair of socks docs its work. lint, as a matter of fact, in very cold weather every one should wear cloth tops covering the whole upper part of the shoe. .“l'u'ith Spats and doubled socks and medium Weight shoes you can wall; on ice in Zl-l‘o Weather and not knou, mnd- , Hut-cialtv of in. Hill: " L‘ . . . . excutsx-s" “the truth is lll)l|];1-lll(tlul:"’\lrli "1 S ("mâ€"ng .h." “S "I'mr "lat am ‘- ' " . .. ,, ,’ .. . . ‘, ‘ un'erned. ()i coursi- you frel the out SOll‘liA-llllli‘. lies, Wyeinrrl LllI‘ : ‘UM most in 5.0,“. (005. but] the “my other hull of tho. iiinti‘iuioiual comâ€" “up,” 0" the “ppm. part of Um foot bill": I'llllil i am incliiw-(l to l)t:ll0\'¢' “1",”, Um mfg”. mood “$5,743 ru‘ that ii ll':ll\'~(l out o! ’\‘Ul lung ,\;(u,"1n”wn is UK, “min flying. Your toes , .wm’i iv-i-l cold ii l.l:i,- l'v‘al, or your 'l‘iii"’ii.~â€"â€""l l‘opc you'll inin us in .tlfuin, is warm. ililtlw nuriwwsnry celebration toâ€"niorâ€"i “I'd m“. 50 5,.” 5'9” 3 pair 0! iron at our burner)” Dimerâ€""llvli-I'lt- tops. 'l'ln-Sc black ones would lusu 01 to do so. Vii-iii:an annivi-r. ,' l go \\li.ll your new shoes, ’l‘hi-y'rc on- im' biztlavlaiz'“ 1‘inim-~”.\o. lyâ€"no, not this time? OWell, call . lcook's liccn Wi'b us just a puff- again.”