..n _râ€"/ ' _ moaning carrying .all RAM/“WWW y lllaiiaii filayiie Or, The Strange Disappearance WWW CHAPTER XXXIII. Several days passed in the gloomy mansion misnamed Dell-Delight. Mir- mm and Paul avoided each other like death. Both dreaded like death any allusion to the awful subject that lay so heavy upon the heart of each. Paul. unacquainted with her thoughts. relying upon t i I skiirts. like do diamonds on do \Virgin Mary's Sunday gown. But Sam's waysti'n' new. I tells you all good. Lors Gemini. what a slornil “I 'mcmbcrs of no sich since (let some storm as do debbil come in to fetch ole iiiarse's soulâ€"dis berry night seven year past. an' be. carried of him off all in a . unlltsuddint whiff! jist like a puff of win'. her pmmme to do no'li’tn’ no wonder. seeiii' how he done thing with the letters without further traded his soul to him for. moncyl evidence. contented himself with watch- ing her motions, feeling compai‘atichi' at ease as long as she should remain in the house; and being resolved to pre- vent her from going forth. or to accom- pany her if she persisted in leaving home. With Miriam, the sliock.‘tlie anguish. l “An‘ Sam's here ag‘in toâ€"iiiglit! dunno who he's come ai‘terl but he's here. now. I tells you all good!" said Jenny. as she took up the urn to carry it into the par- lor. When she got there she could scarcely get to the fire; Paul took up the front. Ilis immobility and unconsciousness the sli‘uaale had well-nigh passed: 5110 irritated Jenny beycnd silent endur-J was at once subdued and resolved. like I ance_ one into whom some spirit had entered "I tell you all what." she said. “I and bound her own spirit. and actedlrmums to 'Sign my sitewntion! ’dred I throug to her. so strange the impassiveness of h her. So strange did all appeartdoj ‘ 1 can’t kill myself for dcm as wouldn't even care ’nougli for me to her own will. of her habits and effec-nmve a mass said [or do isposc o‘ my tions. that should have rebelled and wari‘ed against herpurpose that she sometimes thought herself not herself. -or Insane. mania. or some strange hallucination. a dreamer. a sumnainbulist. perhaps. And yet with matchless tact and discre- tion. she went about her deadly work. She had prepared her plan of action. and now waited only for a day very near at hand. the fourth of April. the anniversary of Marian's assassination. to put Thurston to a ï¬nal test before proceeding further. I 1 soul." K “What. do you‘mean‘l†asked Paul. an- grilly. for confinement. solitude. bad 01‘ “18 SUNS“ 0f ‘1 mono'chather. and anxiety. had combined to make him qucrulous. too. “1 means how of yer doesn't have a kivercd way made from de house to do kitchen an' back ag‘in. l gwine give up waitin‘ on de table. new min’ I tell yer. 'dcr:d met an‘ now ef you likes. yer may jes‘ go an' tell Marse Rooster." _ “‘Marse Roosterl’ Will you ever give up that horrid nonsense. Why you oldâ€"l Is my brotherâ€"is your master The day came at lastâ€"4t was cold and j a barn-door chicken-cock. that you call wintry for the season. Toward eveningihiin ‘Roosier?’" asked the young man. the sky became overcast with leadeii‘snappishly. clouds. and the chill dampness pene- trated into all the rooms of the old man- .sion. Poor Fanny was muttering and to herself and her "spirits" over the wood fire in her distant room. Mr. Willcoxen had not appeared since breakfast time. Miriam remained in char own chamber; and Paul wandered restlessly from place to place through all the rooms of the. house. or threw htmsclf wearily into his chair before the parlor fire. Inclement as the weather was. he would have gone forth. but that he. too. remembered the anniver- sary. and a nameless anxiety connected with Miriam confined him to the house. In the kitchen. the colored folk gath- ered around the fire. grumbling at the unscasonablc coldness of the weather. and predicting a hailstorm. and telling each other that they never “ 'sperienced" such weather this time ’0 year. ‘ccot 'lwas that spring Ole Marse diedâ€"when aio wonder. 'siderin’ how he lived long .0’ Sam all his life." Only old Jenny went in and out from .liouse to kitchen. Old .lenny had enough to do to carry wood to the various fires. She had never “seed it so cold for do season nytlier. ’cept ’twas de spring Miss Macian went to hebben. and not a bit o’ wonder dc yetli was cole arter she was goneâ€"do dear. Iovin’ heart warm angel; 'decd I wondered how it ever come sum- mer again. an’ thought it was right down onsensiblo in her morning-glories to bloom out jest do some as ever. arter she was gonel An' what minds me to speak 0’ Miss Marian now. it war jes’ seven years this night. since she 'parted dis life." saidJcnny. as she stood leanâ€" ing her head upon the mantel-piece. and toasting her toesat the kitchen fire. pre- vious to carrying another armful of 'wood into the parlor. Night and the storm descended toge- therâ€"such a tempest! such a wild out- breaking of the elements! rain and bail. .and snow and wind. all warring upon the earth together! The old house shook, the doors and \‘lll‘tdOW‘S rattled, the timbers cracked. the shingles were torn off and whirled aloft. the trees were swayed and snapped; and as the storm increased in violence and reused to fury. the forest beat before its might. and the waves rose and overflowed the low land. Still old Jenny went in and out of the house to kitchen and kitchen to house. wood. water. meat. bread. sauce. sweetmeats. arranging the table for supper. replenishing the fire. light- ing the candles. letting down the cur- tainsâ€"and trying to make everything cozy and comfortable for the reassem- bling of the ï¬reside circle. Poor old Jenny had passed so much of her life in the family with “the white folks." that .all her sympathies went with themâ€"and on the. state of thir spiritual atmosphere depended all her cheerfuliiess and com- fort; and now the cool. distant. sorrow- ful condition of the members of the little famin circlea‘ebcry single mudder‘s son and dai‘ter of 'em. superamblatol off to dense†like pris'iiers iii a jail- liouso'C-as she said~deprcssed her spir- its very much. Jennic's reaction from de- pression was always quite queriilous. And toward the height of the storm. there was a reaction and she grew very quar- rclsoznc. “Sums wayslin' roun’ in dere.†said Kenny. as she thrust her feet into the kitchen fire. before carrying in the urn: “Sam's waysliii‘, I tells you all good: wary quiet doughâ€"no noise. no‘ faltin’ out. no ’spiiliii' nor iiothin'â€"iill quiet as do ycth jest afore a debbil of a stormwnobody in do parlor ’cept "ifs Morse Paul. settin' right afore do par- lor tire. wid one leg poked cast. and lodcr west. wid the boots on dc. andi‘roiis like a spread‘eagle! lt‘miflll' as glam as if I owed him a year's sari-ice. aii’ neb- hcr so much as ii-say'iii‘.’ ‘Jeniiy. you poor old debbil. ain‘t you arold‘." an' “it! coming in ebery mimiit wid Iii-:- Icfccs a-jlnglln' 'i'oun’ my linsey-vxuolseyl “Well. Shroosler. den. of you wants me to wring my tongue in two. Ef people's sponsors in baptism will gib der chillun such heathenï¬names. how do debbil any Christian ’oman gwine to twis' her tongue .'roun' it? I thanks my 'Vine Mars‘tcr dat my sponsors in bap- tism named me arter do bresscd an‘ holy S'int Janeâ€"who has ’staincd and s’ported me all my days; an’ 'ill deteck now. dough you do try to break my poor ole heart long wid onkindness at my olc age 0’ life! But what's do use 0‘ talkin'â€"Sam’s waystin'!" And so say- ing. Jenny gave the finishing touches to the arrangement of the table. and then seized the bell. and rang it with needless vigor and violence. to bring the scat- tered members of the family together. They came slowly and singly. and drew around the table more like ghosts than living persons. a few remarks upon the storm. and then they sunk into si- lenceâ€"and as soon as the gloomy meal was over. onc.by one they dropped away from the roomâ€"first went poor Fanny. then Mr. Willcoxen. then Mir- iam. “Where are you going. Miriam?" ask- ed Paul. as the latter was leaving the room. “To my chamber." And before he could further question. or longer detain her. she pressed his hand and went out. And Paul. with a. deep sigh and a strangely foreboding heart. sank back into his seat. When Miriam reached her bedroom. she carefully closed and locked the door. went to her bureau. opened the top- drawer. and took from it a small oblong mahogany glove-box. She unlocked the latter. and took out a small parcel. which she unwrapped and laid before her "upon the bureau. It was the xyphias poniard. The weapon had come into her pos- session some time before in the follow- ing manner: During the first winter of Paul Douglass‘ absence from home. Mr. Willcoxen lied emancipated several of his slaves and provided means for their emigration to Liberia. They were to sail early in March. Among the number was Melchizedek. A few days previous to their departure. this man had come to the house. and sought the presence of his youthful mistress. when he knew her to be alone in the parlor. and with a good deal of mystery and hesitation had laid before her a dagger which he said he should rather have given to “Marster Paul." if the latter had been at home. He had picked it up near the water‘s edge. on the sands the night of Miss Maytield's death. which “hiarsler†had taken so to heart. that he was afraid to llIlI‘l'GW up his feelings by bringing it to him a second tiiiieâ€"biit: that as it was an article of value. he did not like to take it away with him. And he bogged Miss Miriam to take charge of it. And Miriam had taken it. and with surprise. but without the slightest: suspicion. had read the name of “’l‘hiirs- ton Willcoxen†carved upon its llfllltl'lm To all her questions. Melchisedek had given evasive answers. or remained ob- stinatcly silent. being determined not. to betray his iimster's conï¬dence by re- vealing his share in the events of that: total night. Miriam had taken the little instrument. wrapped it carefully in pa- per. and locked it in her chiâ€"fashioned! long glove-box. And from that day to this she had not opened it. New. liowevri‘. she had taken it out. with a ï¬xed purpose. and she stood and gazed upon it. Presently she took it tin. rolled it in the paper. took her lump. aiitl slowly left the I‘O'Ulll. and passed along the passages leading to Mr. \\'illee.\.eiis library. The storm howled and rated as she went. mid the strong blast. driving through the diliqiiidatcil v-xiiii'low sashes. nearly extinguished her light before she. rear ed the study door. She blew out the ligi t and set down NOW'ADAYS. Dorothy-Momma. is father very poor? Motherâ€"What nonsense. Dorothyâ€"But you go to somebody else‘s house for luch or dinner nearly every day. the lamp. and rapped at the door. Again and again she raped. without awakening any response from within. Then she turned the latch. opened ...e door. and entered. No wonder she had received no answer. The abstracted man before her seemed dead to every sight and sound around him. lie sat before the table in the mid- dle of the room. his elbow on the mahogany; his face bowed upon his hand. his haggard countenance reveal- ing a still. speechless despair as awful as it was profound. Miriam approached and stood by him. her breath went by his check. so near she stood. and yet her presence was un- needed. She stooped to see the, object upon which he gazed-the object that now shut out all the World froui his sightâ€"it was a long bright tress of golden auburn hair. “Mr. Willroxen!“ He did not hear herâ€"how should he hear her low tones. when he heard not the cannonading of the storm that shook the house to its foundations? ‘ “Mr. Willeoxenl" she said once more. But he moved not a muscle. “Mr. \Villcoxenl" she repeated, laying her hand upon his arm. He looked up. The expression of bag- gard despair softened out of his C(illll‘ tenance. “Is it you, my dear?“ he said. “What has brought you here. Miriam? Wch you afraid of the storm? There is no danger. dear childâ€"it has nearly ex- pended its force. and will soon be over. â€"-but sit down." ~ “Oh. not it is not the storm that has brought me here. though I scarcely re- member a storm so violent at this sea- son of the year. except oneâ€"this night seven years agoâ€"the night that Marian Mayfield was murdered!" lle startedâ€"it is true that he lied bee/n thinking of the same dread tragedy-'- biit to hear it suddenly mentioned pierced him like an unexpected swordi thrust. Miriam proceeded. speaking in a: strange. level monotone. as if unwilling or afraid to trust her voice far: “I came this evening to restore a small but costly article of vii'tu. belonging to you. and left in my care some time ago by the boy Il'felcliisedek. It is an an- tique daggerâ€"somewhat rusty and spotâ€" ted. Ilere it is." And she told the poniard down upon the tress of hair before him. ‘ Ile sprang up as if it had been a viper â€"liis whole frame shook. and the nor- spiralion started from his livid forehead. Miriam. keeping her eye upon him. took the dagger up. “It is very rusty. slrcakcr.†she said. “I wonder what these dark streaks can be? They run along the edge. from the extreme point of the blade. upwards toward the, ban- dle; they look to me like the stains of bloodâ€"as if a murderer had stabbed his victim with it. and in his haste to escape had forgotten to wipe the blade, but had left the blood upon it. to curdlo and cor- rode tho steel. See! don‘t it. look so to you?" she said. approaching him. and holding me weapon up to his view. “Girl! girl! what do you mean?" he exclaimed. throwing his hand arcross his eyes. and hurrying across tlie room. Miriam flung down the weapon with a force that made its metal ring upon the floor. and fastening after him. she stood before him; her dark eyes fixed upon his. streaming with insufferable and consuming fire. that seemed to burn through his brain. She said: “I have heard of ï¬ends in the human shape. nay. I have heard of Satan in the guise of an angel of liglitl Are you such that stand before me new?" “Miriam. what do you mean?" he ask- ed. in sorrowful astonisliiiieiii. “This is what I mean! That the mys- tery ol‘ Marian Mayfield's late. the, se- cret of your long remorse. is no longer hidden! I charge you with the murder of Marian Maytield!" “Miriam. you are mad!†“Oh! well for me. and better still for you. if I were mad!†. (To be continued). ._.____.+_____ Settlers' Low Rates “'est. The Chicago and Northwestern Rail- way will sell you one-way Second-class settlei‘s’ tickets. daily. from Feb. 15. to April ’7. was, to points in Colorado. Utah. h'liintana. Nevada. Idaho. 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It ++++++++++++++++++++++ that its farm t+++++++++ , + + * Q- + + + + '6 + «f ++++++++++++++++++++ SEED A wJ'I‘ING. In preparation for spring field and garden work a very important prelimi‘ “my process is but too often neglected. that of testing the vitality and purity vi the seeds to be planted. Whether these. are home-grown or procured from 5001 dealers the omission of examination for any considerable proportion of weed seed and for ascertaining the viability of the germs is in many cases attended with disastrous consequences. It is very important that first plant,- iugs should grow. The value of the time and labor given to replanting subtracts that much from the assets of the crop and the delay of the latter in getting it reasonable start not infrequently pi'c- vents its best development. Consequent- ly when the land has been properly for- tilized and worked the seed committed to it should always be the best procur- able. For field crops the majority of farmers use seed from their own granarics or from those of neighbors. This needs selection and often special winnowing undesirable plants. and especially of kinds blackened or swollen with ergot growth. Perfect seed corn is most easily at- tained and should always be purchased in the ear. and if possible shelled by hand. so that off-color grains and those from the tipqand base may be discarded. Grass. clover and the smaller garden seeds. unless procured under guarantee from the most reliable dealers. require close scrutiny to prevent meadow. pas- secds of sorrel. dock. amarantli. Ilussian thistle. mustard and wild carrot. A teaspoonful of any of these seeds scattered over a sheet of white paper and examined under a strong light will reveal even to the naked eye any adul- terant that may be mingled with it. If the latter be found in any considerable from the deleterious forms. To ascertain the proportion of seeds that will germinate in a given quantity is of almost equal importance with pre- cautions for securing their purity. Un- reliable seedsmen may attempt to palm off their old stock with that which is fresh. and while many of the grains. grasses. legumes and garden seeds will retain their viability from two to several years. under favorable conditions. a large proportion do not. and where old seeds is mingled with the new a poor stand is the result. To test the proportion of vigorous germs in a package of seed. place, a con tain number or quantity between two thick sheets of blotting paper or of col- ton waddingdborougth moistened. and inc-lose these between panes of glass or plates of zinc to retain the moisture and keep at a temperature of from 60 de- grces to 80 degrees. Almost all seeds respond more quickly to a high than a low temperature. but those of wheat. rye and oats germinate will take place in periods varying from twenty-four hours to ten or twelve days â€"â€"tobacco. cucumbers and melons being the slowest to start. Of course. the sow- ing or planting should be thin or thick. according to the number of vital seeds in the tested sample. ___... SIIICDS FOR IMPLEMENI'S. Of Ilie things a. successful farmer should consider. the question of a tool shed is one of the mast important. The president of one of the largest harvester manufacturing companies told me that. more farm machines and iinple. ments were made unfit for use by rot- ting and rusting than were worn out. I believe his statements. This means that at least half of the millions and millions of dollars" worth of farm machinery. made and sold to faI‘II'ICI‘S. are test by the neglect and care. lessness of the owners. instead of by legitimate wear. I am sure that a large part of this loss can be avoided. And the subject is an iiiiporliiiit oiic. Speaking as a farmer myself and ceiistious of the vast num- ber of legitimate calls on me for money, I know I Cannot afford to throw away half the value of my Idols and imple- meats. and I do try not to. do it. al- though I ci'tilfrss that it is donut impos- sible to provide against every little thingr that may cause loss. The chief lu<<. liowevui'. that is the l'\'- posure of iziiplt-iiicnts to the weather. can be avoided. I do it. as a great, man)- tulip-rs do. liy [tI’-J‘t'llllllg a grunt. t‘uh‘rl Sitt‘il. table of my IIUI’N.‘ l;~;:iii<. The latter is numbers the seed should be rejected and destroyed unless it can be separated . . ~ n ‘ .‘iliiiv is l.-Illlt tiii the smith! fifty-one feet. long and the inside is di- vided into two box stalls. Along the entire length of the south side this shed is built and under it we store one, farm wagon. grain drill. check row corn planter. sulky plow. two mow- ing machines. cutaway liai-row. other plows. cultivators. etc. These tools never get wet. unless they are caught out in summer when in frequent use. Of Course they cannot be kept abso- lutely rust. proof; because while a good coating of tallow Or paraphine will pre- vent rust. it is.almost impossible to keep them covered with anything of the sort. Besides the slight. damage from the rust occasioned by mere dampness is not a matter of importance. It is more than likely that the wearing parts of all of them will be worn past! the possibility of service before the parts affected by rust will be seriously in- jured. If the idea of protecting implements were carried out to the extreme possible limit. tools would never be left out at night in the fields. even. when in daily use in the summer. As a matter of fact. the summer dews and showers. alter- nating with the hot sun. do more injury than a great (leaf of winter exposure. I realize that on any except a very small farm. where the barn is near every field. it is almost impossible to take imple- ments back and forth every time they are used. Probably the best way to accomplish the end in view would be to build a small shed in every field that would accom' modate a small number of such things at a time. SWINE NOTES. Cheap breeding is always followed by cheap selling. Proï¬ts are not the efforts of carlessness or indifference. Grade animals never reproduce all their good qualities when bred. The scrub element is sure to crop out seine- where. and it usually comes in the form least expected or desired. Young stock cannot be starved and afterwards coaxed into thrift. When once injured in this way. the time and vitality lost can never be recovered. If the sows are being well fed before the pigs are weaned. they will gain rapidly on the some feed and be ready. to breed again as soon as they have gained a little flesh. Hogs must have something to rub against. Unless there are rubbing posts. they will rub against the fence. and they may push it down or open holes through which to get out. It. is a mistaken idea that pigs enjoy sour stuff better than that which is sweet and wholesome. When pigs are well born. they make. good growth it they have plenty If grass. shade, water. and a little grain to keep them in flesh and to keep them gentle. Disposition needs to be considered in hogs as well as in other stock. The hog with a short nose. thick head and short body is liable to be quiet and easy to manage. “Under no circumstance must a breed sow and her pigs be shut in a nasty. muddy pen.†This is the advice of a‘ very successful and experienced breed- er to a beginner. Note that no decent] breeder ever treats his fine brood sows that way. and why not just as well exa tend this common-sense treatment to the “just plain breed" or those of no breed} at all. It is better to raise eight good pigs than twelve inferior ones. -There'will be more money in the former than in the latter. though they outnumber them. Quality is more important than quan- tity. All troughs and feeding pens should! be kept scrupulously clean. Don‘t let» any feed remain after they get throuin with the food in the trough. It sours, moulds and is unhealthy. Be sure the pigs have a trough for themselves that cannot be reached by the mother or the other hogs. It teaches them to eat and prevents any shrinkage! during weaning. It is a self-weaner. TO THE PRINCESS ENA. â€". (On reading the Protestant Protest). I I-lna Menu Mina Mo (taught a Spaniardâ€"Alfrmsoâ€" I’i'ods they liollei“d "Let him go." lino Menu answered "No." lino .‘ilena Mina i\lo [told you fast to Alfonso. Tell the i’rotls that they may go. They've ll!) Purgatory. yeti liuozv. I-Ziia ;\l-iia Mina I\lo (nice :i llatliolie. always so. Keep your \uv.<. to Alfonso. litlwzii'tl. lot), will It'll flit-iii “No.†Iiiia Menu Mina hit). 'l‘ti limiveii Ivy llltf1|_\' i'titi-ls we git; 'l‘i'lt tllfist‘t l‘l'i‘ulé. \\'i: Mill _\’()‘.1 bl! ~< You gt: ‘l-nig with Alfonso. 'â€""â€"+ . A nun-tin: is. a man who» lives up t} his wife's expectations of him.