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fi++++++++++f+f++tf+ ++++++++++++++++++++++ CflAl'l‘fil’t \‘l. The memory of that scene weighed like a lasting nightmare upon Edward An- ncslcy‘s troubled heart. \\llt‘n he entered his aunt‘s presence he expected something.T painful. but nothing terrible; he thought to see a bereaved mother, he found a tigress robbed of her cuts. All the fiercriiess in tier nature blazed up at the sight of him. a grim joy 1‘i0ssesscd her at the opportunity of deir'iuncmg him as the cause of her loss; for where other women grieved. this one raged. He could only stand silent before the storm. doing mule homage to her age. her sex. and her bitter sorrow; pained by the sight of a paSsioii so like that llC had witnessed a few hours since in one, whose passions were now forever Stillel. and hoping tiial her frenzy would ev- hauat itself. that she might at least ac- cept some kind words frofii him. if no- thing more. That. which silently gnawed his heart ‘was bad enough without spoken re- proach; her words burned into him like molten metal. and left lifelong wounds. In everything. she said. he tiad sup- planted her son: he had secretly stolen the heart of Alice from Paul while open- ly trifling with Sibyl. whose life he had marred. And now he had driven l’aul to his death that he might snatch his in- heritance. Let. him take that inheritance 'with the curse attached to it, and a yet more, withering curse on to that. the --curse of a childless widow. She asked 'him. tiow a strong and active man like her son could. it alone. slip and fali be- yond recovery. She told him thatrthe rc- proach of having survived him would -Cling to him and blight his happiness for life. All this she said in the fewest. most cutting words. without agitation. with a «deep, full voice. standing erect and im- Amovable. with a hard brilliance in her cold blue eyes, and when she had finished. she bid him go and come near ther no more. He haunted. looking silently at. her stern, fearless face. in which he saw such bitter anger that he thought. the shock must have made her beside her self. He hoped that what she said was half unconscious. and would be forgotten jwhen she came to herself. Neverthe- :‘less, the barbed words struck home, and her cold. immovable calm imprmsed him with a horror he could not shake off. and se‘eing that his presence only irritated her. he withdrew with some expressions of regret for her condition. and a hope that he should find her calmer on the ‘ morrow. Mrs. Annesley laughed a hard laugh. ‘ and said quietly that she never had been and never should be calmer than at that moment, which was perfectly true. But when the door had closed upon him. and her gaze fell upon some trifle that Paul ~ had given her. the calm deserted her. a sense of her bitter bereaval took hold of “her, the memory of a thousand stormy scenes in which she had wounded her only son rose up accusineg before her. and she sobbed and moaned. and felt herself to be the most miserable woman upon earth. . u Edward left her. feeling as if he had Just. been cast naked into a pit of scor- pions, scarce knowing what he did or whither he went. tie and she alone KDCW’llOW the scar came upon Paul's face; she had looked when that oc- =curred as she looked now. He wondered .if he could be the same man who had left the gypsy party at the river‘s source a few flottf’s before and had stepped lightly along the rocky path in the sim- . shine, heart. He. met Sibyl in the corridor. and she, ' seeing the misery in his face. gave way I where he fell: ++++++++++++++++++++++ l , ‘ Face to Face @@@@@@@@ OR,GERVASEJUUKMANS ’ AMBITION. Â¥I++++++++Â¥++Â¥+++++++d+¥¥¥+Â¥i+++i4ei+ii+++++ l +¢+ * +++++++++++++++++++++ r l l in her sudden remeisc in the wood : “t iii.: t‘aul. l’aul! If 1 had litll known l" She was very calm now. though llt“ Could not see her fan- in the shadow; but calmness, he k'nt'w \\cll, was no in- dcx to the depth of her sorrow: her nature in joy mid grief to command herself. Yet he thought she wishid to avoid him. “Have you been to aunlie. Ned?" asked Eleanor. starting up at his stcp. “Yes.” he answered. heavily. and he sat down and gazed blaukly before him. "Nellie," said Alice. “do you think you could go to your aunt?" “She had better not.“ replied Edward. quickly; “it would be too painful for lzt‘l‘.” ‘ “lhit \lrs. .\iiiicslcy must not lie left alone." said Alice. with some reproach in her voice. “i am afraid your interview has been trying. .\ir. Anncsleyâ€"but how could it be otherwise Is she no calmer 3’" “i believe." returned Edward. slowly.. "that she is out of llt't' mind." “Poor soul! Then i will go to her at. once." said Alice. rising. “She is better alone. Miss Lingard," interposed Edward. hastily: “pray don't subject yourself to anything so dreadful. She is not. accountable for what she says now-no one must believe what she saysâ€"«her grief must have its way. Her maid is at hand. l'ray. Miss litigant." He even barred the way when she would have left the room. and held the door shut behind him. until a.pressure from without caused’ him to open it and dis- close the figure of (lervase. who had seen his meeting with Sibyl a few moments before. i “Alice is right.“ Gervase said. on hear- ing the cause of dispute; “Mrs. Annes- ley is not fit to be left alone; it would be cruel. Nellie is too young. and just now too unwell. and Sibylâ€" well. Sibyl could not he what Alice is to her.” Alice therefore went. with cycry word that Edward had just uttered so hastily and brokenly sinking permanently into her memory. Mrs. Anueslcy roused her- self at the sigl l of her to repeat the do nunciation of fiidward. in tones of sor- rowful conviction this time. Alice, inwardly trembling. did what she could to soothe the now terribly agi- tated woman, and bid her consider be- fore accusing Edward in the hearing of others. thankful that. as: she supposed, she alone had as yet heard anything. “Dear Mrs. Aniiesley.” she rcmon~ strated. “you imply that he had a hand in your son‘s death when you speak so." “Alice.” replied Mrs. Aunesley. quietly and coldly, “do you know where Edward was at the moment of Paul‘s fall?” “No.” she replied, simply; “how should I?" “How. indeed ‘3" repeated Mrs. 'Annes- ley, setting her lips hard; “that is what no one knows or ever will know.” “It is very simple, dear.” said Alice; "we will ask him." “Ask him i” returned Ml". Annesley, with terrible scornâ€"“ask him yourself, Alice." Then her mood changed. and she sud- denly fell to weeping. staying herself upon Alice. “Oli. Alice! Alice l" she cried. “my poor child loved youâ€"he loved you t" and their fears mingled, and the bitter- ness seemed to pass away. Paul's body was never found. They waited and watched in vain that night. Alice thought that if she could look once more upon his dead face. and press one repoiiaint kiss upon the cold brow that ct-uld never more thrill with passion. even at the touch of her lips. she would be happier and perhaps lose the un- singing in the tightness of his|rcasoning remorse which troubled her now. The current was strong at the, spot- the bursting of an Alpine to one of those guiletess impulses she thunderstorm about an hour after the ,nevep could resign and laid her mind accident increased the ditliculty of the _ gently on his arm. “Dear Mr. Anncsley," she search which “as quickly instituted. said. in her Then: weie good reasons- why the body. .. clear light voice. “I am so so ry for you. it discovered by chance, should be con~ All this must be so painful." He said rattling. but kissed the hand she had giwn him. and passed on with a full heart. Sibyl alone condoled with him on that day's work. he f'i’llt‘l'lt‘tl. and then the barbed arrow of iiis aunt‘s sug- ggestion about her rankch in lll> heart. He went. into the sillingi-o .m. \\ltl'l'n‘ his sister lay on a COU‘v'll nili: .\ticc sit- ting by ier side. By this time it was d: :" lonely village was asleep. lights still burned. and min they gradually dying out; in: ill" .\i-ncstty party did iiol yct dream of going lht‘ mg... :iily tlii‘ li-itclj \\ci'ej(‘ndlcss formalities \\illi i'cgui'd to tlicl t illli‘ Ccaled again. Paul wore a valuable watch. and had a good deal more money than prudent people care to carry about. in his pocket. and. as it was ascertained that he had not givcii the diamonds into jcwellcr's charge before leaving \vufchatei. and they were not. found among his effects. it was inferred that they, too. were upon lliltl. I'deard passed some weary weeks in .\‘\\:l7.erlaiid. a lllltl‘ of fruitless for the missing body. and of apparently d.atli. .i l.mv which he spent entirely to apart from his aunt. who refused to see it “as, search i l l l ,, - __â€"‘ lifsjt-Ciih‘ homes accident: tln two women were thus alone with their loss. and the elder en- lrealcd the younger to make her homi- ‘.'.illl her. and remain with her alto- gctiiv'r to chew ltt‘f' desolation. lhil .\lirc. without refusing absotu'ely it t-iilerliiiii this proposal. said that it was too early yet to form any definite plans: they would wait and consider. and decide nothing till the healing hand of 'l‘iint- find wrought some comfort. in Mrs. .\llltt‘sli‘yS stricken licart. Cll.\l‘.r'.t‘u \‘ll. .\ short time before they left the village in the .lura. Alice onc day gathered some late autumn flowers and bound them together. and ticr\a~c Hickman. who l,ad remained with Mrs. .\iiuesley. journeying backward and forward on lill>lllt‘.\'$ connected with l’aiil's death, asked her for what purpose she. had galiii'i't‘d them. “i am going for a long walk." she re- [lilt‘il. t‘\‘rl.\l\'t‘l‘\". :llltl s‘lit‘ (lltl lliil him to accompany her; tut he saw her go in the direction of the palli wound along the i-ivcr's rocky bank to- ward its source. and presently he went the same way \\'llll a New to meeting ltt'l‘. as if by accident. “That old woman will be the death oi her if this goes on much longer." be said to himself. glad that lli‘ had urged his father and mother ti «all low back to Al'tlt‘li. it was now (li‘lt.lii~l'; tile lilisii of the solemn autumn lay upon the mountain pastures and the fading. dreaming woods. and although. lower down in the warm valleys and sheltered folds of the mountain. some grapes still remained glowing in the hot. sunshine in the vine- yards. and the country was alive with the songs and shouts of the vinlagers. and full of the mellow. intoxicating odor :wk of crushed grapes. up there on the green .lura slopes llic frosts had been keen and the winds chill. [hit on this afternoon all was peace: the sun shone warme with a last. relenting glow be- fore thc iincliaining of the winter tem- pests, and Alice was glad to lose herself in the beauty of the quiet season. She made her way through the wood in which she had rested shortly before she had heard the heavy tidings of Paul's death a month since. and, though the way was long. dil not pause until she reached the, spot upon the cliff's edge where he slipped and fell on that. un- fortunate day. There she rested. look- ing down into the green waters. now turbid from the heavy equinoctial rains, and thought it all over. Then she took tlicvflowers, and threw them carefully down ‘the cliff. so that they might clear the trees and bushes which grew here and there in the unevennesses and clefts in the rocky wall. and fall into the river. where she watched them swerve with the current and float down the stream. till a jutting buttress of rock hid them from her gaze. .lust so Paul’s life. less body must have been borne away. It seemed as: if her heart went with the flowers and sunk in the waters forever with the body ofihcr ill-starred lover. Her face was worn with care. there were dark hollows beneath her eyes; the shadow of Mrs. Annesley‘s grief lay heavily upon her youth; it was crushing all the brightness out of her. and besides that. she carried the heavy burden of an unspoken fear within her, and waged a daily, wasting warfare with a suspicion that grew stronger from the combat. She had ceased openly to rebut Mrs. Annaley‘s accusations of her ne- phew. but nevertheless the continual allusions made by the latter told upon her. She learned now of the long rivalry between the eousinss dangerous half truths; she heard of a quarrel at Medington. though not of the agreement in which it terminated. Paul had himself betrayed his jealousy of Edward in that unfortunate boat scene; the distant and almost hostile terms on which the cousins were, had been evident to the whole party. Alice knew something of f’aul‘s temper; she knew well what maddening things he could say when his blood was stirred to white heat: she could well imagine that Edward's temper. though sweet. enough. would give way before Paul’s cutting sarcasms. and betray him into what was foreign to his nature at calmer times. But why had be chosen the tortuous course of concealment. which the words she overheard him say by the river iin- plied? She could not'forgive him that : a man capable of that was not to be trusted. nor was one stained with so dark a thing as homicide worth the thought she was wasting on lll'll. The reproach was ab ready beginning to work upon Aniics- ley. When Alice had been Sitting thus. brooding on these disquieting thoughts at good twenty minutes. during which some of the autumn peace had stolen into her heart. her niournful reverie was broken by the appearance of Gei-vase ticknian. “This is not a good place for you," he said. with gentle rebuke; "i am glad you will soon be far away.“ “it is a farewell visit.” she replied. looking up, her eyes bright with rising tears. “Come and sit on this rock. and rest. they were wailingr and watching him and only conununicafol with him tell me exactly what you saw on that for the return of tlic searchers: with their thro'ugh Gervuse and her otter lawyer.-.jday-. When I have seen it all in imagi- ' Then he returned to England. the gainer nation clearly before me, I shall brood Alice sag in mi. Shaw“; gm. jmd oniyiof a great inheritance that he did not less upon it. perhaps." . . . . . ' ,. . W . . - W ‘ 1 ' He sat down at her bidding. and looked so distinctive of him. and Alice shaded ll‘leUHt‘t t lll‘lllfilil‘llwlg- A\\Irl'l‘l1 fliiceicloyeer tier face with her hand and watched thel‘1nd Ends“ p a” 3 “r‘ """1'": ‘ r n w tragic burden. seen Edward once since the under the pine-trees. and she had llicn rich with opportunities that he otservcd. in the brief glance she caught . never coveted and would gladly have re- of him. that the edelueiss was removed l nouuced in exchange for the sunny peace' _ from his fiat. The sight of her siirred lidwazd \vittrthc rail through the mountains only a feeling akin to pain-a mysterious something bid him fly from her; for the pity and terror of Paul‘s. untimely fate' had reared a barrier between them. in- surinouzitablc for the time. It seemed an unfair advantage over the (lead man. even to recall his assurance that there was no chance of his winning her, or to of mind he enjoyed when travelling a few weeks earlier. Mis. .\iiiiesley time after his departure before she went home. a while-haired. broken-hearted woman. Alice Lingard. the only creature to whom she now showed any affection. remained with her. surrouirtnig her with tender cares. and trying to soften the consider the meaning of the passion in bitter blow which had fallen upon her. Alice's voice. when she cried upon Paul .Sibyl and Eleanor had returned to their meeting w ant. burdened with responsibilities and; lladl \vistfully at her. wishing she would ask on, reflecting that she would i him anything else. meaning to ask her to spare him the pain of the narration. think such shrinking on his part umnanly. longing vainly to be sand from a temptation he stayed on some little knew to be beyond his strength. “Tell me all." she repeated. seeing‘thal be hesitated; “it will do me good.” So he took up his fate. and said that he had followed the two cousins from the river‘s source on the day of Paul’s death. partly to see what had become of Paul. who had left them for no appar- ent purpose. partly to help Edward to. ward Annesley then appeared upon the lsnouer. when I‘aul cried for help '."' asked \\lllt'll‘ iiiiiiii‘dialcly after the 'find some means of carry ing \'ellie down to Bourael; that. as he ai il'iiat‘llt‘tl the E‘ l SDot in which tin-y were now sitting. where the ground was broken. and sloped suddenly down to the cliffs edge. he heard a cry. and runningr up. saw l‘aui clinging to the birch-tree beneath them. the snapped trunk of which showed that it had given way beneath li‘s weight. lie saw the tree bound and rebound. before it finally snappcd. and Paul fell into the water, and was scrn no more. it was his opinion at the time. that Paul. who could not swim. had been killed or disabled by striking on the rocky bed of the stream. He called and ran for help. wiiijzh he found in the shape of some men at work higher up. Erl- That was the whole story. did Mr. Anncslcy not appear \t't‘llt‘. “\Vliy \tit'e. quietly. “That I am unable to evpiaiii." (ii-rvas: icliirncd. (lryly; “perhaps he did not hear." “Then why did he conic at all?” “Perhaps he heard. but was, too far off it» arrive sot'iner.” “tier-vase." said Alice. turning and looking him [lift in the face: “you .‘fl't .nol telling me lllt‘ utiqu truth." He was obligcd to inch llt'l' gam- fora moment; biil iiiiiiii‘..:ilrly it\l'l'l|(l his gtili‘ :llnl ld't‘tllllt‘tl tpllu‘lvl}. litit l\']]‘i\\'ill: what to say. ‘ “You are concealing .\iillll‘lllfflrg.“ .i‘cpeatt'tl. “’l'iii-i-e occasions. .\licc." he reâ€" plied. “on which one is lltililltf in lltilltif' fl] llt‘ allv‘lll.” 'l‘liv‘ll sllc l“ Il‘lt'llllllll'i'tl llll' j’il'utiiisi' slii' had overheard. and her heart grew faint. “It may be right for you to be silent." she, returned. “but only if you time promised." “Alice.” continued t’icrvase. earnestly. “unless you wish to do l-ldward AiiiiesIt-y harm. you had better not enter too close- ly into details." “l donl believe it." she replied. vehe- mently: “truth will not harm him. but concealment may.” “Well! 1 can only repeat what I say: if you wish to injure him. the means are at hand.” Alice plucked a spray of juniper which grew near. and fore it. to pieces in agi- tated silence. “it is curious.” reflected Grrvase. “that reigning princes are always at war willi heirs apparent. 'iae Anneslcys were the best of friends till this illâ€"fated inheri- tance fell to Paul." “Do you think that set them at vari- ance ‘2" “Undoubtedly. .\ll" fll't‘ But Paul had another cause of strife; he was jealous, you know how causelessly. of Edward. l‘aul never could understand how meaning- less are half a dozen sugared words from a. military man. accustomed to two flir- tatious a week on an average. He could still kss understand that a man who means nothing can be jealous from vanity. lie was thoroughly loyal. poor fellow 1" “He was. indeed.” Alice replied. ab- sently. She was thinking. with a sink- ing heart. that she must forget Edward. since he had never cared for her.as Ger- vase. so good a leader of character, plainly saw. and with brotherly affec- tion and delicate tact pointed out to her. She was thinking. with still deeper pain, that. silence with regard to that fatal hour upon the banks of the Doubs was the greatest kindness Edward’s friends could show him ; his own words on that afternoon as well as Gervase’s present hints were witnesses to that. How blinded she had been to his true characâ€" ter by the glamor of her unasked love! How little she had dreamed that the very failing she censured so severely in Paul, want. of self-control, was that of the man she preferred before him; the evil heri- tage of the Annesleys showing itself. not. as in the slain man. in an un~ bridled surrender of himself to his loves and likings. but in an inability to master the anger Paul‘s sarcasm and unwar- rantable jealousy must have kindled in him. Paul was headlong'and uncurde in love. and thus lost tier; Edward was evidently headlong and uncurbed in wrath. She repudiated a yet darker motive on the part of the heir to so rich 3 property, a motive urged by Mrs. An- nesley in moments of confidence; the worst thing to be attributed to Edward probably.\vas yielding to a passionate impulse that circumstances made crimi- nal. She looked at (lei-vase, and rea- lized that. slight as her strength was comparatively. a vigorous push on her part would send him beyond recovery over the verge. on that broken and mossy ground; she pictured two men walking or standing there. and saw that only blind passion or criminal inallcii~ tion could ignore the fatal issue of a blow in such a spot. And passion so blind. so reckle of consequence, amounted to crime. What an inheri- tance this man had gained! his heart nmst indeed be hard if he ever derived any satisfaction from a thing won at. so terrible a cost. Her heart went out in pity to him. but she hoped that she was incapable of any warmer feeling for such a man. Yet the pity was so strong that it blanched her face. and set her lip quivering in spite of herself. “Leave me." she said. turning to Ger- ( vase. with dimmed eyes: “let me be a few minutes. if you like to wait in the wood. I can overtake you." i naimed lives dragging lliciiiselves pain‘ fully along through weary. sunless years: she tried to sinnui-iii her cour- igc to iiicel Well it tale. but it sci-med altt to soon yet to jlita'i' the. broken fraga menls of her life together. .\‘lie wept on. till she almost wept her heart out. Then1 she grew calm. the mighty peace which ii'irult‘d t,i\'t‘t‘ lilf‘ sunsluuy alti‘i'noon‘ .vilh its careless nudges faled to die in NI hour. its humming-bees busy in the .\y blossom. and its pigeons fluttering inf from the great sombre silent pines. iflt‘i‘ more touched her heart. and a stilt mightier peat-c than even that of .\‘atum sunk into it. She felt. that a lifi‘ so bm< kcn as hers might be put to some iioblcr. more uuscllish purpose than one it which the music had never been marred. 't‘o blend those lirnkcn chords into some dniiicr liai'moncy would henceforth give her soul courage and i)l;|'[jitis|‘. .\iid lidward 1’ She could only pray for luin. l’erliaps that strong feelingr so near akin to love had becii given her that sitt‘l'iltt‘lilll iiit'ciisc might not be wanting "1 his behalf. though he should fail to .fl'er it himself. as has just and due. .\Tlic l'tIN‘ and rejoined ficl'vusc in the. .viiotl below \\llll a st-i'ciic fact“ and eyes full of spiritual c.\a|lalioii. He looked at licr for a lllvlllll'ltl and saw that sli had ill cu cry lug: llii‘tl he averted his nee Ind offered her a lillllt‘lt of taleâ€"boomâ€" iig lli‘itlllt‘t' lie hail liillllll in it sheltered i'i‘i‘\il't'. She lived it in the black dress »lic wore in inciiiiii'y iif l’alil. scarcely :ii-kiio\\~'lmtgiiig an attention that was so usual \\'i|ll'llltll. and they went tran- quilly douii the hill-side through the wood and over the marshy waste \i‘icre ‘ln- cotton-rush grew. in the lengtliedl‘ig iiiddying sunshine. among lltl‘ gradually bushing >')tllttls‘ of lllt‘ evening. Alice liltlr dreaming of the passion which en- veloped the purple heath-fl .\vcrs as with- lilllfllflt'." flame. .\‘he citing in spirit to (,it‘l'Y'dSt‘. leaning all the more upon his; quiet brotherly friendship liccaiiseof the bitterness which had resultrd from the love of others. (iervase had loved her. too. but he had known how to conquer a feeling when gave tier pain. and she was grateful to him. When. nearly an hour Eater. they en- lci'eil llic ble'ik village street, they saw l'.t‘l\\'tll't.l Ainiesley leaning over the low stone garden wall of the house in which he lodged. with his face turned toward the setting sun. \\'ith a pipe in his mouth and his hands clasped together at. 'lu.‘ back of his. head. which was slightly fluown back to command a better View o-' the splendid claim-pageant in the west, the glory of which was reflected on his face. he looked the picture of tranquil (.‘DEC‘yannl. and the sight of him grated painfully on Alice‘s feelings. wound up. as they were. to such a pitch. His heart must. indeed be hard. she thought. her own recoiling from the pity she had been ravishing upon him. (To be continued}. -_â€"_+.h_ APPLYING FARM .\fAN'ljl‘ilE NOW. The making of farm manure begins when the live stock go into winter quar- ters. Every intelligent farmer believes in hauling this manure to the field and spreading it just as soon as possible. after it. has accumulated in the shed or lot. in the fall and early winter the fall wheat is a favorite place to spread this manure. especially where the spreader is used. The effect upon the growing wheat and upon the timothy and clover sown with the wheat. fully warranted its use on this winter crop. But. the greater part of the manure making period comes in the last half of winter. and during nanny days of early spring, What shall we do with the manure to get- the most. from it? If placed on‘ the sod intended for corn too late in the spring. there is serious danger of diminishing the moisture sup- ply for the growing of the future crop. should the growing season lack in its usual rainfall. The glowing wheat is too large for the application of a top dressing of manure. A new field may bc found that can use it to better as; vantage. The field that lies matured a grain crop and is now struggling to grow a crop of timothy or clover next sum- mer would certain’y appreciate at least a light top dressing of good barnyard manure. The plants are young; the additional plant food thus given greatly increases their power to produce pro- fitable crops. The rotten material placed upon the surface will act as a mulch to hold moisture. The hide bound pas- ture welcomes a top dressing with ma- nure in late winter and early spring. it is only when there is a lack of food supply or a lack of moisture ttiat we find the wild grasses and weeds taking the place once occupied by our pasture grasses. Top dl‘f‘Sslllg with manure the pasture field or the unprofitable meadows may sr (,‘nt,f()tff‘£1j.!t>‘ the lame grasses present. that their larger growth may crowd out the red sorrel and other objectionable weeds that too often come in just to fill vacant places. The chief points to be kept in .mind are that thr- manure is best utilized when spread as soon as possible after it has been made. and that its, best service comes front its use as a top dressing upon a growing crop. The new clover field. the meadowand He rose at once and left her. with that l [he 01d Pasture field would be greatly - . . . . l [quiet air of sympathetic fact which was; turbid waters flowing past. She knew that there could be no more happiness. for Edward Annesley in this world un~i liess his heart were quite hard and bad.l and she coutdi ias fcw human hearts arc: I not think him very bad. hardly as, others : might judge the man siiv- had been upon iman to kiss She sat gazing on lparcnt. . 'the verge «if loving. the river till the hot tears quite blinded! lit-r. seeing all her youth and hope borne Ico the blastiing girl. away upon the green waters which had. She wondered whose engulfed Paul Anneslcy. tiow people managed to live benefited by a top dressing in the late Siart for their Slllfllllt"? Cl OPS. __- .__.;. A NATL' ftAL .\fIS'I'Alv'li. t ally allowed that young “And re“ you?" f‘cpl‘Oacliv‘d the stern you “1â€"! couldn't help it. momma." laugh- “’.iit when (he asked you for a kiss why didn't you pout?" “I did. and the goose thought it was hopes were broken; she had heard of a pu.;ker." .2, 1“ -1