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",9 I .. ,»~,r-rw ” é "" ' bear a A C -M Love Kept its faith: @@@@© Or, The Girl With the Nut Brown Hair and Dreamy Eyes. nâ€"r w WWW WVWWWWM CHAPTER XX.~(Cont’d). ‘ “As for tho rest," Margery wasl speaking agii iâ€"“I know it is onlyl too true, butâ€"why, why, why! lt’ isn’t David’s way. From the liitle lthat I’ve learned I’m persuaded) that some other genius of evil is at work prompting him to the thingl that I know he. must despise. Whogdmad that is it, Mr. Strang; can you tell me that? “You will tell me if you know," she passes swiftly to his side, her" hands secure his cold, unresponsive‘ lingers and hold them fast â€"â€" “you will help me to undo the wrong. that has been dc'ie'l He’s very young, is David; he's only a boy yet, and all his days are before him; and if it pleases you, Mr. Strang, if you have the secret I’mI looking for, you may fill everyone: of those days with joy, and if it please you, you may weigh every one with woe. And why should he suffer. Surely, you cannot know him, or you would never hesitate; he has a h art of gold, has David, and until this happened everything he did bore the stamp of truth.‘ You will help me to clear him, Mr.’ Strungâ€"dear Mr. Strang, you will| tell me what you know and help me to set him straight with his littlel world? “For my sake, then, if not forl his.” Still holding his hand she: sinks upon her knees on the filthyl cabin floor. “I’m only a girl, Mr.’ Strang, and David and I are â€". friends; his joys are my joys andl his griefs are my griefs, too, andl if the path he has yet to tread be‘ one of shame, I also walk the same way. 'No happiness can be mine unless he shares it, and he can have no sorrow of which I may noti part. For my sake, then,‘: you’ll do the thing I ask, won’tl you? I’ll forgtt all the past, I’ll look upon all these hideous days with joy, because of you, and I’ll â€"prayâ€"forâ€"youâ€"â€"on â€" everyâ€"one, â€"ofâ€"the â€"â€" daysâ€"that â€" Godâ€"has â€"_vetâ€"â€"toâ€"â€"giveâ€"â€" m e. ’ ’ Do you hear that, man? Margery; Manesty kneels to you. Margery‘ Manesty‘is praying to you, prayâ€"l ing to you as if 'you were a god in- stead of what you are. He steps to Margery’s side, and- togethcr, their eyes burning with, wonder, their souls even touched into awe, they read the message that unknown hand has sent themâ€" ‘ ‘ASKâ€"TOM~TIN ION . ’ ’ Overhead there is scuttcring of; The Captain’s shoeless feet, but his" message has dulled their ears, sol that they hear it not. In that mo-. ment there is nothing for either of,t them in the whole world but thatI slip of paper. Only that, until from, the note Michael Strai‘ig’s brain, flashes to the writer, to the hand: that hurled it through the window ;’ and, galvanized into life, he darts up the stairs, scurries on a furious‘, hunt among the litter of the deck and then vanishes in the glooml of the quay. Just beyond the railway cross- ing he falls in with the Sleddle-. more brougham, John Curthbert on: the box and with Nanny Manesty, awaiting in a fever of impatience and anxiety the icturn of her niece. Ere the old church clock hasf called the midnight hour he encoun-i ters it again. This time it has halt? period of waiting, Margery begged‘ ed by the Becl side, that street? which hangs on the edge of the tin-’ niest of Allerdale’s triple streams, and now Cap'n Dan has been called; and is playing the pilot to Mar-l gery, their destination Tom Tin- ion’s home. But Tinion, scared by ghosts of, Michael Strang’s raising, his pock-= an‘â€"by, Missyâ€"by-an’-by, when I've ets lined with more of MichaelZ Strong’s gold, has become a fugitivel upon the waters. boat curvets across the Firth, and: drops him aslicre on the. rocks bc-i low Kirkcudbriglit. shall find him in the narrows of the; Clyde, an emigrant in search of a: home. a transgressor flying from his' The red duster’s always been good: transgression. CHAPTER XXI In all her activity. Margery made flag at the fore. and I'm taking’ herself, lest in the end failure should be her portion. Winter spent its wrath, and the three rejoiced that DaVid’s ships had all won through. “ \\ c maul. get him back to the old way, Missy, before another winter m comes round,” c-ap’n Dan pleaded; and then once more he voiced the somehow seemed to dwarf all otlicriâ€"“Soine of his boats’ll not stand another batter- ing, an' if only rne goes down with men aboardâ€"J’ He b'oke off sharp. They reaâ€" lized in all its awful completeness the contingency he had in mind. “With men aboard.” That repre- sented the final catastrophe, cala- niiiy converted into crime. The black blot of shame might be erased but never the crimson stain of | blood. “We must get him saved before another winter, Missy. Oh, if only we could lay hands on that Tinion wastrel.” “Yesâ€"â€"but as we can’t we must manage without him.” “Ay, Missyâ€"what is thinking on?” , Bravely she tried to meet them, tried and faltcred. Only a matter of seconds and thenâ€"- “You promised to help me, Cap’n Dart.” “I’m here, Missy; say the word." “You still think that David’s in the dark, that he isn’t conscious of all that’s being done in his name it you’re and won’t investigate?” “Sure as death.’ “I shall need more help than yours. How many of David’s 'men can you rely on to do just what they’re hidden and car-e for no con- sequence?” “How many? Well, I don’t think there’s any more Tinions left. I can't say I mistrust any of them, butâ€"anyway, those I’d want an affydavy with, wouldn’t man one of David’s brigs.” "And you yourself, Cap’n Dan’l me foolish nor my scheme a mad one?” “Miss Margery, you’re hurtin’ me'll “Forgive me, Cap’n Dan,’ she pleaded, “but I’m so terribly afraid All the time I’ve been building up this plan the way has seemed so smooth and easy. but now it is simply strewn with difficulty.” “What is it you want us to do, Missy’l I’m growing fearful curiâ€" ous.” Margery told him. Told him the thoughts that had come to her on the heights and amid the state- ly trees, told him of the desperate design whose daring had stagger- ed her at first, and then charmed and again cast down in timorous uncertainty, told the thing she ask- cd of him and those others who sailed the seas on David’s ships. And then she braced herself to meet the storm of opposing pro- test, but instead of the tempest became peacefully conscious of a great calm. Nanny Manesty paid tribute to her genius and pronouncâ€" a benediction upon her project. As for Cap’n Dan, he was re- duced to a condition of limp inepti- tude, his liinpness was as that of a sea-soaked cable. When, after a for his verdict, he weakly waved his hands and craved for time. “It simply caps everything, this does, Missy. I’m lost, can’t tell whether I’ve got sea room or am drifting on a lee shore; can’t say whether I’m ‘hove-to or runnin’ with stun’sails an’ royals set. By- got my bearings.” . t _ His bearings obtained in the by-.an’ t’ others mun do t’ same. I'd’ To-night a tinyond~by time, Dan delivered hiniselfldo anything. begin life ower agen oracularlvâ€" “Miss Margery,” he saidâ€"sure- skipper worn such night I’m sailing under a new flag. enough for me an’ I’ve been proud of it. but now I’ve hoisted a new ensign, nn’ I’m going to ship as mate. I've broken the Mancsty no show of unreasoning, iiiCOXiClu-‘ me ordeis fioni Cap’n Murgciy.’ sive haste. Every suggestion was frankcd by thought, every instrucâ€" tion the issue of nicelyâ€"balanced in- ference and deep deliberation. In, Miss Manesty and Cap’n Dan she' aroused a spirit of overpowering-but all of them bronzcd, brawny,!b-.lt it‘s . . | , h I _ . V _ u L Jim Cameron, byflon \ergiven.me couragn right that none would question, at‘Camei-on, driven wonder, and after that, hope and fearâ€"hope for Davrd and fear forl CHAPTER XXII. There were twelve of them, sons‘ of the sea, some tall, some short, stout-hearted. a glowâ€""to-~ ’the head of the table, the otherslfcars away and made me confidentlabout as citrus.1 condition as it wouid disposed upon the sctteo to right and left. All except the skipper of the Danishâ€"entered in the log- book and the Family Bible as Harâ€" ry Casson, but known to the world as “Goliath”â€"â€"wliose height and girth banished him to the alleyway, where he crouched crossâ€"legged fashion and almost filled up the gap. he might have had, but he would have paid for it in extreme personal inconvenience, whilst considera- tions of economy forbade him a seat on the benches. Into this little conclave, then, as at ‘the last of the twelve melanâ€" choly strokes trailed away from the old church tower. came Margery with Cap'n Dan, and as she dawned upon tlieii astonished vision, a common impulse thrust every man to his feet and pulled the cap from every head. “You’ll let me come. in, won’t you, Captain Cameron?” she inâ€" y l l ,tendcd her hand across the table We the skipper, who responded with words of kindly welcome. “The cabin of an Allerdale brig’s not exactly the proper place for a leddy, but you’re mair welcome than I can tell you; an’ me an’ ,my ship’s at your service. And I. think I (an say t’ same for all aboard at 13’ present moment.” “Ayl” eleven bass voices rum- bled an endrrsement, and with a queenly little nod, Margery ac- cepted their homage. She turned again to Cameron to find him wriggling away from the table so that she might have his chair, but this arrangement she promptly vetoed. “No, no, Captain Cameron, this is your ship, and that is your place ~but I'll sit beside you if I may.” And then. her heart throbbing so that its [eating was a pain, her hands, hi'lden under her cloak, tightly clenched, Margery began land stopped. Once more that fear of the opposing voice, the smile of pitying contempt, the glance of bligliting ridicule. “Easy, Missy, easy; we’re all friends here.” This from Cap’n Dan. “Ay, all of us.’ This from Cam- eron, who struggled to his feet. “Mebbe I can help you a bit, Miss Margery,” he continued. “I’ve a lassie of my can at home, an’ I’d take it kindly if somebody would stand by if ever she wanted to say the thing that was hard. You’ll be .wantin’ to explain why J iWhatever I ask you’ll not refuse,you’ve called us in this by-ordinary ime, not turn back, you’ll not call, fashion, but there’s not a bit 0’ lneed for that. We ken it for ourâ€" selves. Cap’n Dan there has given a few on us, them you see around you, a glint of the way you’ve'stood by Maister Davie, an’ you’ve just put us all to shame. We all I yet, an’ our hearts are sore for the ‘evil way that he’s chosen; but we’ve stopped at pity and blame, an’ after that thought 0’ little but the seams that need caulking an’ the grub that men shouldn’t be asked to eat. That’s hoo we’ve acted, an’ if it hadn't been for the bit maid with a bright, bonny, ygowden faith, David Graham would §bc a miserable hulk, a derelict, 3without a chance. put myself an’ the mates straight on. Right from the varra start 0’ this cruise we’d our peepers on Tom Tinion, an’ perhaps when you ’take note of ivvery entry in the log book it’s not surprisin’ that we should have thought him in Maistcr Davie’s pay. Nowâ€"we’re not so sure about it. Cap’n Dan’s told us about Michael Strang, an’ â€"â€"we’re sure 0’ nothing. We seem to have drifted until t’ middle 0’ t7 blackest, wettest, queei‘est, fog Ithat's ever licked about us. An' speck 0’ light at the masthead, ,iliank God. An’ it’s you that’s ‘hung it there.” A sound that might have been a [sob beat upon the Malachi’s wood- en walls. “1 just want to say one thing more.” Cameron continued. “I’m :speaking for myself, Miss Margery, an' ship aforc t" must if I could prove this thing a lie, prove that ’the level of a money-grubbing, ship-wrecking shark.” “An’ me. too, Miss,” Sam Hodgâ€" son roared from eyrie. l “An’ me.” ! “An’ me.” “An' me.” And so the cry went all round. Margery raist her head and now ‘Slle was smiling. smiling through items, and this time there was no doubt about the sob. "God bless you for that," she e.\'~ “I knew it all the time, good to hear you say it. ’nptein my foolish l . lcl‘dlliledl all Standing room in the cabin’ quired, with a. wan smile, and ex-i her messageâ€"began and falteredl . gradually shamed us, Miss Margery, you’ve! floved the laddi-e, we all love him. “There’s one point I’d like to‘ yet, amid all the murk, there’s one. in the request I’m going to make. “I’m not troubling so much about the slur of the Habakkuk’s loss now,” she went on, “it’s David himself, not his name, that you iniust help me to rescue. He’s (lo- ing wrongâ€"and you and I are go- ing to help him to do right. That ,is the object that has towered beâ€" :foi'c me and made me ask you to meet me here, where no one can oxcrlook us, at this hour, when no eyes can spy upon our coming and going.” “Beggin’ yer pardin, Miss,” Bill Ititson interrupted, “but divvcn’t you think that if you axed him in your can way you’d bring him too? Just you try him, Miss Margery; go till him an’ tell him as how you want him to throw that manager chap owerboard an’ clear aw t’ bagwash oot of his ships’ stores, an’ git t’ caulkers to wark wi’ their pitch an’ tow, inf-bless me, he’ll do it, fair. bit he will. Dash my buttons, Miss, but if you axed him for onhn the Baptist’s head on a charger he’d nut be able to refuse it. Try liim, noo do.” (To be continued.) Q+¢++v+++++v+++++§++v9 6i; lllllllll the Farm H++++++++c¢e++++++++++ HOW TO OBTAIN LARGE MILK YIELDS. There is no one best feed for cows. Big results have been obâ€" tained from many different rations. When the cow freshens, she must be treated as an invalid. She. must be given light food for several days as her stomach is weakened during maternity. Her stomach gradually regains strength, sometimes in a week, other times in two or even three weeks. Feed her carefully, increasing the feed. Watch the exccrement closely. Ex- perience will soon tell you as to the state of the stomach and bow- els. The avidity with which the cow eats tells much. She should be keen for her feed at all times. If she is slow in “taking hold” she is getting too much, that is if she leaves anything but hay or straw. The cow can do her best work only when all the organs work in har- mony. The importance of this will be readily understood when we con- sider that there is in the intestines cf the wellfed animal some 150 to 200 pounds of fodder in various stages of digestion, writes Mr. George Rice. It is not food alone we must sup- ;ply the ccw. A heavy milking cow itakes 150 to 200 pounds of water :daily, even when fed on a succulent ration. Too much water taken at a time acts as a purge and causes serious trouble. It seems natural for a cow to want to drink water after eating. Water should be be- fore her at all times. Food and water are important, but there are other things to be considered. We know that we can take two cows, feed them just the same, and one will produce more than the other. Where does it come from. Some- times from her own body. But then there are cases in which this factor does not account for the difâ€" ference in yield. It is generally said one cow has the milk-giving func- ‘tion to a greater degree than the other. What is “function i” We lmight define it as a nice sounding word that we use when “stuck;” lira a similar case the untutored In- Jdian gives a grunt and we are just labout as wise. If there is not some lsource from which the cow gets the liiicrcased amount of milk then she lperforms a miracle. THE PART OF PURE AIR. There is still another element that iis too often not considered, and that is air. Air is as vital to the 1existence of animal life as it is to lplants. A man can go for a long while without food. Some have fasted forty days and nights. But, deprived of air 40 minutes we would soon collapse. Just in proportion as we deprive the animal of pure air, we reduce the efficiency of the {whole system. Pure air taken into ovoo+vvvv 0‘¢§§5‘& i l motes circulation, aids digestion, 1and produces the power that en- ables thc animal to accomplish i work. The cow to be a good one must have great lung capacity. To pro- ,pure air to fill her lungs. else her <upcrior lungs are of no benefit. "to the nerve centres. stimulating them to greater effort. Just ex- ’30le how, if. is a littldliard to (-x- .Pl-"zin. However. I Will give you sari example that I had in my Work. ’Two years ago I l‘ifl'l two cows of the same age. same breed, calvcd on the same date. They were in , ’the lungs, oxidizes the blood, pro-4 The mori‘owi 1y never had the face of the littlozlhvid Graham hasn’t dropped to. duce well she must have sufficient. be oxygen that she breathes goes; be possible to have them. I tested them for a minth at home. One gave right along more milk, also more butter fat, than the other. She could not be taking more from her body; if anything the one giv~ ing the least was losing the most in weight. I took them to the sta- tion for a dairy test. This dairy had a very bad reputation with us cow incn. VENTILA'I ION. The air in there is never good. Sometimes it is very bad. The committee in charge have done all they can to improve conditions, but the building is too high for one thing, and to get enough pure air on the floor where the cows are, it would be much too cold. Then the cows stand with their heads against a solid wall, and the air they breathe out cannot get away pro- perly. Part of it must be breath- ed over and over again. It is bad enough for cows when they stand up. It is worse when they lie down. Judging by the manner this building, and a lot of stalls in the country are put in, we should think that the cows breathed through their tails, as the air has a bet- tor chance to circulate there. The less boards and other obstructions there are around a cow the better. The way it affected these two cows was that one made no more while there than did the other. She fed all right, and was all right, but her superior lung pow-er was of no use to her, as the air was not pure enough. There never has been any big work done in this pen in which the dairy test has been conducted. Yet cows have done better work before coming here, and others have done big work after leaving here. We had better follow this up to show how the air and heat affects heavy milkers. Anyone that has done much official testing knows that big work is not done by the cows if they freshen in the summer. We can get the feed all right and we can get the water all right, but we cannot get the air all right. We can get it pure, but we are liable to have hot spells. And that will knock a good cow out quick-er than anything. We can see a good reason for this: A heavy milker takes so much air into her lungs lthat when it is too hot, it raises the temperature of the body too much, and the nerve centre: are not stimulated. SHOULD FRESHEN IN WINTER I was testing two cows in June. The weather had been nice and the air exhilarating and the two cows had been doing well. Along came one of those very hot spells. The one cow dropped from'2.4 pounds of fat daily to 1.85. The other cow had not been doing such good work and did not drop so much. Dairy~ men are getting wise to the fact that in order to have their cows (that is those heavy producers), do big work, they must freshen in the winter, when the temperature can be controlled. Too much cold is also had, and no wonder, consid- ering the amount of water the cow drinks and the air she uses. A cow not milking in the winter will not require so much water. But, if cows are to give a large amount of milk the following sum- mer, they need to be well cared for, and put in good condition for the heavy demand that will be made upon their strength. Pure water is quite as necessary as good feed. A cow kept in an illâ€"venti- lated stable at nights, turned out in the raw cold air all day, will not attain the desired vigor. Two wrongs never made a right. The' cow should have good air all the time. We should avoid all drafts in the stable. Avoid extremes of temperature. Keep the air as pure as possible, even if a little lower temperature must be obtained, and be regular in feeding and milking. __â€".â€"â€"-'I< LEFT TILL CALLED FOR. When Wilkinson went to his of- fice one day last week he felt calm land contented. He hadn't any need to worry about his Wife 3 loneliness any more. for he had bought a capital watchdog for her. But alas! when he arrived home his wife met him with the deplorâ€" ' able news that the dog had gone. “Eh!” said Wilkinson, “did he break the chain, then?” “No,” she replied; “but a great, ugly-looking tramp came here and acted so impudently that I let the (log loose. But instead of tearing the tramp to pieces the nasty dog fit with him.” \‘(fllérgat Scotti” said Wilkinson, 1“that must have been the tramp ’ Hi ’I bought him from. “Cheer up. old man!” saida 'man to a friend who had been ig- nominiously dismissed by the fa- ther of his adored one. “Love laughs at locksniiths.‘ “Yes, I kndw,” replied the dejected suitor. “But her father isn’t a locksmith; he's a gunsuzith!”