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uuu w“ uw.’ ‘VaAb. "I wonder what would become of Hya- cinth and the Vicarage, and the parish generally, it I made a. 30030 of myself?" 01_ive _sa.ys demgujgly. I take great delight in spoiling my m- tle godson, partly because he is such a splendid little fellow, but. principally be- cause it is so amusing to hear Olive pro- testing against it. She has grown so de- liciously matter-OHM since she married Mr. Lockhart! Three years have trans- formed her from a scatter-brained girl into the most amusingly-demure matron who ever pretended not to adore her hus- band, or to think her children .the most perfect children that ever were born. "I wonder how you win bring‘np your own children one of these days." Olive observes in her precise voice. glancing at £116 over the pinufore she in embroider- ng. “I ,shall never have any children to bring up. I shall be a rich old Ipinster, and Scott shall be my adopted son; and I will leave Woodhay to him when I die. and he shall take the name of Scottâ€"- Scott Lockhart Scott. Doesn't it sound well. Olive?" “Bub-you don’t. think it will ever come to pass?" fl"f hope it will never come to pass." "You hope your son won’t have Wood- hag. _Olive?” "I hbpe your own son will have Wood- hay, Allie. You have done enough for Scojt already," "Isn’t he a. jolly little fellow, Olive?" Olive glances at. the cherub-faced boy on my lap, whom I have been smothering with kisses. “He is a. fine child, certainly." "A fine child!” I exclaim with laughing indignation. "You speak of him as if he were some young creature whom you were fa’gggningk fox; a. prize.’_’ - spurns, All U! pUl-IUUU Ql DUUJHVDD Ul UMUUAIUB- “You delicious, little mite!" I laugh en- couragingly. kissing his rosebud mouth, his bloomy cheeks, his dimpled» elbows, whilst he makes vain snatches at my hair, at. my ear-rings, at my nose even. with his chubby dimpled, fists. "Why, Olive. if vaere you I should do nothing but. kiss hip} all flay long!” “If, hounds well enough," Olive says. smiling. Oliv gland’Es at. us from her low chair inside the window. I am sitting on the steps just outside, holding the sturdy, twoâ€"year-old boy in my arms. Septem- ber sunshine makes glorious the ruddy gables of my old house. rising sharply defined against the serene blue sky: Sep- tember sunshine dreams on the smooth terrace, on thetrim walks, and careful flower-beds of my sheltered garden, just as ,it dreamed upon them three years ago, when my sick eyes saw no-..beauty in them, nor in the sunshine, nor in any other fairnor loye}y thing, u "Spoil him! You are not. capable of being spoiled, Soot/L; are you? You take after your godmother, my fair child! As if anybody could spoil such a darling, Olive! Why, the nicest thing 'I could say ofullinL unldn’t_be 13a}! _nice enough!" 7 "Not‘half nice 'noughl” Scott corré’bor- Katgfi, in _a.._p9rfecti.9t: tempegfi gf‘chugklea. wj‘By presefiuting him with an ugly silver mg; the _day he_ was; chgist‘enedg". Olive shakes‘her head. denuded of its golden fringe now. with sleek golden braids‘drawn back plainly from her fore- head instead. and plaited neatly at the back of her neck. 7 "You will spoil' h'im, Alfie,” Olive says; but at. the same time she amiles Indul- 891mm). _ - ' “My dear Allie, I should be sorry to think of your living the cheerless life you have mapped out for yourself. It seems all very well now, while you are young and have plenty of friends. But think how lonely you would feel by-and- by when you begin to grow old, without husband or children to care for youâ€" with nobody in the world who really loved you, perhaps, as a wife and mother is sure to be loved!” If I sfihf'dfiée does n'ot hear me, thqqghjler 11in}; earg are sharp Aenough. “My dear, I have been resigned to my fate this long time back,” I say care- lessly, pulling one of Scott’s elastic curls straight and then letting it run into glossy flaxen spirals again; "and, after all, it is not such a very terrible thing to be an old maid.” "I think it is a, terrible thing,” Olive answers seriouslyâ€"“a, very terrible thing.” "You did not think so always, Olive. I remember when you ridiculed the idea. of matrimony and were going in for wo- m_a[1_’s rights and allAthat_ki‘nd offlihivgg.” “Oh, that was before I knew!” Olive says softly. “Did you ever hear of 3 W0- ma'n who had a. husband and children wishingwahe were an old maid, Allie?" “Why do you try to put me out of eon- ceit with my lot, Olive?” I exclaim fret- fully. "I .said long ago that I should never marry. and I never shall. But I mean to be happy in my own way. I am happyâ€"just as happy as half the mar- ried women in the world.” Olive shakes her smooth head again, very positively this time. “I wish Digges would come with our teg.” I spy, yawning. My'godson has scrambled off my lap. my book has fallen to the ground, there seems to have come a cold breath of air from somewhere or other. I shiver in mg_b1ue an_d gold-pegged Chintz gown.“ MAM-v wuu avurwnuvu uuuuu va-u. 'J‘It is early yet," Olive returns. placid- 1y__jghreadir,1g her needle, "Not so very early”â€"looking at, my watch. “I “wonder what sport Ronald has had? I haven’t heard any shots late- ly; have you?" , “One cannot hear much when you and 80031; are rompipg with_ each qther.”_ "I am sure‘hg alight;th 753757;)» had enough of it by this time,” I say, not I’A SEVERE TRIAL; BUILDS SOUND MUSCLE OR, THE MEMORY OF BOY WITH DARK EYES. CHAPTER XIV. 0-342 alluding to the romping. “He started off the moment. after breakfastâ€"seven good hours ago, _at the very least." U I had seen him before she spoke, cross- ing the grass leisurely, his gun under his arm. and his dogs at his heels. ‘He wears knickerbockers and coarse"i‘ibbed shooting-stockings, and he looks very well .â€"or I like his looks very well-â€"â€"as he comes up to the window. . “Just in time for tea, Ronald." "I don't. care for tea. Rosalie," he laughs; leaning his gun against the wall and sitting down on the steps at a. little distance from me. “But I don't mind assisting at, the ceremony once in a way." “Had you any sport, Ronald?" _ "She hopes you had not,” Olive inter- pol_a_t_ee pischievqusly. "Not the slightest. 'Only it is astonish- ing how the thing never seems to pull upon them!" Ol'iva-‘looks at me, and the expression of her face annoys me. “May I ask what is amusing?” I in- quig‘e crqa‘sly: “What ham-e you been doing with your- self all day. Rosalie?" Ronald asks, with apparent irrelevancy. “Why did you not come to meet me. as you promised you would?” “I don’t know." _ "I Was looking out for you in the lurch Wood." ' "Were you?” "Is that the way in which you keep your promises, Rosalie?” “I scarcely ever make any promises.” "So much the better, since you can break them so easily.” “I intended to go. Ronald." “Then why did you not come?” If I had any reason at all, it was such a silly one that I do not care to tell it to him-iudeed' nothing would induce me 'to tell it to him. of all people in the world. I have gone to meet him on his way back from shooting probably a. hun- dred times; but of late I have shrunk from treating him with the sisterly fa.- miliarity which has rendered our. inter- course with each other so pleasantâ€"~to me. at leastâ€"for the last three years. When or how this new feeling of shyness sprung’hp it would puzzle me totell. Ronald has always treated me like ’a. younger sister. with a. gentle protecting kindness which has nothing of the lover about it. I believe his, last attempt at love making was in the train that ev- ening. three ears ago. when he brought me down to oodhay. I do not remem- ber a single word, a. single look since then which could be construed into the most distant approach to anything be- yond cousinlv or brotherly affection. And I have- ignored the past just as entirely ~perheps it was easier for me to do it than for himâ€"and found it very plea- sant to have Ronald to go to in all my difficulties, to ease me in a. great mea- sure of all my cares of state. for, though we do not live in the same county, or in the same country evenâ€"Ronald‘s place, Balquharrie. is in Scotlandâ€"he comes to Woodhay often, and we write to each other constantly-long letters. chiefly on business. 'but'letters which I think are a. pleasure to us both. I know they are a. pleusure Ato_me. 7“"AYe RE {i ajifiurry'td‘hi’ve him back. Allie?" .“Don't'mind Olive; she is intensely dis- agreeable to-day."’I laugh. shrugging my shoulders. . " Digges has brought up a. gypsy-table in from; of me. and laid the tea-things upon -itâ€"my dainty Sevres cups and saue‘ oers. my gilded spoons, my favorite plum- oake. piled high on a Sevres dish, Olive' favorite home-made biscuits. a. basket of ripe black plums. _ ‘ [‘10,’ nbtfiihâ€"g! Oniy, for such a. confirmed spinnerâ€"1': “A” . n .. -“ a , n . v 4,,“ “7“Olririe. the end of it will be that I shall quarrgl with you.” fair "13696166," Olive ‘says equably. i‘Here' is Sir Ronald coming up the awn.’ - “Why does she hopé that?" Ronald asks, logging} at >mfie.; "Gardening 3 little, and driving with Aunt Rosa.” I have had a. great many offers of mar- riage during the last three years. more than I care to remember. I dismissed my suitors one after the other with no qualms of conscience, for even the vain- est of them could not say that I had bestowed any favors upon him, or given him any reason to believe that I would lend a. favorable ear to his suit. The only one for whom I felt any sympathy was poor Gussie Deane. It did grieve meâ€"for the space of a. day and a. half â€"to send him away Borrowing; but then neither had I ever given him any encour- agementâ€"~my greatest enemy could not call me a. flirt. Gu's had gone out to the Cape, he went more than a year ago; Olive hears from him sometimes. She says she thinks he is getting rather fond of his colonel’s daughter. a. nice girl whom we used to know in London; and I hope it is the case. Ellinor Deane is married to Jack Rolleston; I have had them down here at Woodhay on a visit. Poppy and her husband arg in Ceylon. ' Ronald Scott had never gone back to India. A distant, relativeâ€"a. third or fourth cousin of his mother’s, I believe, and a. very old manâ€"had died before his year’s holiday was over. leaving him Balquharrie. a. fine wild place in the north of Scotland, which it seems he al- ways knew would one day be his. I have never been there; but I have seen photo- graphs of the old castle. with its keep and drawbridge, and the great wild mountains towering up behind it. Some- times a disagreeable thought obtrudes it- self into my mind that Ronald will be marrying somebody some of these days, and that I shall lose my friend. But I put the idea away from me persistent- ly; when the misfortune happens it will be time enough to lament over it. Mean- while Ronald belongs foo _me. QUICKLY STOPS COUGHS. CUHES COLDS. HEALS THE THROAT AND LUNGS. 25 CENTS Dear old Uncle Tod died two years ago l and since his death Aunt Rosa. has lived with me. At his death the Lockharts moved into the vicrage. It is pleasant to have Olive so nearâ€"scarcely a day passes that we do not. see each otherâ€"her nur- sery is. one ofAmy: favorite haunts. When '1 uni‘enjoying myself thereknqbedfiwqum supposf thatflIrvwaa’the' unwméacfiable _M15§,-6611'Iers of WOodhayvso, at. least, Olive tells me when she interrupts some glorious romp. And I am happy enouzh. with a kind of negative happinessâ€"I man- age to live. and take some pleasure out of lifeâ€"without the heart which I buried, ‘the day I came of age. far down in the depths of my shadowy oombe. I have never attempted to raise it. up againâ€"I do not «suppose I could. if I would. I have loved and done with love;1 gave Shilolfa Cure my been to Gerard Baxter three you-s and a. half ago, and. if‘ I have any: heart left. it is his still. Deep down, far away from the disturbinrpleasures and cares of every day, lies the memory of a. boy with dark' eyesâ€"the memory of a, tall handsome lad whom I loved long ago. whom I knowâ€"11" I dared to disturb the moss and long greases about that buried heartâ€"I love stillvas I shall never love any one else in the world. I "I thought, you were in a. hurry Io:- tea. Allie?" Qlive's voice wakes me out of a rev- ene. “I wonder where Lin is?” I remark, as I arrange my cups and saucers. "In her room. I think.” “Poor child!” I say softly. - “She seems very nervous and excited, Allie. doesn’t. she?" “Is it any wonder?" "I suppose not.” I feel very nervous and excited myself. though I try not to think of to-morrow. I have been learning a lesson for the last three years, and' I am afraid. now that I shall so soon be called upon to repeat it, my courage may fail at the last mo~ ment. If I could have saved myself so severe a trial, I would have done it; but I could at very well. And after all, it is better have it over. The test must come sooner or later, and sometimes I almost long for it. with a. fever of impati- ence. for, till I have tried my own en- durance, how can I know that it. will stand? “My dear Lily, what are you crying for; on this day; of all days in the year!" Only gobs answer me. I youch her hair tenderly.'the-sof,t hair that 'gleams like gold as it ripples away from her wh‘te forehead. "You are a very foolhsh child, Lily; «do you_ lgnoyv thaw: ‘ -‘ "i'cannBt help it; Rosalie, oh, Rosalie, what if he should not care for rueâ€"what ifi he. should have cared for somebody e seâ€"’ She dries her eyes‘ obediently; she is just as much of a child still as she was three» years ago. In'other things she is improved out of all resemblance to her former self. In appearance-she has, it anything. gained in, attractiveness, while in manner she is as ifierent from the girl I brought down Woodhay three years ago as she is in education and refinement of speech: I have taken pains to make Gerard's wife as beautiful men- tally as she is outwardly, for his sake, and I have been rewarded by a most un- expected measure of success. Lily is as {air as the flower she is called afterâ€"the wretched surroundings of her neglected childhood have not smirched the white- ness of her soul. A 131:; 'way'w'ara she is still. a little willful even; but to me she is always obedience itself. I think she always would be t9 apy pne she lovgq. “Scott, will you run in and pull the bell. darlingâ€"or stay, I will go for her myself. ~Heré is your tea, Olive, and ex- cuse ‘me for a momentâ€"I want to see Wyati 15in is about." voice. 9 "Admiring yourself, you vain child?” She runs to me, throws her aims round me. and bursts into a sudden passion of tears. - Shé'tums routid atfll‘e‘ 'sou'r'xd of my “He has not cared for anybody else since he left you, darling.” * “But how do you know?” . “I know. And I have come to take you down to tea. Dry your eyes and come with me." And she loves me with'a, perfect pas- sion of devotion. Whetper * she would love me so much if she kne’wl‘how Gerard once loved me I know not-'rI have taken I find her in the pretty south room, which I have had fitted up for her. She is standing before the glass, a slender flggrg _i_r_1 a. long white gown. The creamy ingredients sooth and soften the outer skin, while the Witch Hazel penetrates and heals the deeper tissues. Delightful after shaving or washing. NA-DRU-CO 25-0. a bottle, at your druggist‘s. NATIONAL DRUG AND CHEMICAL CO. OF CANADA. LIMITED. Tubily In F Wintcr weather roughens and reddens your skin, causing chaps, chllbialns and general discomfon. try Witch Hazel Cream from me or from any one ,else. H“:Vhat shall I do 11 he hates me, Rosa.- 6 n I am holding one of the small tremb- linz hands, smoothingbsck the tendrils of red gold hair out of the velvety sap- phire blue 'eyes. The beauty of the wist‘ in] face sends a. strange pang to ’my heart. “Hate you, darling! As it he could!" "He never loved me as I loved him, Rosalie", uvoyv; .u any -v-._...._ ' “Just the diflerence that he would wish to see. Lily. You were a. child then, dar- ling; now you are a. woman, ready to lend a. woman’s earnest helpful life." "If I may only help him. Rosalie!” “You shall help him. See how he has got onâ€"what a name he has made for himself! And if he has done so much alone, what will he not do with you to cheer ant; encomjgge‘ him'?’: ‘ d.’ uuvv- Wu“ VMVV _ She sighs. as 'ifoihé ’bicture oppressed her with jts weight pf feligigay. 1, an "Then he will fall in love with you to- morrow," I assure her. smilimt. She smiles, too. at. that, a. very childlike smile. “If I could only think ltâ€"” “My darling. you may be sure of it. He will not be ahlg to help himsglf,” _ n.“ uvv a... .....-~ __,, “Am I so difleiént f‘i‘om What I was theHP’f QIan . The‘deep velvety eyes search my face wistfully, the color burns deeper and deegerr i9 thg_rounded cheeks. *- , .L,A L- ___‘1_1 __£_'L care that aha shall never hegr that. story uuL "um. -..... “v-5”. , "What. have you been doihg up here all therafterrrloon, Ifinlyfif ‘ u r ,,x,,,n An; an any w..~-..vV_, _" "Looking at myself in the glass,” she answers at once. _ “What a child you are!” I say. laugh- mg. . “It was childish, wasn’t it? But, if you knew, Rosalieâ€"” . "I do know, darlingâ€"d know all about it‘u‘ Ceylon Tea when you ask for It, but there are others who would rather make a blg proflt than serve you well. Ask for “Salado” and see that you get It. - BLACK, MIXED or GREEN. ‘- on Mbst Grocers Will Give You Sold Only In Land Dumb. is the genuine“Montrcal Gmhulatcd”â€"a’bsolutely pure, sparkling crystals of the most. inviting appearance». Ask yogi-giocer for a no lb. - 4 ---â€"â€"---â€" It Pays The Housewife bag lof SvT. LAWRENCE GRANULATED â€"-â€" also sold by the barrel and in 100 lb.‘ bags. The St. hwrelee‘Sugar Refining Co. Limited to use the best sugarâ€"because poor sugar means poor cooking. MOMREAI. ulwu-u - v..- __ Vofi I love the child. for Gerard’s saks; but it has -oost me many a. pang to watch her growing loveliness and think whose arms will clasp her. whose lips will kiss her by and by when I am forgotten! The pain is very vague new. a dimness has come over it of late. But I know that it is only in abeyanceâ€"that the very sound of Gerard ~Baxter's voice will bring it all to life again, to haunt me with its old tormenting anguish of. unrest. - "I shall know to-morrow,” the girl says dreamily, as we cross the hall together; It is I who sigh this time. remembering n. 11'] in a blue dress. with a bunch of via eta nestling over her heartâ€"a girl who had looked up into Gerard Baxter’s dark eyes and "loved., him with that love which was her doom." u an: uv. uvv... “Come down.a.nd have some tea." I say. (laying her out 0!; thg roan}. wityflme. ‘ A. . I, a. V‘V'VI éhall'kuov? to-morrow,‘ dreamily, as we cross the "I shall knogv tp-morrqv.” .vvv uv wu..v... (To be continued.) By all Grocery