— EE EEE eee eet eres meee eee eens ere — Dewar ic Bellefonte, Pa., September 17, 1926. THE EARLY OWL. An Owl once lived in a hollow tree. And he was as wise as wise could be. The branch of Learning he didn’t know Could scarce on the tree of knowledge : grow. He knew the tree from branch to root, And an Owl like that can afford to hoot. And he hooted—until, alas! one day He chanced to hear, in a casual way, An insignificant little bird Make use of a term he had never heard. He was flying to bed in the dawning light ‘When he heard her singing with all her ‘might “Hurray! hurray for the early worm!” “Dear me!” said the Owl, “what a sing- ular term! I would look it up if it weren't so late; I must rise at dusk to investigate. Early to bed and early to rise Makes an Owl healthy and stealthy and wise! So he selpt like an honest owl all day, And rose in early twilight gray, And went to work in the dusky light. To look for the early worm all night. He searched the country for miles around But the early worm was not to be found. So he went to bed in the dawning light, And again and again, and again and again, He sought and he sought, but all in vain, Till he must have looked for a year and a day For the early worm, in the twilight gray. Af last in despair he gave up the search, And was heard to remark, as he sat on his perch By the side of his nest in the hollow tree. “The thing is as plain as night to me— Nothing can shake my convictions firm, There's no such a thing as the early worm. —By Oliver Herford, in St. Nicholas. THE DOCTOR’S LOVE STORY. Dr. O’Flynn’s practice stretched from his surgery in Little Endell street round and about as far as Gor- don Square on the north and half down Drury Lane on the south. It was a mixed practice, and though the surgery was frankly a converted shop and though his work took him to slums like those in Sardinia street, he had a few good patients, such, for instance, as the Burkes of Gordon Square, and the Hon. Miss Corkran, of Cunningham Mansions, all Irish and Catholics, like himself. O’Flynn was of the peasant stock that supplies such good recruits to the priest-hood and the medical pro- fession; 50 and over, fresh-faced, with a twinkle in his eye, a humorous tongue and a careless manner. He was friends with all men and women. Careless in dress and manner, he sometimes contravened the strict dic- tates governing the rules of medical procedure; acting generally on the impulse of his heart, he sometimes even transgressed the laws of ordin- ary life, doing things that no English professional man would ever dream of doing—like, for instance, the thing I am going to tell you about presently. Norah, 58, from Kerry, cook, house- maid and general factotum, made up, with Billy, the surgery boy, the whole of the doctor’s menage. Billy would arrive every morning at 8, departing at 5. Norah rarely went out, except to mass; she haa no holding with the “ould trash” of English people round about; aching always to be back in Tralee, she led the life of a prisoner in the Bastille, bound by the chains of household duties and barred from escape by her absolute, unflinching, almost incredible devotion to the doc- tor. For the sake of O'Flynn she even permitted children to play on the house doorstep. You must under- stand, and this is an important part of the geography of my story, that the shop door was the way of ingress for patients; the house door, with its night bell and speaking tube, was I tinct from the race of London people who still inhabit houses. O’Flynn went up the stone stairs, knocked at the door, and was admit- ted by Margaret. ; Margaret was County Dublin pure and simple, a stout, matronly woman with chest-nut-colored hair worn flat on the forehead, and a Dublin accent which is to the accent of Kerry as cockney to West Somerset. “Is Miss Julia in?” asked the doc- I. “In,” said Margaret, “faith, where else would she be? She hasn't set foot to the ground since here you were last, achin’ and pinin’ on the sofa and me near driven distracted with her.” She took his hat and, leading him down the passage, ushered him into a sitting room filled with twilight and the pleasant flickering of a fire, the perfume of violets and the fragrance of China tea. By the couch stood a table with tea things for one, and near the table a chair with a cushion on which had once reposed the dog. ; Miss Corkran, on the entrance of the physician, laid down the book that she had been reading. It is a thing to be read by twilight or firelight, and this super-refined sensualist had evidently been trying to do both. She held out a ringless, attenuated hand to the other, but she did not offer tea. The Corkrans of Castle Corkran were a very old Irish family and the O’Flynns were just the O’Flynns; perhaps that was the reason she did not offer tea“even to this tried friend, or perhaps it was because, being bound up in herself, she didn’t think. He took his seat beside her with a few words and picked up a book tHat had fallen from the couch to the floor. He noted the title as he placed it on the table by the tea things, “Have Animals Souls? Yes!” “And now let’s look at your tongue,” said he. On that order, given to the com- monalty, a mouth flies open like a trapdoor and a tongue protrudes it- self even to the roots. But the Corkrans are different; moving and moistening her lips, wip- ing them with a lace-edged handker- chief, she presented a tongue on-a salver, so to speak, a tongue fresh and innocent as the tongue of a child. “H’'m,” said O’Flynn. He took her pulse, a pulse soft as a 6-year-old’s, even and full of vital- ity if not of robustness. “Bad,” said O'Flynn. “You haven't been doing as I told you. Oh, there’s no use in talking of neuralgia when ye won’t listen to me advice. Here you’ve been lying ever since I saw you last.” “Oh, no, I haven't,” cut in the pa- tient. “I've been up and about—-" “Up and about! It’s up and out I told you to be. It’s not your body, it’s. your mind that you want to take out for a walk; I told you that last time and I won’t tell you again; there now, you have it plain.” Miss Corkran sighed. “I can’t bear people,” said Miss Corkran. “I know it’s wicked and all that, but I've tried it—ever since— no matter.” : She plaited her handkerchief, and to O'Flynn there came the suggestion, and not for the first time, that Julia Corkran, in the years before he had been her doctor and friend, had ex- perienced a cross in her affections. “Maybe you never tried the right people,” said he. “I come to you for money for the poor souls down in Sar- diania street or Drury lane, and out leaps your purse; never a friend of the poor better than you. Well, get into a cab and come and see them; the salt of the earth they are, and the welcome of God they’ll give you.” But Miss Corkran shook her head; she could do anything for the poor but touch them. Poverty, squalor and dirt horrified her; she hinted as match he struck revealed also that its poor Mrs. McGinnis,” says she, ‘never ' McGinnis. She did not want a future face was dirty. Beside this living bundle was a a word or whisper she’s heard yet of her baby.’ ‘What baby?’ says small tin of salmon, tucked close up | ‘Why, the baby she lost,’ says she, to it, almost hidden by the shawl, ‘that was snatched from young O’Flynn flung the match away and | Noreen by a big man with a black looked up and down the street. Not | a soul, nothing but the bell of a muf- | fin man, unseen in the mist, and the far murmur of traffic from the streets beyond. beard, bad cess to him, it and a tin of salmon the creature had bought and was fetchin’ home to her mother —sure, where have you been that you | haven’t heard talk of it?” He bent down and picked the bun- | “ ‘Mindin’ me own business,’ says dle up, kicked the tin of salmon on to I, ‘and two more pitatoes in the pan, the pavement, and opened the door | | her goggle eyes, talkin’ to distract with his latchkey. Upstairs in the sitting room, with please, to turn the scale.’ She and me with her short weights—and back the bundle on Norah's lap before the I came hotfoot to tell you.” fire, unwrapping produced not only a | fat child of 1 and a bit, just rousing from sleep and winding itself up to cry, but a feeding bottle with a long unhygienic rubber tube and nipple. Norah popped the nipple in its mouth and after a second’s indecision it chose the better part and sucked. The doctor, standing with his back to the fire, watched it as it sat, its black, beady eyes taking in the points of this new environment as it fed. It was a boy, a baby boy of the slums. Now, people in the slums don’t de- sert their babies. They do all sorts of other - things, but they don’t do that, and O’Flynn must have been blind, absolutely blind for the mom- ent, to have been led astray as he was. Blind, or anyhow half-blinded, by the great new idea that had sud- denly seized him. Here was a creature that God had put in his hands, a human life in the bud, a fine, strong boy that might live to be a university man or a cap- tain of armies, or might live to be an outcast brought up by the parish and ending, maybe, as a laborer or jail- bird. It all depended on his decision. “Norah,” said he, “fetch me down that old tin path in the attic and bring up a can of hot water and a towel. “I'll hold the child. After that you can fetch me the little old soft blanket you’ll find in the chest in me bedroom. Don’t be asking questions, and while you’re giving him his bath, I’ll nip down to the surgery and polish off the patients.” Two hours later a taxi drove up to Cunningham Mansions, and O’Flynn, a bundle under his arm, knocked at the door of the Corkran flat. Margaret opened to him. “Here’s your dog,” said he, “left at me door by the Holy Virgin her- self. Not a word out of you. Take it in to her and tell her you found it on the door mat. I've given it three drops of soothin’ stuff and it’ll sleep till the morning, and the Lord have mercy on your souls if you don’t treat it like a Christian.” There is nothing like decision when you are dealing with women. Had O’Flynn been a weak man or a man not of the order to which he belonged he might have been arguing with Mar- garet still, and this story would never have been written. As it was, he left her bludgeoned, with the baby in her arms and an order to let him know “how she takes to it.” He had got into bed that night with the satisfied feeling that comes of a day’s work well done, and he was congratulating himself on the last stroke. It was one of those things that | rarely come to a man’s hand. The | woman wanted that which al] women ! want, consciously or subconsciously— a child. Just as a hen .will take a porcelain egg, she had taken to a dog; this was. the real thing if she | would only, so to speak, sit on it. His | knowledge of women and life told him ' that most probably she would. | Oh, it was a curious and grand ! promise of secrecy. . O’Flynn scratched his head. Somehow or another he was scarce- ly surprised; a subconscious buffer had been building itself up to take the shock. ; “Conway street,” said he, review- ing that Irish quarter, more Irish even than Sardinia street or Tamplin place. “Well, I'll. be down that way this afternoon and I'll have a look. May- be she’s right and maybe she’s wrong, but don’t breathe a word to any one till I see what’s doing.” There was a Mary McGinnis in his case book and, sure enough, an hour or so later when he turned into Con- way street, a place disgraceful to civ- ilzation, humanity and the century we live in, he found it was the mother of the lost one. A big woman, pounding clothes in a washtub and surrounded by her tribe, happy to all appearances, vigorous, scolding, but breaking into a freshet of tears at the mention of ; the tragedy—whose other name was Pat. He gave her half a crown as a con- tribution to her sorrow and then, sing- ling out and attracting to himself Noreen, took her by the hand to the little corner shop to buy her some sweets. Noreen, black-haired and violet- eyed, and in old burst boots that be- longed to an elder sister, had lied steadfastly if not consistently, to all and sundry over this business, but she did not lie to O’Flynn. He had the way with him where women and children were concerned, and he had | the whole story in two minutes unde¥ She had been that fateful evening to Carter's to buy a tin of salmon, carrying Pat. She had planned to visit Naylor's front window in the street beyond to have a glimpse at the Christmas tree which was being exhibited, though it was nearly a month before Christmas, which she had seen once already and which she proposed to see every evening, if possible, just as people go again and again and again to see a play. But Carter's had kept her waiting a ter- ribly long time—so long that only by running as hard as she could pelt could she do the business in hand and get back without the chance of skelp- | But she couldn't run with Pat, so | she stuck him in the doorway where ° she had played so often and which seemed quite safe—him and the sal- mon—and she hadn’t been more than ! a minute looking’ into the window be- fore she ran back to find Pat gone. O’Flynn asked for no more, not even the genesis of the supposititious | big man with the black beard. He knew. She had not dared to confess | her crime. He left her happy with two ounces of licorice balls and a scarcely reliev- ed mind, for she had come almost to believe in her own story. Then he turned north toward Cunningham Mansions. Pat had got to be returned. \ There were no two ways about that. You can’t knowingly rob a mother | business entirely; he ran it all over of a child, even though the mother | dark before closing his eyes—and ! then, and not till then, came the small worry that had been waiting tc trip im. Funny thing, that tin of salmon. much and then she slipped back to | What did the unfortunate creature | her ailments, imploring of him a sleeping draft for that night. O'Flynn wrote the prescription, { harmless concoction of sugar and water. Outside he talked a moment to sacred to the doctor and private call- ers. Children, never being driven away from it, haunted it, urged by the passion for doorsteps that seems part of a child mind’s make-up. One day, returning to his doorstep and his midday meal, the doctor found a message awaiting him. Norah de- | Where’s your senses not to hav Margaret on the landing. who had left the baby mean by leav- ing a tin of salmon with it? Holy Mike! it couldn’t be that she'd : left them both to be come back for! thing like that? | Carter's, the shop next door, sold! salmon. The poor round about had ‘in his mind as he lay there in the is a Mrs. McGinnis and her habitat Conway street, W. ; He arrived at Cunningham Man- sions in a distinctly gruff mood. Margaret let him in. She was all smiles, She showed him in without a word —a wonderful fact where she was concerned—showed him into the sit- ting room, where Julia Corkran, her legs off the sofa, to use his expres- ! Nonsense, where was the sense in a sion, was seated in an armchair by the fire stitching. The fact that she looked better was nothing. What checked him was the ' “Oh, don’t be asking me how she | three grand passions in the way of fact that she looked younger, more is,” said he. “Haven't you eyes in your head as well as meself? It’s food, salmon, sardines and fried fish and chips. Could she have been to | dying she is for the want of that dog. Carter’s, bought the salmon, and then livered it verbally as she uncovered | her another?” ‘his chop. “Dog,” cried Margaret. “I tould “Miss Corkran sent word after you | her that, and it’s seven fits she went were gone askin’ you to call immedi- | into at me words. : : ate, and I told the chap that brought | never another!’ cries she. Lost she is ' And if she had she woul the message you wasn’t an airplane,” said Norah, dish cover inverted in her hand, “and to tell her you was out on yer round and wouldn’t be back till past noon.” ; “Bother Miss Corkran,” said O’Flynn. But “bother” wasn’t the word he used. It was always the way with rich patients, urgent mes- sages to come at once, sent at im- possible times, and he had experi- enced trouble and enough with the Corkran woman ever since her dog had died a month ago. It was in the man’s rough and ready nature to use the word “damn” in con- nection with her, and it was in his na- ture to understand and appreciate her, this attenuated woman of 35, all spirit and affection, yet lonely, some- how, as Robinson Crusoe; without chick or child, ever ready to help the poor, yet somehow without the power of making friends among the rich. A delightful friend, for whom he would have walked barefooted down Drury Lane, but the devil of a pa- tient. She had just that fault, just that bit of selfishness in her nature that made her forget a doctor wasn’t an airplane, had only legs, in fact, and dozens and dozens of other patients to see. He didn’t hurry himself over the meal, and when he started on his afternoon rounds he left Miss Cork- ran almost the last on his list, arriv- ing at Cunningham Mansions about 4, It lies close to Gower street, this great hive of flats, inhabited by the special breed of London people who ‘Never another, ' senses would do a thin e got ! left the baby and it while she went at the door, scarce heeding, he knew off for something else? Nonsense, there was no other shop nearby, and even if there was, no woman in her | like that.’ surely have | material, more “full of blood.” j He listened to her wonderful story of the poor mite that had been left | that she could not visualize for the I | child. She wanted Pat. No. There was only one way out— restitution; and, arrived home, he called Norah down, closed the doér of the sitting room, and opened his mind. Norah had to do the business—it was a woman’s business, anyhow. She break it to the poor creature. Norah did not like the thing a bit, but she assented. She never said a word to show her feelings. She was that sort. “I'll go, when I've done me cookin’,” said Norah. And she went. had returned from his evening round, back and sitting in the kitchen with a shawl over her head. “I couldn’t find it in me heart to do it,” wailed Norah before he spoke a word. “I couldn’t find it in me heart tc do it. It's the life and all he is to her, and she wid her beautiful face like the Blessed Virgin hangin’ over him. Sure, what’s Mrs. McGinnis, lettin’ him run wild about the streets wid that girul? Hasn’t she enough childer not to be botherin’ about the cratur? You tould me yourself the place was like a warren wid them. Childer or not, she can stick. Hand nor foot will I lift for her to fetch him back.” “Then,” said the doctor. “I’ll just have to fetch him myself.” “Not you,” said Norah, suddenly ‘divesting herself of the shawl and furiously addressing herself to the peeling of some potatoes waiting in a bowl. She was right in a way. As things were standing, O’Flynn would never have had the heart to do the business. ‘But things were not going to stand like that. It was next day at noon that he re- ceived a note from Margaret, the gist of which ran: For the Lord’s sake come at once. Her aunt, Miss Hancock, has called and won’t believe her. She’s here now, and I’m keepin’ her till you come though maybe she won’t believe you either. Margaret Driscoll. O'Flynn whistled. In their simple- mindedness neither he, Margaret nor Julia had ever thought of this. He knew what it was that Miss Hancock wouldn’t believe, and he had seen the lady once. High-nosed, antique, aris- tocratic, rather flighty in manner, and with that slight crack in her that seems to run through all Ireland in | its people, making them so charming yet not making, somehow, for char- ity of vision and temperate views in the cracked ones. If she wouldn’t believe Julia and | ing. | Margaret, she certainly would not be- lieve him. He said this to himself as he got into his overcoat and put on his hat. Then, feeling like a man who holds the ace and queen and knows the king is out, he got into a cab and drove to fetch Mrs. McGinnis. The routing of Miss Hancock, though a most satisfactory business, was spoiled for the ‘visitors by the conduct of their ally. Mrs. McGinnis, despite O’Flynn’s ‘fine words and promises and despite Julia’s fears, refused to part with Pat. She took him away with her, wrap- ped in a blanket. She showered bless- ing on all and sundry from the angels down, but to the suggestion that he should be “left for a bit” she was deaf and to Julia’s tears she was blind. She was, in fact, in the mental condi- tion of a cat who has just recovered a kitten. Her one instinct was to car- ry him off—and she did. O’Flynn walked home followed by the vision of Julia—Julia standing by the fire in the sitting room, her foot on the fender, her hand on the mantel- piece, her eyes on the burning coals, “controlling herself,” while in the next room stood the empty bassinette. And it was all his fault. He had never told her the truth of the mat- ter, and she fancied still that Pat had been left at her door by Some un- known person. : “I've just got to write her and tell her the truth,” said he to himself, and, sure enough, that evening, when the patients were done with, down he sat to the most difficult job he had ever | undertaken, for he found when he the story so well; scarce listening, oc- | came to the business that he had to cupied almost entirely with the change in her, a change of which she herself seemed absolutely unconscious. - Then he followed her into her bed- over that whazin’ plate-faced brute knocked at the door to ask, or the room, where there was a fire and of a Pakinese.” ' police. would. Well, there was no “Well, it’s a dog or an undertaker use in bothering. over an insoluble for her,” said O’Flynn, and off he problem and, like a sensible man, he went. He took his way back to the surg- ' sleep. ery on foot. A patient like Julia Corkran stands out strangely in a practice like O’Flynn’s. He had seen that day twenty-one patients besides those who came to the surgery, working people, small shopkeepers struggling to make two ends meet, women to shudder over, and men sure to be jailed again within the month, and the only one of the lot crying pity was Julia Corkran. “She’s never known trouble and that’s what’s the matter with her,” said O'Flynn to himself as he went his way. . Apd she was worth five or six thousand a year; this woman without a family had what would have brought joy and well-being to fifty such families as formed the staple of his practice. The fog, that gray Bloomsbury fog | of autumn that seems to rise from the past, was dimming the lamps of En- dell street when he reached it. Car- ter’s, the grocer’s and oil shop next door to the surgery, was casting its glow right out on the sidewalk and on his doorstep; half revealed by the nearest lamp, and in the reflected glow of Carter’s was a bundle prop- ped against the door. - 0 3 He bent down. It was a baby. A baby wrapped and wrapped in a dirty old shawl with other things under- neath, no doubt, to make it warm and live in flatland—a creation quite dis- ' comfortable, for it was asleep; the | | i ' turned the worry down and went to Oyun never read the papers, or only the Freeman's Journal, sent him every week by an aunt in Dublin, so he did not see a paragraph in next | morning’s Daily Mail relative to a baby lost by Mrs. McGinnis, of Con- way street, W. said baby having been taken out by Noreen, an elder sister, from whoin it had been snatched by a tall man with a long black beard. Noreen, being a child of 10 years, and her memory and tale confused and contradictory. : O’Flynn saw nothing of all thig and heard nothing of it, for his rapid cash and panel practice brought no gossip- ers to his consulting room. The only report that reached him was a scrawl from Margaret received next evening, four words in pencil on a half sheet of notepaper: “She’s took to it.” He left it at that, well satisfied to leave it at that, and days passed and a week slipped by and a week on top of that, till one Friday Norah burst in on him. “That baby,” said Norah. “It’s Mrs. McGinnis,’ down in Conway street!” “What baby?” asked O'Flynn, who was in his shirt sleeves, unpacking some drugs. “What baby—why, the child you took off to Miss Corkran’s! I heard be chance, not two minutes ago, from Mrs. Strahane, when I went to get the pitatoes, and, says she, wid her big goggle eyes weighin’ them oiit, “That where by her bedside stood a glori- fied cot, in which his majesty, Pat, | filled with the finest of milk, was tell her the truth no more points than one. His heart was moved in him. Julia, the friend and sometimes troublesome patient, had turned into something else. It was that vision of her standing in her loneliness by the fire that did sleeping the sleep of the just. { it—though maybe it had been creep- A new hygienic feeding bottle was ing on him for a long time, this new could see Margaret and have a talk | with her and between them they could. She was back just before O'Flynn FARM NOTES. | potatoes. The spray should be ap- | plied when the first injury is noticed. —With shingles, as with anything: else, it’s false economy to use an in-- 'ferior grade. —The 4-4-50 bordeaux mixture ap-- plied as a wet spray is an effective: control for tipburn or hopperburn of i, —Time and material spent in build- (ing a suitable poultry house. or remod- ieling or refurnishing the old, willl 'draw good dividends. | —Disease among dairy cattle may {be held in check largely through the application of the principles of hy- giene and sanitation in and around the dairy barn. —Pick pears when they are hard- ripe as they are liable to core-rof if left to ripen on the trees. After pick- ing put them in a cool place to ripen. (if for a home market. | —One of the best investments a. dairyman can make is to put drink- ing cups in his barn. Water is the cheapest of feeds and should be sup- plied in liberal quantities. —Dogs now may be immunized. against rabies. Ask your local veter- inarian and insure the peace of mind. of yourself and your neighbors as well as prevent “mad-dog” scares. —Loafing hens in the farm flock. eat up the profits that the busy bid- dies make. The successful poultry- man keeps the loafer just long enough to get her ready for the butcher. —Showing livestock and farm pro- ducts at fairs is a good, effective way" of advertising. It puts the real pro- duct right up in front of the thousands that daily pass through the turnstiles: of the many popular fairs. I —It is undesirable to. close too. quickly the furrows where asparagus roots have been planted this year. Al- low the asparagus to get well start- ed and then fill in the trench only" gradually when cultivating. —Splitting of apples on trees is. due to excessive moisture as a result: of the recent long rainy spell. The: sudden influx of water and decreased’ transpiration from the leaves results. in a pressure which the cellular struc-- (ture of the apples cannot withstand. —Sweet corn growers can help to eradicate the European corn borer by- “destroying the stalks within two | weeks after the ears have been pick- red. This may be done by cutting the- stalks close to the ground and run- | ning them through the silo or by feed- iing or burning them. —Nine of every ten house flies breed in manure piles. Hauling the- manure directly from stable to field removes the source and thus saves the energy devoted to fly-swatting- for something more worth while.. Incidentally, the fertility of the soil is improved by getting the manure: on early. —Lawns will require some atten-- tion this month. Dig out all weeds before they go to seed. Bonemeal makes an excellent fertilizer to apply- this month. Apply lightly before a: rain. Mow the lawn regularly but adjust the knives so that they do not cut too closely. If you water the grass at all be sure to give it a good soaking. —Cows, due to freshen in the fall should have a: rest period of 6 to S: weeks to put them into a good condi- tion of flesh before freshening. Cows that freshen in a thin condition will’ never produce what they would ‘if they had been better fitted. The ex- tra milk later will pay many times for the cost of feed eaten during the rest period. —The regular feeding of the poul- try flock as the summer progresses increases in importance, say Pennsyl- vania State College specialists. A few days without mash in the sum- mer will throw the birds into a moult from which many will not recover. Meat scrap: cannot be omitted from: the ration during the summer. Most flocks will eat considerably more by weight during the summer than they will hard grain. —Common carriers of the South- eastern Tariff association on the: transportation of pure-bred bulls to be used for breeding purposes when: their value does not exceed $150. This information received by the United States Department of Agricul- ture from the secretary of the South- ern Cattlemen’s association is expect- ed to aid in developing the cattle in- dustry in the southeast portion of the: country. The increased recognition which the breeding of good live stock is receiving” from commercial sources: is hastening progress in stock im- provement, according to specialists in the United States Department of Ag- riculture:. —Apparatus, called. a Bates aspira- on the dainty dressing table; things | feeling so impossible to express fully tor after: its inventor, E. N. Bates, were warming by the fire. watched her bending over the cot, he took in the tremendous fact that he had made this woman a mother. He had come to tell her the child belonged to another woman and had thought, then he went on and on, cov- to be given back. He left without doing so. He told himself that he would just as soon take a pistol and shoot her, and then he told himself that, all the same, it had to be done. This mental discussion took place as he came along New Oxford street in the direction of where he lived. His mind, made agile by the stimu- ‘lus of the business, sought hither and thither for an avenue out of this per- plexity. Maybe Mrs. McGinnis would consent to part—or, at all events, stand off an 'in words. He took it all in, and then, as he | “I didn’t know when I left him on your doorstep I'd left my heart with him,” wrote he, “but there it is for your foot.” He pursed his lips in | ering three sheets of paper, and end- ; ing, “If you feel you want to say ‘no,’ say it; just send me a telegram with the one word, ‘Impossible.’ Send me ‘it so I may get it before 5 o’clock to- morrow evening. If I hear nothing, then I'll know it’s all right, and I will | call and see you the day after tomor- { row.” : He sent Norah to Cunningham Mansions with this note. Next day he went about his busi- Five o'clock found ‘ness as usual. market specialist of the Department lof Agriculture, automatically remov- ed smut and light dockage from grain by suction as a part of the threshing: ! you to love and to hold or to kick with ' eperation. Ir this attachment the grain as it is thrown. from the thresher elevator is spread out into a thin, even stream by being directed onto a low inverted icone. The cone causes the grain to pile up and flow evenly over its edge. Suction from above draws a current of air through the thin. sheet of fall- ing grain and lifts out the light ma- terial. Need for the removal of smut and , dockage at threshing time is empha- i sized by the fact that there was ap- ! proximately 1,239,000 bushels of dock- age assessable against 118,665,000 adopt an attitude of him in the Strand. He had seen the bushels of wheat produced in Wash- benevolent neutrality for the child’s last of his patients an hour ago, but | ington, Idaho, and Oregon during a sake. and the McGinnis menage appeared before him, deluding him for a mom- ent to believe that no woman in her sane mind would rob the child of its present and prospective advantages. or a moment only. He knew the poor and he knew his people. He | mr Sliangoy knew that if Pat were to be discover- = “No,” sir, there’s been nothin’ but the | cular 56-M, “Cleaning Grain With the he couldn’t go home yet—he went | he reached Charing Cross, then he came slowly back. Arrived home, he shut the hall door and came to the foot of the stairs. | “Norah,” he called out, “has there been any telegram for me?” “Telegram ?” came Norah’s voice. | recent year. Of this dockage tatal The contrast of the Corkran flat along looking at the shop windows till | approximately 764,000 bushels were of smut dockage. The department says the question of dockage has be- come one of the outstanding problems of the wheat belt. A description of the apparatus and detailed methods of using it have been published in Miscellaneous Cir- ed in Buckingham Palace, in the ould rate collector botherin’ to see | Bates Aspirator,” copies of which ay monkey house of the zoo, or the child- ren’s ward of the workhouse infirm- ‘ary, it ‘would ‘be all ‘the same to Mrs. you.¥ H. DeVere Stackpoole. be obtained upon request to the De- “God bless him,” said O’Flynm.—By pérpumant of Agriculture, Washington, .
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers