CIAL? I AND te oad. rices com- rder ENN’A. IA ° 2 2 0. ER LESSON Love Found a Way: to Cure a Woman's Selfishness. By BAKER B. HOSKINS, Jr. Copyright by Frank A. Munsey Co. BP PPTPTrTTT Tee eS A big man and a little boy came wearily in from the corral at sundown, where they had just unsaddled their horses after a very hot day of hard riding. They had been in the brush, and the scratches on their leather leg- gings told the history of the ride. They paused at the little back gal- lery and mechanically drew off their leggings, and the man removed his boots and drew on a pair of house slip- pers. The leggings were hung upon pails in the wall. The man then took down a tin basin and washed his hands and face. The boy followed his example like a perfect model. “Hurry up. you all!” came an im- patient voice from the little Kitchen. “Supper is ready and has been for half an hour. You all poke around so it will be 9 o'clock before the dishes are washed.” Later they took their places silently at the table, where sat the woman waiting for them. She wore a clean white dress. There was an expression of discontent written plainly upon her rather full face. spoiling what would otherwise have made a pretty home picture. They ate in silence, as they usually did. There seemed to be a suppressed something about the woman's manner, which the man’s keen eyes noticed. _but it brought no comment from him. When he silently passed his cup for more coffee the tension seemed to give way, and the woman spoke bit terly. “Have you forgotten that the tenth anniversary of our wedding comes next week?” “No, I haven't forgotten it.” “Well, I have decided to spend it with friends back in my old home.” The woman spoke half defiantly. The husband looked at her with a startled air. “Yes, 1 have made up my mind to go,” she continued, “and there's no keeping me from it. I've slaved here on this ranch for you for ten years, ten long years, without ever once go- ing back, or going anywhere, for that matter, except to the little town for supplies. Here 1 am, as isolated as a heathen, and if it were not for the fashion magazines I'd be ten years be- hind the styles. 1 never see anybody except ranch folks; never hear any- thing except ranch talk.” The man looked at his wife in hurt silence. When she paused and seemed waiting for him to speak he began slowly: “It's been kinder hard on you, mam- ma, and 1 had hoped next spring to take you and the boy off on a visit. But this year it is impossible. The C BHE AROSE WEARILY AND TIED HER APRON ABOUT HER WAIST. market was low, and we just did break even on the cattle we shipped. We simply haven’t the money.” He said this as a direct appeal to her. “Yes, we have, too,” she retorted «There's $500 in the bank. I saw the receipt for it in your pocket. It is halt mine. The law gives the wife half of the family property, and I'm going to take my part and go back to my oid home. I'm sick, deathly sick, of this horrid, dry country. There isn’t a tree that grows here but that has thorns, and even the frogs have horns. I haven't seen a piano in ten years. and you know how fond I was of mu- sic!” “Why, Grace,” interrupted the man at this outburst. “we can’t spend that money! It's our ‘nest egg.’ We have to restock the ranch with that.” «Pye made up my mind to go. There's nothing short of death that can keep me from it. You'll have to make more money fo buy stock with or borrow money.” The man's face went pale, and be at- tempted to moisten his dry lips. His red. heat inflamed eyelids seemed to get redder. He spoke low: : “If you take that money it'll be like robbing me and the boy.” Grace's face flamed. and she spoke roughly. «You are a fool, Sam McKnight! Every woman has got to havea change once in awhile—once in ten years, at least.” The boy looked at his parents in wide eyed astonishment. Never before had he experienced any- thing like this. His mother afterward ate little and sat with forced patience until the hungry man and boy had tin- ished their supper. Then she rose wearily and tied ber apron about her waist. She cleared the table and began the irksome and seemingly never ending task of wash- ing and drying dishes, while the dis- content of continuous household drudg- ery was plainly written upon her face. The father silently took the milk bucket from the shelf. “You needn’t pull off the calves to- night, boy.” he said huskily. ‘Just make down your pallet and go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day for us.” The man had gone to the pen where the hungry calves were bawling. When he came back he strained the milk and washed the bucket. Then, taking his pipe, he went out and sat by the creak- ing windmill and smoked. He slipped into the kitchen when the morning star came up and kindled the fire. While the coffee was boiling he went to the cowpen to milk and feed the horses. When he came back the wife, with the same weary, discontented look in her eyes, was putting breakfast on the table. When breakfast was on the table Sam went out and touched the boy on the shoulder. He rose and dressed quickly and went into the dining room, where his father was already eating. He took his place silently and gave his atten- tion to his food. Before the sun was up they rode away. There was a strange comradeship that existed be- tween this big man and little boy. They rode stirrup to stirrup for a long time; then the boy asked: «What does she want to go off for, dad?” The man turned away his face. “You will understand some day, son.” “Why don’t you tell her what we are going to have on the anniversary ?”* the boy queried. ‘Bet she'd stay then!" I don’t want to try to buy ber love, son.” The minds of both were filled with thoughts of this during the entire day. It was dark when they returned home. They went through the same routine as on the previous night. If the man had hoped the woman would change her mind during the day he was disap- pointed, for he saw when he entered the roex that she had got out her little trunk and had packed it. He ask- ed in a very quiet, very calm voice: “When are you going?” Her reply was not so calm. «In the morning. The boy will drive me to the station. You will give me a check for my part of the money.” “You needn't be in no hurry to come back!” rejoined the man bitterly. When the day that marked the anni- versary came the two did not go off on the range, but lazed around the house doing up odd jobs. of the morning a wagon with a heavy load came creaking up to the house. “Back up to the gallery and unload her, boys,” said Sam. The wagon was backed up according- ly, and the huge, heavy thing was un- loaded. By the exerted strength of all the men it was moved into the house and placed in the front room. The boy hustled around with consid- Toward the middle opened the piano, turned and looked man. Later the man was able to! read it: —— why don’t you write for me to come home? Don't you want me—don’t you really care wheiher 1 «ome back or not after the yo i$ you aave ioved nme so faithfuily? [dont yuu GisS me—don’'t you need me enough to Write ror me Lo com. back 7— The father experienced the same dif- ficulty in reading that the son bad. He, too, cried. The fever cooled somewhat, and the neighbor went home. He promised to return on the morrow. After be left ‘ the boy went to the front door and . one of the old songs. | very soft and very sweet. erable importance, getting the hatchet | and other tools for opening the box. When the front of the box was re- moved the room in the isolated little ranch house was illuminated by the presence of a piano. «Is a dandy, if shine counts for anything,” Sam remarked. When the piano man went away the best horse on the ranch was led behind the wagon. The bargain had been made months before, and it was one that had cost Sam something. Days slipped by, and the piano re- mained silent. pothing was heard from the mother who wanted a change. restless, and the boy asked questions. Then the man fell sick. Drinking from the stagnant water holes over the prairie gave him fever. The boy beg- ged him to write for the mother to come, but the father shut his Ups tight- ly and said no. “She left of her own accord, and of her own accord she must return, if re- turn she does.” The sick man took te his bed, butt etill he would not let the boy write. Sam was so sick that the boy had to stay with him all the time. When the little fellow could stand the strain. no longer—while his father was asleep— he scrawled a letter to hig mother: Dad he’s sick, and we've got a piano for you. Wor’t you please come home? The letter was written, but how to mail it was a problem. A neighboring rancher rode over the next morning, bringing a letter that had lain in the postoffice for several weeks. The boy that it was from his mother, and he opened it with trembling hands and tried to read it. but he could not for tears. The rancher took the letter to read it | to the boy. but soon folded it and placed it under the pillow of the sick | the side of his bed. Weeks went by, and | The man grew | instinctively knew \ looked out. He saw the figure of a wo- man struggling along the dusty trail. The distance then was too great for him to recognize her. He watched as she drew nearer. It seemed to him- yes, it looked like—it was his mother: He sprang from the gallery and ran toward her, crying: “Mamma! Mamma!” The woman saw him and quickened ber weary pace. She held out ber arms, and he threw himself, sobbing. into them. hiding his little dry. red face against her bosom. The mother wept. In his joy at her coming the boy for- got the piano. i “Dad—he's sick. He's been mighty sick, but he's better now, ‘cause he's asleep.” The woman released her son and ran. | panting, to the house. When she reach- i ; “WHAT A MISERABLE CREATURE 1 HAVE BEEN!" ed the door she stopped, electrified. then fell upon her knees and leaned her head against the piano. “Oh, heavens! What a miserable creature | bave been!” She was crying and sobbing when the boy came to her. “Play some, mamima. Dad says you ' can make one of them talk—that I just ought to hear you play. We can make it sound, but we can’t make it play. We got it on the anniversary. Dad traded his best horse and some money to hoot for it.” The woman sobbed afresh. but she longingly at the sleeping man; then she played, with stiff and awkward fingers, Her notes were The man stirred, but did not open his eyes. “Son.” be said, “1 have just had the finest dream. I dreamed that your mamma had come home to us and that she was playing for us.” “Sam, Sam!’ cried Grace, running across the room and falling down by She reached over and gathered the man in her plump | arms, while her tears fell upon his | face. | that was new to him—the face of He looked up and saw a face Grace, but purged from all discontent ! and filled with a look that hungered | for the love of husband and son—hun- gered to minister to them in those du- ties wherein she had failed. Sam reached up his hard hand and stroked her head gently. “Did yeu have a good time, honey?” he asked in a weak though bappy voice. “Oh, Sam.” she cried. "It was SO different from what it used to be. Eiv- erything was so narrow and crowded; and how I missed you and our boy! 1 almost died of homesickness. And— and—you didn’t write. I thought you all didn’t want me to come back, and 1 tried to stay away, and it nearly broke my heart. At night i would go out and look at the stars because I knew they were shining over you two and over our home 1 would wake in the night thinking 1 heard the wind- mill creak or the calves bawling be- cause you were late in getting in to milk, and, oh, I would cry and cry: Tm never going to be cross with you any more. I'm going to be different. «When I couldn't stand it. any long- er T got on the train, and it couldn't coms fast enough. I had the conductor put me off at the crossing because I was afraid I would have to stay in the town tonight. and 1 couldn’t stand the thought of being away from you all another night. So 1 walked” — The man was crying, and the boy. geeing him, began fo cry also. “You walked from the crossing!” he interrupted. “Why, sweetheart, it's ten miles!” nestled down close to him. It was all right; he called her “sweetheart!” The tired. happy woman nodded and | | | like forty! How Weather Makes Us Work The ideal climate is said to be found | in many parts of the world, but no one knows exactly what it is. The whole matter depends on our defini- tion of “ideal.” If we are looking sim- ply for rest and pleasure a warm and sunny climate is probably the best. If we want to go fishing something | different is preferable. sential fact in the lives of the major- ity of mankind is work. the climate which is best for work is ideal from that point of view. If we take efficiency in the daily work of our life as our standard it is possible to measure what people ac- tally do under different climatic con- ditions, and thus to form an estimate of the bost kind of climate. From the work cf ,about five hundred factory operatives in southern Connecticut and of about eighteen hundred students at West Point and Annapolis I have pre- pared curves showing the relative ef- ficiency under different conditions of | temperature, humidity and storminess. These curves, based on investigations among a large number of individuals, | agree with similar curves prepared on the basis of a smaller number of peo- ple by two Danish psychologists— Lehmann and Pedersen, in Copenha- gen. The two sets of data show that . the physical activity of the races of western Europe is greatest when the average temperature is about 60 de- ! grees—that is, on days when the ther- mometer goes down to perhaps 50 or 55 degrees at night and rises to about 65 or 70 degrees by day. Mental ac- tivity, on the other hand, is greatest when the average is a little below 40 degrees—that is, on days which may | have a frost at night. Since life consists of both mental | and physical activity, and each is es- sential to success, the most favorable | conditions would seem to be those ! where the temperature never falls far below the most propitious point for ! mental work or rises above the opti- | mum for physical work. i words, if the mean temperature were i | the only thing to be considered, the best climate would be one where the ; In other Therefore ! The most es- | ALCOHOL 3 PER CEN T. AVegetable Preparaionfor As- similating tie Food andRega ling the Stomachs and Bowels of | Promotes Digestion Cheerful || | ness and Rest.Contains neither Opium Morphine nor Mineral Nort NARCOTIC. 1 A crfect Remedy for Consfipa thon , Sour Stomach. Diarrhoea ; Worras Convulsions. Feverisl ness and LOSS OF SLEEP. TFacSnile Signature of Tue CENTAUR COMPAKY, NEW YORK. | EX months old ER Alaa -35 CENTS average in winter is about 40 and: the average in summer about 60 de- . grees. Only a few parts of the world | are blessed with such conditions. The most important of these, both | in area and in population, is England. | | Next comes the northern Pacific coast of the United States, from Oregon to | the southern part of British Columbia. | Here, unfortunately, the mountains rise above the sea, and sO prevent the | favorable conditions from penetrating far inland. A third highly favored area is found in New Zealand, espe- cially the southern island. This, like its two predecessors, is recognized as one of the highly advanced parts of the earth. The fourth and last of the places where the mean temperature is particularly favorable is not generally so recognized. It lies in Patagonia and the corresponding part of Chill between latitudes 45° and 50° S. Few people live here, and we are apt to think of it as of relatively slight value. Jt.differs from the other three regions in having a deficient rainfall except in the western part, which is extremely mountainous. From what has just been sald it must not be inferred that the climates of England, the northern Pacific coast of the United States, New Zealand and Patagonia are necessarily ideal. Mean temperature is by no means the only important condition. In the first place, not only a deficiency of moisture, as in a large part of Patagonia, but an ex- cess, as in the mountains of southern Chili or in Ireland, which otherwise is almost as favored as England, may hamper a country. Such conditions produce not only an adverse economic effect by making agriculture difficult, but also a direct effect upon people’s capacity for work. A moderate de- gree of dampness—that is, a relative humidity of from 65 per cent. in sum- mer to 90 per cent. in winter—is favor- able, but when the summers are wet or the winters very dry people do not work so well—Ellsworth Huntington, in Harper's Magazine. er Abolishing Age It is a momentous time, fraught with—well, fraught with something or other. The spirit of change is in the air. Old things pass away, giving place to the new. Father Time, fugiting in his well known Marathon, is passing a given point. He'll get by, of course, put humanity makes a great to-do whenever he passes this or that mile post. The system of arbitrary meas- urement seems to be necessary to men, but it has probably slain more perfectly good people than all wars and famines and pestilences put to- gether. Legions die of old age—by the calendar. «Three score and ten years I have lived—goodness! And it doesn’t seem But my time's up, and I gotter to be be goin’ Good night— be good to the children!” And we go —just because we have the notion that we are wound up for just seventy years. Whoso lives by the clock must die by the clock. Out with your horologes, your almanacs and calendars! And this all leads up to a suggestion: January 1st is the day of making resolutions, presumably for the bene- fit of the resolver and his friends. Very well, then, let us all resolve to quit having birthdays, to quit in any way keeping tab on the flight of years. The better half of our readers we know, will welcome this suggestion, and the chuckle-headed sex may follow if the suggestion is formalized. Let us then appoint a commission—a com- mission to abolish age. Do we hear a second? Some people are always talking about how square they are, and we don’t notice any corners sticking out of them at that. —— pe ad BCWMAN'S IMAGIC SEAL, GOLDEN Cl, Manufactured by U. J. & J BOWMAN, Johnstown, Pa, FOR SALE BY J. W. WASMUTH, MEYERSDALE, I NII NS NIN NS NS NIN How to Cure a La Grippe Cough. Lagrippe coughs demand instant Mustard Ointment For Infants and Children. | Mothers Kuow That Genuia Dostenia Always | Bears tho | Signaturc of Use For Over Thirty Years ORIA THE CENTAUR COMPANY, I.EW YORK CITY. A PAA Nl PS SENNA NSA NTS AS CATARRH CANNOT BE CURED. with LOCAL APPLICATIONS, as they cannot reach the seat of the dis- ease. Catarrh is a blood or constitu- tional disease, and inorder to cure it you must Hall's Catarrh Cure is taken inter- pally and acts directly on the blood and mucous surface. Hall's Catarrh Cure is ont a quack medicie. It was prescribed by one of the best physi- | cians in this country for years and is take internal remedies. a regular prescription. It is compos- PENNA ed of the best tonics known, combin- ed with the best blood purifiers, act- ing directly on the mucous surfaces. The perfect combination of the two in- gredients is what produces such treatment. They show a serious cond’ wonderful results in curing Catarrh. tion of the system and are weakening Postmaster Collins, Barnegat, N. J. says: “I took Foley’s Honey and Tar Compound for a violent lagrippe cough that completely exhausted me and less than a half bottle stopped ths cough.” Try it. 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Hundreds of health articles appear in newspapers and magazines, and in| | practically every one of them the im- | portance of keeping the bowels reg- ular is emphasized. A constipated condition invites disease. A dependa- ble physic that acts without inconve- nience or griping in Foley Cathartic Tablets. Sold everywhere. Send for testimonials free. Send for testimonials F. J. CHENEY, & Co., Toledo, O Sold by all Druggists, 75 cents pur bottle. Take Hall’s Family Pills for Con gipation.* ad mr a a Wm. C, Price Successor to W. A. Clarke Funeral Director Business conducted at the same place PromptZattention given to all calls at all times. Both Phones. A I SSN —r For haby’s croup, cuts and throat, Willie's daily bruises, mamma’s sore grandma’s lameness—Dr Thomas’ Electric Oii—the household remedv. 25c and 50c a ~~ A INI NINN NIN SSS RHEUMATIC SUFFERERS GIVEN QUICK RELIEF Pain leaves almost as if by magic when you begin using “5- Drops,” the famousold remedy for Rheuma- tism, Lumbago, Gout, Sciatica, Neuralgia and kindred troubles. It goes right to the spot, stops the aches and pains and makes life worth living. Get a bottle of “5-Drops™ today. A booklet with each bottle gives full directions for use. Don’t delay. Demand “5-Drops.” Don’t ac- } cept anything else in : place of it. Any drug- gist can supply you. If you live too far from a drug store send One Dollar to Swanson Rheumatic Cure Co., Newark, Ohio, and a bottle of “5-Drops™ will be sent prepaid. OUR CUSTOMERS SAY LARA- BEE’'S BEST FLOUR IS THE BEST $1.95 PER LARGE BAG. TRY IT —HABEL & PHILLIPS. \ A Pl ITN SSN SNS lf LY SIDNL» ILLS Children Cry FOR FLETCHER'S CASTORIA
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