THE PATTON COURIER 1 —-—— RS TOOT ATO TATTOO TOTOTTO TS TT TTT TT TOTO TOOT T OTTO TOTO TOTO TOTO TOTO TOOT TeT0e OOOO TOTO Tee es ne % be! ‘ ht 1X] IK) 9 & ! KS 4 be! Yo! ol a 4 ) 5 bi , * pe 3 444 A Northland Romance ppp 5 1] 1] CO) ®, re be . bd by Robert W. Service IX & KS D4 Pd ILLUSTRATIONS BY IRWIN MYERS WNU service ne ne DT TTT TOO 0 TOOT TOTO TOTO TOTO TOTO OO TOTO OTe TOTO TOTO TOTO TOTO TOTOTOTOTAT A STO TTOTOTOATOTOTOTOTOTOTATNS, STORY FROM THE START Athol Meldrum, young Scots- man, starts out to seek his fore tune. He arrives at San Fran- cisco practically broke and meets a fellow adventurer whom he dubs the Prodigal. With Jim Hubbard they join the gold rush to Alaska. On the boat Athol meets Berna, a youmg woman traveling with her grandfather and a hard looking eouple named Winklestein who figure as her aunt and uncle. Landing at Skag- way, Athol's party at once takes the trail. In a snowslide on the Chilcoot trail, which Berna and her companions had taken, hun- dreds of lives are lost. Fearful for Berna’'s safety, Athol hastens to the scene. He finds the old man dead and learns that Berna is prostrated. At Bennett, Berna comes to Athol, confesses her love, and begs him to marry her, to save her from the harsh fate she foresees, He is unwilling to take such a decisive step, and tells her théy must wait. Some days afterward Berna tells Athol Madam Winklestein plans to sell her to “Black Jack” Locasto, millionaire miner of evil reputa- tion. While realizing how great- ly he loves the girl Meldrum flinches ftom the idea of im- mediate marriage, and they agree to wait a year. Reaching the gold fields, Athol and his party, j| find the claims all taken and the camp crowded with idle men Athol’s party decides to stay and await developments. Unable to locate Berna, Athol seeks infor- mation from Locasto. “Black Jack” disclaims knowledge of her whereabouts, and later, evidently aware of the rivalry between them, lures Meldrum to a lonely spot and beats him into uncon- sciousness. Through a lucky chance Athol finds Berna. CHAPTER VII—Continued te “And so you found me, dear. 1 knew you would, somehow. In my heart I knew you would not fail me. Bo I waited and waited. It was cruel we left so suddenly, not even time to say good-by, but I could not help my- self. They dragged me away. They began to be afraid of you, and he bade them leave at once.” “I see, I see.” I looked into the pools of her eyes; I sheathed her white hands in my brown ones, thrill- ing greatly at the contact of them. “Tell me about it, child, Has he bothered you?” “Oh, not so much, He thinks he has me safe enough, trapped, await- ing his pleasure. But he’s taken up with some woman of the town just now. By-and-by he'll turn his atten- tion to me.” “But, Berna, surely nothing in this world would ever make you yield? Oh, it's horrible!” She leaned to me tenderly, She put my arms around her neck; she looked at me till I saw my face mir- rored in her eyes. “Believe me and trust me. I would rather throw myself from the bluff here than let him put a hand on me. And so long as I have your love, dear, I'm safe enough. Don’t fear. Oh, it’s been terrible not seeing you! I've craved for you ceaselessly. I've never been out since we came here. They wouldn't let me. They kept in them- selves. He bade them. But now, for some reason, he has relaxed. They're gaing to open a restaurant down- town, and I'm to wait on table.” “No, you're not!” I cried. “Berna, 1 can’t bear to think of you in that garbage-heap of corruption down there. You must marry me—now.” “Now,” she echoed, her eyes wide with surprise, “Yes, right away, dear. There's nothing to prevent us. Berna, I love you, I want you, I need you. I ean’t bear it, dearest; have pity on me: marry me now. I want you now. I can’t wait.” She looked at me gravely. Her voice was very soft, very tender. “1 think it better we should wait, dear. This is a blind, sudden desire on your part. I mustn't take ad- vantage of it. You pity me, fear for ‘me, and you have known so few other girls. I'm not worth it, indeed I'm not. I'm only a poor ignorant girl. If there were others near, you would never think of me.” “Berna,” | said, “if you were among a thousand, and they were the most adorable in all the world, I would pass over them all and turn with joy and gratitude to you.” “Ah, no,” she said sadly, “you were wise once. 1 saw It afterwards. Bet- ter wait one year.” She went on very quietly, full of gentle patience, “You know, I've been thinking a great deal since then. In the long, long days and longer nights, when I waited here in misery, hoping al- ways you would come to me, I had time to reflect, to weigh your words. This is June. Next June, if you have not made up your mind you were foolish, blind, hasty, I will give my self to you with all the love in the world.” *Perhaps you will change.” She smiled a peculiar little smile. “Never, never fear that, I will be waiting for you, longing for you, lov- ing you more and more every day. Let us wait, boy, just a year,” I saw the pathetic wisdom of her words, “I know you fear something will happen to me, No! I think I will be quite safe, I can withstand him, Ang if it should come to the worst 1 can call on you. You mustn't go too far away. I will die rather than let him lay a hand on me. Till next June, dear, not a day longer. We will both be the better for the wait.” I bowed my head. “Very well,” 1 said huskily; “and what will I do in the meantime?” “Do! Do what you would have done otherwise. Work! It will be better for you to go away. It will make it easier for me, Here we will both tor- ture each other, I, too, will work and live quietly, and long for you. You will come and see me sometimes?” “Yes,” I answered. My voice choked with emotion, “Now we must go home,” she said; “I'm afraid they will be back.” She rose, and I followed her down the narrow trail. We reached the cabin, and on the threshold she paused. The others had not yet returned. She held out both hands to me, and her eyes were glittering with tears. “Be brave, my dearest; it's all for my sake—if you love me.” “I love you, my darling; anything for your sake. I'll go tomorrow.” “We're betrothed now, aren't we, dearest?” “We're betrothed, my love.” She swayed to me and seemed to fit into my arms as a sword fits into its sheath, My lips lay on hers, and I kissed her with a passionate joy. “I love you, I love you,” she mur- mured; “next June, my darling, next June.” Then she gently slipped away from me, and I was gazing blankly at the closed door, “Next June,” I heard a voice echo; and there, looking at me with a smile, was Locasto. Hate was far from my heart, and when I saw the man himself was re- garding me with no particular un- friendliness, I was disposed to put aside for the moment all feelings of enmity. The generosity of the victor glowed within me, As he advanced to me his manner was almost urbane in its geniality, “You must forgive me,” he said, not without dignity, “for overhearing you; but by chance I was passing and dropped upon you before I real ized it.” He extended his hand frankly. “I trust my congratulations on your good luck will not be entirely ob- noxious. I know that my conduct in this affair cannot have impressed you in a very favorable light; but I am a badly beaten man. Can’t you be gen- erous and let bygones be bygones? Won't you?” I had not yet come down to earth. I was still soaring in the rarefied heights of love, and inclined to a general amnesty towards my enemies. As he stood there, quiet and com- pelling, there was an assumption of frankness and honesty about this man that it was hard to withstand. For the nonce I was persuaded of his sincerity, and weakly I surrendered my hand. His grip made me wince. “Yes, again I congratulate you, 1 know and admire her. They don’t make them any better. She's pure gold. You mustn't mind me taking an interest in your sweetheart. I'm old enough to be her father, you know, and she touches me strangely. Now, don’t distrust me. I want to be a friend to you both. I want to help you to be happy. Jack Locasto’s not such a bad lot, as you'll find when you know him, Is there anything 1 can do for you? What are you going to do in this country?” “lI don’t quite know yet,” I said “I hope to stake a good claim when the chance comes. Meantime I'm go- ing to get work on the creeks.” “Well, I'll' tell you what: I've got laymen working on my Eldorado claim; PII give you a note to them if you like.” I thanked him, “Oh, that’s all right,” he said. “I'm sorry I played such a mean part in the past, and I'll do anything in my power to straighten things out. Be- lieve me, I mean it. Your English friend gave me the worst drubbing of my life, but three days after I went round and shook hands with him. Fine fellow that. We're good friends y i al / Lk Ira o 1 gol ¥ ga There | Was Hanging Desperately on the Lowest Rung of the Ladder. now. I always own up when I'm beat- en, and I never bear ill-will. If I ean help you in any way, and hasten your marriage to that little girl there, well you can just bank on Jack Locasto: that’s all,” I must say the man could be most conciliating when he chose. As he talked to me, my fears were dissipat- ed, my suspicions lulled. And when we parted we shook hands cordially. “Don’t forget,” he said; “if you want help bank on me, I mean it now, I mean it.” » * -* * * . *® "Twas early in the bright and cool of the morning when we started for Eldorado, Jim and I. I had a letter from Locasto to Ribwood and Hoof- man, the laymen, and I showed it to Jim, He frowned. “You don’t mean to say you've palled up with that devil,” he said. “Oh, he’s not so bad,” I expostu- lated. “He came to me like a man and offered me his hand in friendship, I've no reason to doubt his sincer- ity.” “Sincerity be danged. He’s about as sincere as a tame rattlesnake, Put his letter in the creek.” But no! I refused to listen to the old man, “Well, go your own gait,” he said; “but dom’t say that I didn’t warn you.” Following the trail, we struck wap Bonanza, a small muddy stream in a narrow valley. About noon we de- scended into the creek bed and came to the Forks. It was a little town, a Dawson in miniature, with all its sordid aspects infinitely accentuated, The oldest English social inctitution is the parish vestry. It is a descend- ant of the tribal council of mos' prim- itive human establishment, combined with the nearly as old institution of religion. This body of persons In- trusted with the administration of the temporal affairs of a parish was so called from the former custom of holding parish meetings in the vestry of the church. In ancient England vestries regulated all parochial affairs, ecclesiastical or civil. Indeed, the parish church of the Fourteenth cen- tury was the common hall, sometimes the ;ommon market place and theater of its district. When the Host and portable altar were removed the Watermarks in Paper Watermarks in paper have been used for a long time to lend distinction to the product of a particular paper mak- er and for other purposes. One of the oldest, a circle surmounted by a tall cross, is found in documents dating back to the Fourteenth century. Other old marks are the fleur-de-lys, the court jester, the huntsman’s horn, the hand pointing to a five-pointed star and the tankard, well known in papers of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth centuries. 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-000-00-00-0-000000000-0-0-0-0-0 000000000 000C Old Churches Put to Variety of Purposes church would be employed for all pur- poses. A landowner who found he had more wool or grain than he could take care of on his own premises could store it in the church simply by paying a small fee to the parson. Even the tower of the church was used. Especially in the more exposed districts neam the sea, it was a place of refuge, the castle of the inhabi- tants,—Detroit News. Her Place in the Sun She lay lifeless, a mere shattered torso. Her beautiful vacant eyes stared calmly at you; even yet the flawless waves stuck to her golden hair. Her facial beauty was ruined; her lovely cheeks had slid down into her neck, and there they were in chunks. But still the light was in her eyes; she'd met her destruction bravely, and nev- er squinted once . . . “We'll need a new dummy,” said the hairdresser, looking at the show win- dow the storm had blown in. High Court's First Session The Supreme Court of the United States held its first session on Febru- ary 7, 1791, in the Old City ball at Philadelphia, Pa. There in the din and daze and dirt we tarried awhile; then, after eating heartily, we struck up Eldorado. At the Forks I inquired regarding Ribwood and Hoofman: “Goin’ to work for them, are you? Well, they've got a blamed hard name. If you get a job elsewhere, don’t turn it down,” Ribwood was a tall, gaunt Cornish- man, with a narrow, jutting face and a gloomy air; Hoofman, a burly, beet- colored Australian with a bulging stomach. “Yes, we’ll put you to work,” sald Hoofman, reading the letter. “Get your coat off and shovel in.” So, right away, I found myself in the pay-dirt and swinging it into a sluice-box five feet higher than my head. Keeping at this hour after hour was no fun. For three days I made the dirt fly; but toward quitting time, I must say, Again I suffered all the tortures of becoming toil-broken. hoisting into the overhead sluice-box somehow worked muscles that had never gone into action before, and I ached elaborately. I was glad, indeed, when, on the evening of the third, day, Ribwood came to me and said: the shaft tomorrow. We want a man to wheel muck.” They had a shaft sunk on the hill. side. They were down some forty, feet and were drifting in, wheeling the pay-dirt down a series of planks pert at the business, My spirits rose, I was on the way of becoming a miner, Turning the windlass over the shaft was a little, tough mud-rat, who ex- cited in me the liveliest sense of aversion. Pat Doogan was his name, but I will call him the “Worm.” He was the most degraded type of man I had yet met on my travels, 8 degenerate, dirty, drunken, diseased. One day Hoofman told me he want ed me to go down the shaft and work in the drift, Accordingly, next morn- ing I and a huge Slav, by name Doo- ley Rileyvich, were lowered down ine to the darkness. The shaft was almost forty feet deep. For the first ten feet a ladder as if the excavators had decided to abandon It. 1 often looked at this useless bit of ladder and wondered why it had been left unfinished. us down into the darkness, and at night drew us up. Once he said to me: “Say, wouldn't it be de tough luck if I was to take a fit when 1 was a boy, too, an’ I guess I'd lose my job over de head of it.” I said: “Cut that out, or you'll have me so scared I won't go down.” He grinned unpleasantly and said nothing more. Yet somehow he was geting on my nerves terribly. hoisted up. first, and I watched him blot out the bit of blue for a while, Then, slow- ly, down came the bucket for me, I got in, I was feeling uneasy all I felt myself leave tha ground and rise steadily, 1 wes now ten feet from the top. The bucket was rocking a little, so I put out my hand and grasped the lowest rung of the ladder to steady myself. Then, at that instant, it seemed the weight of the bucket pressing up against my feet was suddenly re- moved, and my arm was nigh jerked out of its socket. There I was hang- ing desperately on the lowest rung of the ladder, while, with a crash that made my heart sick, the bucket dashed to the bottom. A last, I real- ized, the Worm had had his fit. ous hole. rung by rung on the ladder. [ hung all a-shudder, half-sobbing. A minute seemed like a year. Ah! there was the face of Dooley looking down on me. He saw me clinging there. He was anxiously shouting to me to come up. Master- ing an overpowering nausea 1 raised myself, At last I felt his strong arm once more. and rigid. wart Slav took him on his brawny shoulder, The creek was down-hill but fifty yards. Ere we reached it the Worm had begun to show signs of reviving consciousness. “Leave me alone,” he says to Riley- vich; “you Slavonian swine, lemme » Not so the Slav. wriggling, writhing little man in his powerful arms he plunged him heels over head in the muddy current of the creek. “I guess I cure dose fits anyway,” he said grimly. Struggling, spluttering, blasphem- ing, the little man freed himself at last and staggered ashore. He cursed Rileyvich most comprehensively, (TO RE CONTINUED) £0. the dump-pile, jamming a shovel into | i ‘ 1 ’ ’ ’) ’ ’ ’ ’ 9 ’ 4 4 . ‘ By 7 ’ ’ ’ ROSA + MIMI ¥ 3 ’ y ’ ’ ’ SAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY Bee RRR RR RRR RRL RR RR RRR. An Era of Etiquette OU can hardly pick up a magazine nowadays without reading some- thing about etiquette, which is one of the highly advertised things of the times. There are as many or more ad- vertisements about how to make money along with these manuals of manners, | The two seem to work together, in a way. In the old days when kings and queens were in fashion, the business of fine manners was confined to courts. Then it got into the drawing rooms or parlors, and now we are trying to run it into the scramble of modern life. That's why the books on etiquette are on sale, Our ancestors had the manners. We have treatises on the subject. But goodness knows there's need of some- thing to keep us from being crude and boorish. We live at such a pace and | are so full of the go-getting spirit that its flight was a very uncertain one. | The constant | “I guess you'd better work up at | placed on trestles to the dump. After | the first day I became quite an ex- | ran down it, then stopped suddenly | recipe our manners are ripped off the way lace would be, if we wore any these days. But at the same time I can’t just savvy why a person who has any kind of feelings and as much good sense needs a »ook to tell him or her how to behave. We are supposed to do that sort of thing naturally. The at- tempt to get good manners by buying a fancy book is just about as foolish as the idea of making money by read- ing about gold mines. About all the etiquette book can do is to call your attention to the fact that there is still room for manners in this world which is jammed so full of people that they keep parking out on one another’s toes. The real manners which a person should have and display, the way flap- pers reveal knees, are things that you must cultivate for yourself. If you haven’t the etiquette urge, the book isn’t going to put it into you. The best recipe for manners is the Golden Rule, Act as though you had some idea that the other person is more or less like yourself. If you don’t like being pushed into the gutter, chances are the other fellow isn’t itch- ing to be bumped off the curb either. And the positive side of mangers de- pends upon your having seif-confidence and strength. To have good manners you must as- sert yourself—but in a clever way. You must have poise, which is only | personality nicely balanced. If you are shamefaced, and overmodest, you will make other people feel wriggly, and that isn’t good manners, is it? My would be—equal parts of | strength and fineness well mixed. Or Every morning the Worm hoisted | hoistin’ youse up? Such a nice bit of | | | you can cook it up by combining ego- ism with altruism, love of others and self-respect. Season with pepper. That’s a popular commodity and in good taste. Use sugar—but not too much. Employ a certain amount of pep and sweetness as also regard for oth- ers, and the book of etiquette need never ve read, Prehistoric Women HENEVER a mummy is un- wrapped, it turns out to be a man, The same is true when they excavate the primitive men who flour- | ished hundreds of thousands of years One evening we were ready to be | Dooley Rileyvich went | of a sudden, and devoutly wished I | oh N ‘ were anywhere else but in that hide- | but it seems as though Nature might Quickly I gripped with both hands. | With a great effort I raised myself | Dizzily | Holding the | | | | around me, and I was on firm ground | The Worm was lying stiff | Without a word the stal- | ago. They are always gentlemen. Why is it that they find no prehis- toric women? Maybe the ancient Egyptians, who were so fond of undertaking, thought the women weren't worth preserving, have saved a few females of the spe- cies to keep the men company in the museum. Dear me! what problems a woman has to face! Of course, there were women fin those old days, for men wouldn't have been contented without ‘em, but it's hard to find traces of them. The sci- entists dig up stone hatchets which the men wielded, but they can’t seem to unearth any old hairpins or corset steels. They may hit on these later when they have dug deeper. The fact of the matter is that wom- an is still buried. You don’t have to read Edgar Allen Poe to read the stories of people buried alive, for that’s the condition of the average woman. She’s buried beneath the home and all the traditions of the race. She’s like the miners who are en- tombed in their coal caves. She isn’t as much so as she was, | but there's still a lot of excavating to be done before women are brought up to the level of terra firma. Cus- tom and costume have kept her down in the mine, One of the signs of the times is the relief expedition which is working to unearth woman. She may seem to be free when she goes about in the derby which and when she does the voting trick ou the first ironing day after the first wash day of November. But hats and ballots aren't enough. Trousers and cigarettes help her some more, but the full freedom of woman is still, to come. Woman's trouble is that she has the babit of being a female. She togs herself out as a man and acts in.a masculine way, but at heart she is still a woman. That is as it should be, but woman has still to find herself. Then she can be worth something to herself and to man also. (© by the Bell Byndicate, Inc.) man has just cast off | ‘FARM + POULTRY FLOCK HISTORY IS GUIDE IN CULLING Always Better to Improve Production by Care. “In eulling poultry the history of | the flock should be the first important | eonsideration,” say the extension spe- eisiists in poultry husbandry at the Ohio State university. “If the flock a3 a whole has been laying heavily throughout the entire year, culling should be comparatively easy, as the good birds will show evidence of high prcduction, while the few poor birds will be outstanding, showing very definite evidences of low production or none. “If the flock has laid indifferently throughout the year, or has suffered from parasites such as red mites, lice, ov intestinal worms, or is improperly hcusea or cared for, the culling will b= very dificult, for many of the birds that are really worth keeping will be questionable, due to their condition. Under such circumstances the first step should be to correct conditions, and allow the good birds to come back and show their value, which will cause the poor birds to be more easily recognized. “It is always better to improve av- erage production by better manage- ment rather than by culling, which decreases the number of birds and cuts down the possible earning power of the flock.” Get Rid of Parasites on Chickens in Flock The hens have enough to bother | with in the summer with the hot weather without having to fight lice and mites in addition. The flock own- er can do a great deal to help the hens get rid of these pests. There are various remedies on the market which can be used, or a drug known as sodium fluoride can be bought at the drug store and can be put on the hens, applying it on the back, head, throat, on the breast, around the vent, between each thigh and the breast ard on each wing. This is a rather tedious process, although it will get all the Iice. Within the last year and a half, however, it has been found that paint- ing Black Leaf 40 on the perches will rid a flock of lice. This is easy and effective. Mites are a worse pest than lice, since these little bugs stay in the cracks and crevices around the nests, droppings boards and perches during the day and get on the birds at night, at which time they suck the hen's blood. These can best be fought by using a strong disinfectant on the nests, roosts and droppings boards. If these pests—Ilice and mites—are allowed to remain on the birds, they will sap the chicken’s vitality and will hinder egg production consider- ably. Ducks and Geese Are Fed Pretty Much Alike Ducks and geese are fed just about alike, They should be kept warm and dry and fed about four or five times per day. All young water fowl should have soft feeds, that is to say, wet mashes mixed as follows: Three parts yellow corn meal, four parts bran, one part red dog or low-grade flour by weight, Add to this 10 per cent of high-grade meat scraps, 1 per cent of fine sand, and mix with water or milk so that it is quite moist but not slop- py. Feed this every two or three hours for two weeks. Care for Chicks Raising good chicks is about the most important thing on a poultry farm. That to a large extent deter- mines your profits. If you neglect the chicks by crowding them too closely, by letting the house become filthy and the soil in bad shape, you may produce weak chicks that do not live well and lay well. It is comparatively easy to grow good chicks if you are willing to do the necessary work of properly caring for the chicks. Turkeys on Upgrade Turkey raising is on the upgrade, now that the blackhead bugaboo has | been done away with. And the turkey growers are getting the marketing sys- tem down to a fine point, too. Six turkey marketing associations have just been formed in various parts of Colorado, and the next thing will be Meanest Man Takes Tots’ Milk Tickets Lynchburg, Va.—Nurses in the tuberculosis division of the municipal department of public welfare have a candidate: for the honor of being the meanest man living, though they have not disclosed his name as yet, The man saved up milk tick- ets furnished him for two chil- dren suffering from tuberculosis until he had the equivalent of $9.20, and took the tickets to the creamery and requested the cash, He got it and bought a ¥ railroad ticket to go out of i town. : : : RADIO MURDERER GETS FOUR YEARS Slays Stepson in Dispute Over Late Concert. Sioux Falls, S. D.—With four years’ imprisonment facing him, Robert WwW, Wiseman, Watertown, S. D., referred to as the “radio slayer,” has been lodged In the state penitentiary here under sentence from the State Circuit court at Watertown. He was found guilty of slaying his stepson follow- ing a dispute over the playing of the radio in the Wiseman home at a late hour at night. Wiseman, who evidenced little con- cern when sentence was passed upon him, entered the penitentiary with lit- tle show of emotion, according to: Warden George T. Jameson. In addition to serving the four years for second-degree manslaughter, Wise- man was also fined $1,000 and will have to serve 500 additional days in the penitentiary if the fine is not paid. Wiseman was sleeping on the night of the slaying of his stepson, Gerald E. Ellis, when young Ellis and a party of young men and women went to the Wiseman home and turned on the radio. This aroused Wiseman from his sleep, and he appeared in the room and ordered that the radio be turned off. When his stepson re- fused to comply with this demand Wiseman procured a shotgun and or- dered him from the house. Wiseman had taken his stand in the entryway to the front door, and near the front door the overcoat and hat of the stepson had been placed upon a ‘chair. It is thought that when young Ellis started toward the front door his plan was to obtain his over- coat and hat and leave the house. He had to go directly toward Wise- man, who had the shotgun leveled at him and the slayer claimed he thought his stepson was coming toward himy to attack him, and fired the shot which killed the young man. Live in Same House 30 Years Without Speaking Little Rock, Ark.—Two sisters, sit in identical chairs on a prim front porch facing a busy highway near here, separated by a high board wall and a silence of 30 years. Two front gates stand side by side in the white-washed fence. Two front doors give entrance to the house. Between them, dividing into exact halves the front yard, front porch, the house itself, and 20 acres of ground on which it stands, runs the mysterious wall. On one side sits Mise Sarah Mer- cer, a wrinkled old lady with proud black eyes, rocking the long years away. On the other side sits her younger sister, Miss Rachel, a slight and careworn figure, whose eyes speak of tragedy but whose lips are forever sealed to curious passersby. For three decades no word has been exchanged across the dividing line. Two sisters and the man who could love but one, are the actors in the Mercer melodrama, and the man long ago disappeared. He was the sweet- heart of Sarah, in the eyes of the per- sons in the community, but Rachel loved him as well. Thirty years ago a storm raged im the old house, and then the lover was sent away and the two sisters were left to nurse their pride alone—one with only her memories for comfort and the other to endure the stigma of ostracism and to rear as best she could in a conventional community her | baby son, the son of her sister's fiance, Buck Deer Wrecks Auto by Leaping on Radiator Cable, Wis.—A car driven by Henry Crandall carrying an orchestra to an engagement was wrecked by 'a buck deer near Seeley, Wis. The deer sprang froma the bank at the roadside, striking the top of the radiator. The animal wrecked the front fenders and headlights, ripped the hood open, and a statewide pool. Profits received by members of turkey marketing pools in the West last year were very pleasing —that’s why new pools are being formed to handle this year’s crop. Scratching Shed In some of the warmer sections of | the country, fowls will prefer to spend their nights in the trees and on out- door roosts but severe storms, driving snows or heavy rains will in most in- stances, send them into the houses. It is the storm more than the cold that the hen objects to, and for this rea- son, if no other, a scratching shed where the fowls are sheltered from the wind, should be provided where the layers can sing and keep busy during the entire day. hung there until the car was stopped. The deer’s leg was broken and he was | injured badly otherwise. An old-time hunter cut the deer’s throat and left the carcass for the game warden. Swallow Fails to Heed Golfers ‘Fore’ and Dies Trenton, Ont—W. B. McClung, playing in-a threesome, while driving from No. 4 tee at the local course made a perfect drive. A swallow, fly- Ing low, failed to heed his “Fore!” | and the ball struck it in mid-air. The | ball continued on its course and { alighted 75 yards from its starting | point. The swallow was picked up in three separate pieces. HARVEST (C ht, W. N. opyright, MICKIE, HITIO PERCY L © by the McClur
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers