DAIRY PROFITS BIO

Kidney and Never Suspect It for Itsanace Often

a direct xonch vita

The mild «od h«lm* r. Kilmer'* Swamp-Root t» It «U»uk the hitW. for ; phy«iciAa for oae of the Life IiuiorxDoe Cemptair*. in - of tha rebjeet. mrte 'the a*

thv An dtSir^d

tow kidney tronble it I> Armncen people, Bpd;‘hf

lM*e.

t yoo wi»h Cm to test thie ” I tea cent* to Dr. . niton, K. Y.. for a When writing be enre and - paper —Adr.

On the Fence. believe,” asked the tUltiklnc heavy thoushts hod worn p and down hie forehad. “in f fire and brimstone, where are sent to slxzle for all * responded the chronic eon u nutter of reality. I t aa a matter of advisability

iy «Jo. w

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One 30a Can of Bee Dee N Poultry Medicine ike Two Bi< Sad Tonic Food.

for Orrr 35 T»«,t

One Obstacle,

btdieve you can drown > In drink?" “Of course

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men, like wells, are driven to

ins doesn't always separate a

is crop of wild oats. WOMAN

VED FROM N OPERATION Lydia E. Pinkham’* " apound, Oue

f Such Cases.

r Falk, WU--“Ai Lydia a Vegetable Compound aawed me from an

s, 1 cannot

my side hurt me ec I coui’i hardly be up from my bed, and I is unable to do my use work. I bad _ o best doctors in Ean Claire and tbsy wanted me to bsv* an operation, bnt Lydia E. 1 inkhsm's

Compound cured me ac 1 did - e operation, and lam UUka ads about It"—Mrs. A w.

It Rhrer Falla, WU-

b experieoesa M tl^t of at has made (bis famous

I a^bjoaeboW word

I”iafUmmatk*. ulceration,

TSe Light in the Clearing A Tala of tha North Country In tha Time qf Silos Wright

•y xavxira bachxu

CHAPTER XV—Contlnuid. —IS— “Where y» soln'T” “Dp to the Tan Hen sen place 1 ' “Where do ye hall from?"

a for Judge Westbrook r

‘o Make Soft Drinks

P Your Horses

M> rLtriute aMarr cowwahv

“On t “Taa.’

“Writs to anrer “Tea,” I answered with no thought of my Imprudence “Say, young man. by hokey nettle I I advise you to turn right around and go back." “Whyr ■ *01056 If y* try to serve any writs ye'll gU Into trouble.' “That's Interesting,' am not seeking a quarrel, but I do want to aee bow the people feel about the payment of their rents.' “Say mister, look down into that valley therr," the stranger began. “See aU them bosses—they're the little a :-s ©A the poor. See how smooth the land Is? Who built theta houses? Who cleaned that land? Waa it Mr. Livingston? By hokey nettle I I guess not The men who Uvc there built the homes an' denned the land. We ain't got nothin' else—not a dollar I It's all gone to the landlord. I am for the men who made every rod o’ an' wbc own not a single rod of It Tears an’ years ago a king gave It to a man who never cut one tree or laid one stone on. another. The deeds say that we must pay a rent o' so many bushels o' wheat a year bet the land 1s no good for wheat an' ain’t been for a hundred years. Why. ye ter, a good many things have happened In three hundred years. The land was wllUn to give wheat then an' a good many folks was willin’ to be slaves. By hokey nettle! they had got used to It Kings an’ magistrates an' slavery didn't look so bad to 'em aa they do now. Our brains have changed—that’a what's the matter—same as the soil htj changed. We want to be free like other folks in this country. America has graved up around us but here we are livin’ back In old Holland three hundred years ago. It don't net good. We see lots o’ people that don’t have to be slaves. They own their land an* tney ain’t worked any harder than tre have or been any more savin*. Thrt'a why I aay we can't pay the rents no more an’ ye mustn’t try to make us. By hokey nettle! Ton’ll Bare trouble If ye do.* The truth had flashed upon me out of the words of this simple til then I had heard only one aide cf the case. If I were 'o he the servant of Justice, as Mr. Wright had advised, w'iat was I to do? These tenants had been Grimsbawed and were being Mrimahawed out of the Just fruits of their tali by the feudal chief whose remote ancestor had been a king’s favorite. For half a moment I watched the wavering needle of my compass and then: "IS »uki say is true I think you are right." I said. “I don’t agree with yon." said young Lsionr. “The pstroons have a clear title to this land. If the tenants don't want to pay the rents (hey ought to gst oat and make way for others." “Look here, young man, wy name Is Joslah Curtis," said the stranger. “I live In the Brat boose on the righthand aide o' the road. You may tell the Judge that I won't pay rent no more—not as tong aa I live—and I won’t rtt ont. either." "Mr. Latour. you and Purvis may go on alowly—I’ll overtake you aooo," I

said.

They want on end left mv alone with CurU*. He was getting excited and I wished to allay his fears. “Don’t let him try to serve no writs or there'll be hell to pay In this valley.’' said Curtis. “In that case I shall not try to serve the writs. I don’t want to stir up the neighborhood, but I want to know the fact*. I shall try to see other tenant* and report what they any. It may lead to a settlement." We went on together to the top of the hill near which wr had been standing. Far ahead I nw a '.loud of dust but no sign* of Lafour and Punrta. They tanst have apurred their borae* Into « run. Tha fear came to ms that Latour would try to serve the writ* In spite of me. They were in bis pocked. ] What a fool I had been not to call for I them. My companion saw tho look of concern In my face. | “I don’t like that young feller," said , Curtis. “He* in fur trouble." I He ran toward his house, which waa roly a frw rods beyond us, while I | started or In pursuit of the two men j at top speed. Before my horse had I taken a d-«s«c Jump* I beard a born i Mowing Uhlnd me and Its echo In the : bill*. Within a half a moment n dozen i horns were sounding la the valleys ! around me. Wbat a c«otrn.*t to the j oniet in whtre « • bad been ridi’-g wa* j this inindriOdfOtOn which had ’woken | loose In the country aide. A little ahead j I could see men running out of the field* My horse bad begun to lather.

|!tor tk. ...tot It, wene far ahead. 1 could not see U>v dnat of their heels now. I gave up trying to catch thorn and checked the speed of my hone and went on at • walk. The horns were still sounding. Some of them seemed to be miles away. About twenty rods ahead I saw three riders lo strange costume* come ont of a dooryard and take the road at a wild gallop in pursuit of Lntoor nnd Purvis. They had not discovered I kept as calm as I could In the

three riders had Just turned Into the road. A number of women and an old man and three or four children stood <* the porch. They looked at me In Alence as I was prising and then began to hiss and Jeer. It gave me a feeling I have never known since that day. I Jogged along over the brow of the hill when, at a white, frame bouse, I saw the center toward which all the men o' the countryside were coming. Suddenly 1 heard the hoof-beats of a horse behind me. I stopped, and looking over my shoulder saw a rider approaching roe In the costume of an Indian chief. A red mask covered his .*nee. A crest of eagle feathers circled the edge of his cap. Without a word he rode on at my side. I knew not then that be was the man Joslah Curtis—nor ■ could I at any time have sworn that It was be. A crowd had assembled around the house ahead. I could see a string of horsemen coming toward 't from tha other aide. I wondered v/hat was going to happen to me What a shouting and Jeering In the crowded dooryard! I could see the smoke Of a fire. We reached the gate. Men In Indian masks and costumes gathered around ns.* “Order! Sb-sh-sh," was the load command of the man beside me In whom I recognized—or thought that I did—the voice of Joslah Curtis. “Wbat has happened?' “One o’ them tried to serve a writ an* we have tarred an' feathered him." Just then I heard the voice of Purvis shouting back in the crowd this impassioned plea: “Bart, for God’s sake, come here,*' I turned to Curtia and said: “If the gentleman tried to serve the writ he acted without orders and deserves what he has got. The other fellow Is simply a hired man who came along to take>are of the horses. He couldn't tell the difference between a writ and a hole In the ground.” “Men, you have gone far enough," said Curtis. "This man is all right Bring the other men here and put ’em on their horses an’ Til escort ’em ont o’ the town.” They brought Latour oc r rail amidst roars of laughter. Wbnt a bear-

They Brought Latour on a Rail Amidst Roars of Laughtar. like, poult rifled, bo-poodled object he waa—barred and sheathed in rumpled gray feather* from his hair »o his heels. The sight and smell of him scared the hors s. There were tufts of feather* ever his ears and on hi* chin. They had found great Joy In spoiling that aristocratic Uvery in which he Usd arrived. Jen came poor Purvis. They had Just begun to a|>piy tbe tar and feathers to him when Curtis had stopped the process. He had ocly a shaking niff of long feathers around his neck. They lifted the runaways Into their saddles. Purvis ttirtml off at a gallop, shouting "Come on, Bart,” but they stopped him. “Don't be In a hnrry. young feller," said one of the lodUins. and then there as another roar of laughter. “Go back to yer work now," Curtis shunted, and turning to me added: "You ride along with me and let our st hr red f-i'-nd* follow os." Bo we started up the road on our wsy back to CobleskllL Oar guide left u* at the town line some three miles beyond. I-stour was busy picking his arm* end shouldo- Presently he took off hU feathered cast and threw It away, saying: “They II have to pay for this. Every one o' those jsrkrnbbit* Will have to settle with me." You brought It on yourself." I said. “Ton ran oway from me sad got ns *11 into trouble by being too smart. You tried to he a fool and succeeded beyond your expectation." It was dark when I left my companions In Ooblonklll. I changed my cliche* nnd bad iny supper and found Judge Wrotbronk In hi* home and reported the talk with Curtis and our edvenlure and my view of tho altosback In the hills. I observed that ave the latter a cold

"I shtri! Bend Ore sheriff had h posse." be said with a troubled look. . “Pardon me. but I think It will make a bad matter worse," I answered. “We mast not forget that the paoons are our clients," he remarked. I yielded and went on with my work. In the next week or so I satisfied my•elf of tbe rectitude of my opinion*. Then came the moat critical point in ray history—* conflict with Thrift and Fear on one aide and Conscience on re other. The Judge raised my salary. I wanted the money, but every day I would have to lend my help, directly or Indirectly. to the prosecution of dalms which I could not believe to be Just M> heart went out of my work. I began to fear myself. For weeks I had not the rwirage to take Issue with the learned Judge. One evening I went to hi* home determined to pat an end to my unhappiness. After a little tnlk I told him frankly that I thought the patroous should seek a friendly settlement with iheir tenants. ■Why?" he asked. 'Keenoae their position is unjust un-American and untenable," was my answer. He rose end gnve me his band and ■ smile of forbearance In consideration of my youth, as I took It I left much irritated and spent a sleepless night to the course of which I decided to ding to the Ideals of David Hoffman and Silas Wright In the morning I resigned my place and asked to be relieved as soon n* the convenience of tbe Judge would allow it He tried to keep me with gentle persuasion and higher pay. but I was Arm. Then I wrote a long letter to my friend the senator. Again I had chosen my way and with doe regard to the compass. CHAPTER XVI. Thb Man With the Scythe. It was late to June before I was able to dlf-engage myself from the work of tbe judge's office. Meanwhile there bad been blood shed back lo tbe hills. One of the sheriff's posse had been verely wounded by a bullet and had foiled to serve the writs. The Judge liad appealed to the governor. People were talking of “the .ent war." What a Joy entered my heart when I was aboard the steamboat, at last, and on my way to all most dear to me! As I entered Lake Champlain I consulted the map nnd decided to leave the boac at Chimney Point to find Kate Fullerton, who had written to the tchoolmasrer from Canleibnry. My aunt had raid in 1 a letter that old Kate was living there and that a great change h.-d come over her. So I went ashore and hired a horse of tbe ferryman. I passed through Middlebury and rode into tbe grounds of tbe college, where the senator hod been educated, and on o:;t to Weybridge to see where be had lived as a boy. I found the Wright homestead—a comfortable white hocse at the head «f u beautiful valley with wooded hills behind It— and rode up to the dorr. A whitehaired old lady to * black lace enp was slttlii" on Its porch looking out at the sunlit fields. “Is this where Senator Wright lived when he was a boy?" I asked. “Yes, sir," the old lady answered. “I am from Canton." She rose from her chair. “Yon from Canton!" she exclaimed. “Why, of all things I That's where my boy’s home is. Pm glad to aee you. Go on’ put yo::r horse In the barn." I dismounted and she came near me. “Silas Wright Is my boy," she said “What Is jour name?' “Barton Baynes," I answered as I hitched my horse. “Barton Haynes! Why, Silas has told me all about you in his letters. He writes to me every week. Com* and alt down." We sat down together on the porch. “Silas wrote to bis last lei ter that you were going to l-ave your place OoWeskIH." kin- continued to my si prise. “He iutld that be was glad you lisd decided not to stay." It was Joyful news to me, for the M-nator’s silence bad worried me and I had begun to think with alarm of my fotarv. “I wish that be would take you to Washington *.o help him. The poor mao has toe much to do." “I should think It a great privilege go," I answered. “My boy like* you." *ho went on. “You have been brought up Just a* he was. I nsed to read to him every evening when the candle* were lit. How liard be worked to mske a man of himself I 1 bare known the mother's Joy. I can truly say. ‘Vow let thy servant aepsrt In pence.’" Tor mine eyes have neeo thy salration,* " I quoted. “You see 1 know much about you sad much about your aunt and unde," esld Mrs. WrigbL She left m* for a mo|pent nnd noon the whole bouM-hold waa gathered about me ou the |iorr!i. the men having come up from the field*. They put ray horse to the barn and pressed me io stay for dinner, which 1 did. As I waa going the gentle old lady gave me a pa’r of ndtien* which her distinguished son had woni during Ids la*i winter in college. I remember well how tenderly she handled them! “I hop* that SUs* will get yoo to help him"—ihoM- were the U«t word* *be said to me when I hade her goodby. Tbe shadow* were long whan I got to Canteriftiry. At tlx- bead of It* main street 1 looked down «i|M>n a village green and rotne fine old elm*. It wa* a ringularly quiet place. 1 stopped In front of a big white meeting bouse. An old man wa - mowing iu H* graveyard near the highway. Slowly be

Do yon know where Sate FuHerfa* fives 7" I asked. ‘Well, If* pnrty likely that I do." be answered -a he stood resting on his snath. “I've lived seventy-two years on this hill come the fourteenth day .o’ June, an’ If I didn’t know where ahe Uvea I'd be 'shamed of It Do yoo nee that big house down there to the near I could see the place at which Ire pointed far back from the village street 1c the valley below us, tbe house nearly hidden by tall evergreens. “Yes." I answered. “Wa!. that’s the Squire Fullerton place—he’s Kate's father." “Does the soilre live there?" “No. sir—not eggxacly. He's dyln* there—been dyln’ there for two year er more. By gosh! It’s wonderful how hsrd ’tis fer some folko to quit breath* In’. Say, be you- any o’ bis family?" “No." "Nor no friend o’ hi*7” “No!” “Course not. He never had a friend i his life—too mean! He's too mean to die, mister—too mean fer hell an' l wouldn’t wonder—honest. I wouldn't— mebbe that's why God Is keepln' him here—Jest to rneller him up a little. Soy. mister, be you to a hurry?" “No.” “Say, hitch yer boss an’ come In here. I want to show ye suthlnV* I dismounted and hitched my horse to the fence nnd followed him Into the old churchyard, between weatherstained mossy headstones and graves overgrown with wild roses. Near tho far end of these thick-sown acres he stopped. “Here’s where the bnryln’ begun,’* said my guide. “The first bale to the hill was dug for a Fullerton." There were many small monuments and slabs of marble—some spotted with lichens nnd all to commemoration of departed Fullertons. “Say, look a’ that," said my guide as he pulled aside the atom of a leafy brier red with roses. “Jest read that, mister." My keen eyes slowly spelled out the time-worn words on a slab of stained marble:

A dark shadow fell upon the house of my soul nnd I heard a loud rapping nt Its door which confused me until, looking out. I sow the strange truth of the matter. Rose leaves and blossoms seemed to be trying to hide it with their beauty, but In vain. *T understand,” I said. “No ye don't. Leastways I don't believe ye do—not correct. Squire Fullerton dug a grave here an' had on empty coffin put Into It away back In 1800. It mean* that ne wanted everybody to nnderstan' that his girl was Jest the same ns dead to him an’ to God. Say. he knew all about God's wishes—that man. Gosh! He has sent more folk* to hell than there are in It. I guess. Say. mister, do ye know why he sent her there?" I shook my head. “Yl* ye do. too. It’s the same ol’ thing that's been sendln' women to bell ever since tbe world begun. Te know bell must ’a' been the invention of a man—that's aartin—an' it was mostly fer women an' children—that’s sartlner—an’ fer all the men that didn't agree with him. Set down here an - ni tell ye the hull story. My day's work Is done." We sat down together and be went on as follows: “Did ye ever see Kate Fullerton?" “Yes." “No ye didn't. nu<jrer. Yer too young. Mebbe ye seen her when she wr.» old on' broke down, but that wa'n*t Kate —no more’n I'm Bill Tweedy, which I ain't. Kate whs as handsome as a golden robin. Hnlr yeller s* his breast an’ feet as spry a* hi* wing* an' n voice as sweet as his song, an' eyes as bright a.” hls'n—yl*. sir—ye couldn't beat her fer looks. That was years and years ago. Her mother died when Kate was ten year old—there's her grave In there with the sickle an' the sheaf an' the portry on It. That was ui.fort’nlt an’ no mistake. Course the sqt'lre married agTn but the new wife wa'n't no kind of n mother to the girl, an' you know, mister, there was a young scoundrel here by the name o' Grtmshaw. His father was n rich man ined the cooper shop an' the sawmill an' the tannery an’ a lot o' cleared land down In the valley. He kep’ cotnp’ny with her fer two or three year. Then all of a sudden folks began to talk—the women In portlclur. Ye know men Invented hell an' women keep up tbe fire. Kate didn't look right tp ’em. Fust we know, young Grtmshaw had dropped her an' v as keepln* comp’ny w ith another gal—yl*. sir. Do ye know why?’ Before I could answer he went on : "No ye don't—leastways I don't believe ye do. It was ’cause her father rlcher'n the squire un' bud promised hU fill ten thou win' dollars the j day she was married. All of u slid- : den Kate disappeared. We didn’t know 'hat had happened fer a long time. j (TO BE CONTINVED.) It Can’t Be Done. A French professor avers that the j greatest wealth of Ideas comes to the ' human bruin between two and five o'clock to the morning. Has the I cameo professor ever been able to on one that came anyways near fooling his wife during tho wee small hours 7 Neither hsvo we.—GrtL A Flax “Hurry-Up." I maeblue has been invented by a itehman that prepares flax for nufuclure within n few hours after >as been pulled from tbe ground load of taking days, or c-vaa week*

Splendid Returns From Farms in Western. Canada.

Production of Buttsr and Cheese. Commend 1 no Highest Prices, Increase* Steadily — Ltos-Stoefc Raiser* St Height ef ProsperMy. Dairying is rapidly approaching one •of the first positions In V.^^rn Canada agriculture. ThU does not apply particularly to any one of the three Western Canada provinces, aa they all participate In the distinction. \ report recently published by the Alberta Department of Agriculture shows that to 1918, to spite of ndreme condition* of labor and the high cost of feed, there was no decline In the Industry. It will be Interest lag to know that the average number of milch cows per farm Is 5.6. The total production of creamery butter In tbe province* In 1918 was 9.100.000. as against S.044.000 pounds la 1917. No better evidence of the growth of Western Canada can be given than by the fact that in ten years the production of butter bn* Increased from 2.500,000 pounds nnd of cheese from 88.570 pounds to O-VI.OOO jiruuds. When It is known that In the production of grain so much energy was placed, and through which bank deposits were Increased, homes made comfortable, farms carefully tilled. It will be realized that the Increase In dairy prodnetton has been remarkable. During tbe past four years the price to the producer Increased 75 per rent: Further evidence of tbe great Interest taken to the dairy and livestock !r Ins tries Is found in recent bull sales. At Edmonton the average price of 141 wSo J23100: nt Calgary 784 head were sold, bringing an overage price of jeCD.13; while at Lncombe 170 balls brought nn average of 5191JM. Sales In Manitoba n few days ago gave fully as good nn average, or belter. The sales were attended by formers from all parts of the country. The high price* paid show that good stock was required, nnd. no matter tbe .price, the farmer had the money to pay for It. As evidence of this we find that nr n sale recently held nt Carman, Manitoba, buyers'were present from all parts of the province, besides some from Bdskateln-wan points. Five head of Hereford* brought gTiOO eail*. A Shorthorn hull was sold for $700 and regtMered Shorthorn cows broogh' 5800 each. The establishments of cn-umerle* and cheese factories throughout th* entire West Is on the Increase, and b will only be within the period of ■ very few years before Western Can ndn will occupy a position in the flrM ranks in the dairy production of tb« continent. There is complete government supervisions over creameries nnd cheest factories. The government rakes care of the sales, looks after the roanufnc turer and employs ns heads of the lustltidlnns highly paid and efficient managers. It may well be said that the dairy Industry of Western Canada I* rapid!) coming Into Its own. At present It '* hut an adjunct to the parent or fore mrast Industry of the country—the gr wing of grain, but while an adjunct tt I* a highly Important one. The prtet of farm land* I* gradually Increasing, bnt not to the rapid proportion that bn* been shown to other countries This rise In price does not materially Inricnse the cost of production, nor lessen the profit* that may be derived from nn acre of wheat, oats or barley. The advance In tne prices of these groin* Iu* more than doubled;.the use of tractor* ha* lowtoned the cost. The reports from government source* are that the present year will show a great Increase In immigration over the past four or five years. The man who hr.* made a tour of Inspection of the country wll* give yon the reason. He will uper.k of the fertile *oll. of the good crop*, of the attractive climate, of compliance with the tow, the splendid school system, the almost perfect forlal condition* that prevail. He will have visited settlement* composed almost *oiwy of American*, who hn* e built up tbelr home* and villages, who have brought, and are applying, today. their experience In economic land culture a* applied to large tract* with the result that he obtain* yield* on 530 an acre land equal to Hint formerly produced on land that be hod sold for fag) nn aero. The story of his kUccvMi he lib* xeut buck to hi - friend* to hi* home Mate. They In turn allow him. and no It goo* on. and immigration to Western (’nuuda Ini-rcuscs.— Advertisement.

His Prospect*. “Mr. Moncylinag. I'd like to many your daughter." “Wbot are your prospects?’ "You know better than I do. Th* fellow* at the club *ny I haven’t got a etinnif." — l»nli>rll!e Courier-Jour

Blockhead* n produce bumlni Sport t* a pr*

■* not ibe kind tost thonght. ■erver of health.

" Rrlreibing sad hc«ll*« l*ll*c - Munne for Rrdnev. Soreness, Grauulax tion. Itching and Burning _ 9 at the Eyes or Eyelid-.; T)J>r.<nr After IhtMoTM*. Mwcffeg at (.alt . . ^Tirw^bM^oor"Eraa^im Mu* lu* My* M*BJ«dy Co., Cbloxso