The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

i 4o4,o><>>o4<v»o»<>4<>><>4^4k>4<>4k^><Mo4<)^ o^4^o4o^Po4«>*Oi DARE HE? OR. A SAD LIFE STORY \^<>^-0^<>^04<y^<>^0^<hf<y'^<y4<H>^<>^<>-^<>^0-t<>-Â¥^^ ' CHAPTER XXIX.â€" (Continued). But at this Mr. Burgnyne's auditor looks so tiopelessly bewildered tliul lie tliinks it the simplest plun at once, in tho few*t possible words, to put her in possession of the tale of her son's achievements and disasters. He does this, partly lo stem the torrent of her questions, the form that they have liithcr- l.' taken pr<Klucing in him a feeling rjf frenzied indignation, which he doubts his own power much longer to conceal- partly in order to set Elizabeth's oonducl â- with tho least possible delay in its Inio light lx?fore her. S\irely, when she has been told of her magnanimous renuncia- tion,, she will do her justice, will cense (o load her with thoso hard names and busulting assertions that have miuJc him grind hU own teeth to listen to. liut in this expectation he soon finds that tie is mistaken. Tho wrath of Mis. IJyng against Elizaljeth for having "drawn in" her son, as she persists in stating the case, is surpassed only by indignation at her insolence in having "thrown him over." As to the genuineness of this last action she expresses, it is true, the most •complete incredulity. "It was only to enhance her own value. Dj you suppose that she e.\pectod him lo take her at her word? She Ihouylit, of course, that he wouiu fellow her â€" that he â- would employ detectives ;â€" it is a proof" â€"with an angry laugh â€" "that he cannot b9 quite so bad as you make him out, that he has not done so." ^ "I would not put it into his head if 1 were you," replies Jim, with an anger no less real, and a merriment no less spuri- ous than her own. By this time they have reached the ho- tel ; and Jim, having helped his com- panion out of the fiacre, shows symp- iom3 of leaving her. "Will not you stay to breakfast with me?" she asks, a little aghast at this un- expected manoeuvre ; "I cannot make ftiy toilette till the luggage arrivo-s ; and I suppose that he"^her eyes wandering wistfully over Uio hotel front tiy they ' rest on her son's closed persiehnesâ€" "that he is not up yet ; it would be a sin (o wake him ; do stay wilti me." "I am afraid I cannot." "Why cannot you fâ€" with an impa- tient but friendly little mocking imita- tion of his tone. "You are not"â€" with a fiOnciliatory smileâ€" "angry with an old ien for standing up for her one chick?" Jim smiles loo. "I do not thiiik that tho old hen need have clucked quite so loudly ; but that is not why I am leaving her; I must go?" "Where must you go ?" "To the Anglo-Americain." She lifts her eyebrows. "At this hour?â€" you forget how early it is. Well, Amelia has got you into good training; but I can assure you that you will still ttnd her Ui bed." He sighs. "I am afraid thai there is not mucli doubt of that." "What do you mean ?â€" she is not ill surely?"â€" in a tone of lively surprise- "Amelia ill ?â€" impossible 1" Ho looks at her with an irrational Btupefaction. It appears to him now, in the distortion of all objects thai the last fortnight has brought, as it Amelia's ill- ness had spi-cad over Ihe whole of his life, as if there had never been a time when she had not been ill, and yet of this event, immense as it seems to him in its duration, the woman before him has obviously never heard. When he conies to think of it, how should she? In ix)inl of fact it is not a fortnight since Miss Wilson fell sick, and during that fortnight ho himself has not written her a line, neither, heis equally sure, has her con. "I am evidently very- much behind lite time,' she says, noting the, lo her, unin- telligible aslonishment in his face ; "but you must rcmeml>er that I have been kept completely in tlie darkâ€" has she been ill T' In answer he tells her, with n.=i much brevity and compression as he liiid em- ployed in tho tale of Elizabeth's disap- peai'once, Ihal of Amelia's illness, often Interrupted by her expressions of sym- pathy. .\t the end she -says : "I 'am so thankful I did not hear till she W0.S gelling belter ! It would have made mo so wretched to be such a long way off !" Her adoption of his trouble a.s her own, an adoption whose sincerity is conllntu'd by her impulsive seizure of his linnd, and the feeling look in her haiulsome eyes make him forgive the exugg.'iiitinii of her statement, and go some way to- wards replacing her in that ixisitloii in bis esteem which her diatribes agalii.'^l Elizabeth had gone neor lo making her forfeit. "But it will 1)0 all right now." conlin- ues she sangiiincly ; "there will be iio- lUing lo do but to build up her strength agnin, and .'^lic is youngâ€" at least"â€" ns Ihe reminiscence of Amelia's uiiyouthful appciirniicc evidently Unshes .icro.ss her Blind ; of llinl prenialui'ely middlo-aged look which an unequal fortune givfss to â- oine plain women â€" "ut least young eiioiig.'ji for all prncltcal pui-pose-s." Wtielher it be due lo tho ixj.wession of this modilicd fni'iii of jilvcnilily. lo an e\iclk'iit co;;.smiiliot». or lo what oilier reason, certain it is that the next two days go by without any diminution, rather wilh a sensible and Steady in- crease in Mi.ss Wilson's favorable symp- tiims, and, on the afternoon of the latter of these days, Cecilia, in raUier impa- tient answer lo Jim's long daily string o' questions about her, says : "You could judge much better if you saw her yourself. 1 do not see why you should not see her to-morrow for a nun- uk, thai is to say if you would promise not lo talk or ask her any questions." "But would it be safe?" inquires he, with a tremble in his voice. He desires passionately lo see tier; until he does he will never believe thai she is really going to live; he has a hunger to as- sure himself Ihal no len-ible metamor- phosis has passed over her in those nightmare davs; and yet, coupled with that hunger, is a deep dread, which translates itself into his next halting woixls. "Shall I beâ€" shall I be very much shocked? is sheâ€" is she very much changed?" "She does look pretty bad." replies Cecilia half sadly, yet wilh tho sublying cheerfulness of assured hope; "for one thing she is so wasted. 1 supp<ise that that is what makes her look .so much older ; but then you know Amelia never did look young." 11 is the .second time within two days that the fact of his betrothwVs maturity has been impressed upon him, and for- merly it would have caused him a pang; but now, of what moment is it to him that she looks a hundred, if only she is hving, and going to live? "Has sheâ€" has she asUed after me?" "We do not allow her to speak, but if any one mentions your name there comes a sort of .smile over her face, such a ridiculous-sized face as it Is now !" The tears liave come into tU;cilia's large stupid eyes, and Jim himself is, with re- gard lo her, in the jxisilion of tho great Plantagenet, when he heard Ihe lovely tale of York and Suffolk's high death. "I blame you not ; For hearing this, I must perforce compound With mistful eyes; or they will issue too 1" As he wallts away he is filled with a solemn joy, one of these deep .serious gladnesses with which not tne stranger, no, not even the clo.se frii?nd or loving kinsman iulenneddleth. He is under an engagement to meet Mrs. Byng at a cer- tain hour, but although that hour has already come and pa.sscd, he feels that li(» cannot face all her sincere congralu- Intions without some preparatory toning down of his MKiod. The streets, wilh their gay va-el-\ ii^nt, their cracking whips and sliouting drivers, seem all lix> secular and every- day to nialch the profundity of his rev- erent thanktiilnes.s. He takes it with him into tho great cool church that stands so nigh at hand to his hotel, Sunta Maria Novella. The doors tall l>e- hind him noiselessly as ho enters, shut- ting out the llery hot piazza, and the gar- isli noises of Ihe world. In the great dim interior, cold and tranquil, there Is the usual .sprinkling of tourists r>eeriiig up at iUs soaring columns, trying to read Ihemselves, out of their guide-books, into a proper admiration for Ciniabue's large- faced Virgin and ugly Bambino, folded, with all its gold and sombre colors, in the dignity of its Iwico two centuries of gloom. There are the usual three or four blue-trousered soldiers strolling leisure- ly about, there is a. curly-laihid little dug trotting hither and Uiitlier unforbidden, ringing his bell, and there are the invari- able tanned peasanl women kneeling at the side altars. He does not belong to tlic ancient church, but lo-day he kneels beside them, and the teors ho had has- tened away lo hide from Cecilia, come back lo make yet diiiiiiu'r to his view the details ot Ihe dim allar-pieces behind the tul' candles. His eye, as he rises to his feet again, tails on the oontadina nearest him. What is she praying tor? In the expansion ot his own deep joy, he longs lo tell her how much he hopes that, whatever it is, she witi obtain it. It is not Ihe contadina who, standing a liltle behind, joins him as he turns uwny from the altar. , "I saw you go into Ihe church," says Mrs. Byng, her smile growing soniewhal dillidenl ns she sees tlie solemnily of his face, ".so I llioughl I would follow you; do you mind ? .Shall I go away ?" He would, ot tho two, have preferred that she hud not followed him, Ihal ho had been given five nioro minules to liimsclf; but he naturally does not say so. "Since we are hero, shall we go into Ihc cloisters?' and he a.s.scnts. A small Dominican jinuik, wilh a smile and a bunch of keys, is opening a door to .some strangers, prowling like our friends about tho church. Tho laller fol- low, the little monk enveloping them ttio in his civil smile. IV)w"i sonic steps into Ihe great cloister, under whose arches pale frescoes cover the ancient wallsâ€" where in Tlorence are there not fi"es- coes 7-nand tlie hands that painl«yl Ihein .seem all to liave wielded their brushes in that astounding flttccuUi century, which was to Florence's life what May Is l.^ Italy's year. For some momenls IJiey stand silent, side by side, i>ei'haps pick- ing out familiar scenes fmm among the swoet, faded groups â€" a slim Bebecca listening to Eleazar's tale, and looking maiden pleasure at his gifts ; a shivering Adam and Eve chased out of Paradise ; an Adam and Eve dismally digging and stitching respectively ; Old Testament stories that time has bluiTed. that wea- ther â€" even in this dry airâ€" has rubbed out and bedimmed, and Ihal yet, in many cases, still tell their curious faint tale decipherably. "Good news this evening, I hope?" says Mrs. Byng presently, growing a Utile tired of her companion's taciturnity ; be- infT Indeed always one of those per.s<ms who are of opinion that the gold of which silence is said to be made has a good deal of alloy in it. "I am to see her to-morrow." He speaks almost under his breath, either because he has no great confidence in his voice, if he employs a higher key, 0.' because there seems to him a certain sanctity in this promised meeting on Ihe kindly hither side of the grave which has .SI) lately yawned. Mrs. Byng is much too old and inti- mate a friend of Jim's not to have been pretty well aware of the state of his feelings during the past eight yeare, though certainly not through any com- munication from him. So it is, perhaps, scarcely to be wondered at that she pre- sently says, in a tone hinged with ad- miring surpi'lse â€" "How fond you are of. her !" He receives the remark in a jarred silence, liLs eyo resting on the square of neglected graves in the middle of the cioisler, how unlike our turfy squads and lawns. A common-plaoe nineteenth century photographer, with his vulgar camera planted on the lime-worn stones, is evidently trying to persuade Ihe little monk lo poso for his picture. The gen- tle-looking Fra laughs, and draws up his c<iwl, then lowers it again, folding hiy arms, and trying various postures. "You are so much fonder of her than you were !" This speechâ€" though such is certainly far from Ihe good-natured speaker's in- lenlionâ€" stings Burgoyne like a whip- lash. "I was always fond of herâ€" I always llioughl her the very best woman in the, world ; you know !"â€" wilh an accent of almost anguished apiMJalâ€" "that 1 al- ways thought her tho very best woman in Ihe world." "Oh, yes ; ot course, I know you did," rc|)lifts she, astonished and concerned at the evident and extreme di»lre.ss of his tone. "That is not quite Ihe same thing as being fond of tier, is it? But"â€" wilh a laugh Ihal is at once uneasy and re- assuringâ€" "what does that mailer now? Now your fondness for her is as indis- putable as Tilburinas madness; and, for mv part, 1 always think piwplc get on quite -as well, if not belter, after- wards, if they do not begin quite so volcanically." But her light and wcll-mcnnt words fail lo i-eniove the painful impression from her hearer's mind. Has she, dur iiip all these years, been crediting him with a wi.sh for Amelia's dealli, lliat she should \yo .so much astonished at his thankfulness fcr her being given bad to him ? "I believe that this illness is Ihe best thing that could have happened to you bolh," continues Mrs. Byng, feeling un- oomtorlohlv that she has not been happy in her choice of a topic, and yet unable to leave it alone. "It will have drawn you .so much logellier ; in fuel"- again iaughing nervouslyâ€" "I think we are all looking up. As I told you, after the lii-st shock, Willy really wius rather glad to see me; and you would not believe how <liscreelly 1 handle llie burning subject- yes, everything is on the mend, and wo are' all going to have a jolly lime, as tho Yankees say !" CHAPTEB XXX. The words are scarcely out ot Mrs. Byng's mouth before she adds, in u changed key, and wilh an allered direc- tion to Ihe eyesâ€" "Is Ihis person looking for you? He .seems to be coming straight towards us." ,Iim turns his head al her .speech, and ;it once recognizes, in tho (Igure hasten- ing towards Ihem, the jwrter of Ihe Angto-Americain hotel. The man looks strangely, and carries a slip ot paper, unfolded and open, in his hand. In a second Jim has spnnig lo his side, has snatched Ihe pa|>er, and is staring at its conleiils. They are hardly legible, scrawled tremblingly wilh a pencil, and for a moment he cannot iiiaUi) them out. Then, as he looks, in one hurrible flash Iheir' import has sprung into his eyes and brain. "She is gone ; come lo us '. ' Mrs. Byng is reading loo, over his .shoulder. In going over Iho scene in memory afterwards, ho believes that she gives a .sorl of .scream, and says, "Oh, whal dues il mean? 11 is not true!" But al the time he hears, he knows nothing. He is out of the church ; he is in Ihe fiacre waiting al the d<x)r ; ho is tearing through Ihe streets, wilh Ihe hot summer air flowing in a quick current against his face. He thinks aftei-wards al what a pace the horse must have been going, and how Ihe i>oor jade must have bei*n lashed to kt»p il up to that useless sj-x-ed. Al Ihe time ho thinks nothing, he feels nothing. He ru.shos liirough the court of the hotel, rushes through what seems to he people; he thinks aftenvards that they must have been waiters and chamber- maids, and that there comes a sorl of compa.ssioiiatc murmur from Ihem as ho pa.ssed. He is up the staii-s, the three nights; as he teai-s up, three steps at a time, there comes across his numbed in- telligence why they always give Amelia Ihe woi"st room. He is al the door, out- side vvluch Iw has spent so many hours of breathless llatening ; he need no longer stay outside it now. It is open, inviting him in. Ha is acixMs that, as yet, unpassed threshold, that threshold over which he was to have stepped in careful, soft-fooled joy to-morrow. He has puslied through the people â€" why must there be people everywhere ?â€" of whom the room seems full, unnecessorily. full ; he is at the bedside. Across the fool a figure seems thrownâ€" life teams afterward Ihal that is .Sybilla. Another figure is prostrate on the lloor, heaving, in dreadful dry sobs ; that is Cecilia. A third is standing upright and tearless, looking down upon what, an hour ago, was Ills most patient daughter. They liava let her alone now â€" have ceased lo tease her. They no longer hold a look- ing-glass to her pale mouth, or beat her tii-ed tcet, or pour useless cordiiUs be- tween her lips. They have ceased lo cry out upon her name, having realized thai she is much loo tar away to licar them. Neither does he cry out. He just goes and stands by the father, and takes his thin old hand in his ; and together they gaze on that poor temple, out ot which the spirit that was so much loo lovely for it has fleeted. Later on, they tell him how it came about; later on, when they arn all silting huddled in tha littlo dark salon. Cecilia is tlie spokeswoman, and Sybilla pula in subbing corractions now and again. (To bo continued ) , ON 1 mi FAILURE AND .SUCCESS IN DAI HY- ING. My brother and 1 purchased a fann for which we were able to pay $14,250, writes Mr. H. Van Dresser. There was a mortgage of .$6,500 on thai fai-m. In my boyhood I worked for 25 cents a day. .\s 1 grew older I got more, and when I was 21 fi-om the toiirlli day ot .September to the llret day of Ain-il I worke<i for $21 and an overcoat. .My brother taught school and wo put our little amounts to- gether tor a few years and worked a farm on shares. We made a littlo money and then purchased the farm named. We had 33 head ot scrub cows. We took our milk to the choese factory and di<i without the necessities of lite in order to gel along ; bul with all our economy, when the year canie round, we did not have money enouHli to pay our interest. We bought that farm when the pro- ducts were low, and they brought less every year. .So we wero in a terrible frame of niuid. If wc put llie farm on tho market we could not gel Iho pur- chase price, and then we -llioughl we would go through another year. Our wives were just as ecoiKimical its they could be and heliw<l us in the dairy and is ) on, and when Iho yeur came ni-ound my brother and I on April l.st look our money and went down Ui the cow stable and counted il. We couJd nut pay our interest. There was that iiiur'gugc .star- ing us in the face. 'I'tuM-e had lo be a revolution of things. .Sometliing had lo b.' done. Stories Ihat my grandtnther told us about oaltlo were so vivid in our minds that an idea sugested itself. ;\s we l.«lked it o\-er we thoiiglil Ihe best thing to do was to have an and ion, ad- vertise Uioso scrubs and .sell Ihem, Ihe scrub siro and all. .\nd we did. Then we pill another iiiorlgage ot ."81,050 on th.^ place and wilh som«' ot the money paid the back iiiten-sl, and although there wei-e two mortgages on Ihe farm. wo (luielly went away lo purchase a herd of iiure br«l cattle. We had to sneak off as it were. In a tew days, however, the rK^ighbors found it out, and I will never forget what our wives .said when we came home. Two ot our neighlxirs, old gentlemen, vei7 considerate men, wlio luid tariiis paid for and coupons in Ihe bunk, came lo our hoii.se in our alsence just to sym- palliizo with our wives and to tell them that we two boys were til siibjccUs tor the lunatic asylum. When. wi> came home with Ihe cows our wives came out and lieliMxl put the cnltio in the stable. During Iho supper lioiir lliey told us who had been there and wlml had lx«n said, and il didn't set well. We look a lantern, went lo Iho barn and looked (iver llie investmml, and we wei'e more pleased with it. and had more coiindeiice in it than iH-toro. 1 am luighly glad that those old genllenien made those piv- dictions, because il incivuscd our delcr- niimition lo succeed. I'ho great .secret of our .siicoe.ss was in the selection ot Iho herd. We pur- chasesl ot a very conscienlioiis man, told him our condition, liow miwli money we had. nnd wanted him lo give us tho CHiuivalenl. We did not waul lo misplace cuiilldence in the iinlmal or Ihe man we purchased il ot. Our fDiindaliun slock was Ihe secret ot our succe.ss ; it was splendid. And as we developed Ihe ani- mals wo put them on tli<' inarkel a.s op- portunity occurred and .s<ild what wo could .spare, lo piiy our di'ht. Now, in Ihe old wiiv my brother and 1 could not pay our intelâ- e-^l. In the new way, in nine years, we titled Ihe indebtedness and paid off Iho mortgngo. I'.VSTUHE FOU SOW .\NI) I'lliS. 1 have found il good practice to con- struct a nimilier ot half-acre lo's, plac- ing a portable house in every oilier one and giving a .sow and her jiigs an in- dividual hou.se. writes .\lr. W. H. Under- wood. By llie lini(! Iliey will have oaten or slumpetl down nil Ihe green sluff ou Ihis half nr-re. the Iioil-vO can eu,-«ily l«' lilleii over the fence to Ihe ne.-.l lot and |iie hogs nu)vi\l where liiey will have pli'iiiy of fresli. green iHi.sture. The li'l fr'Hii wnieh they have teen laUen oaii then !•'â-  plo\v<^i up niul s;iwi'd in lie or foi'o,'c- enips Ihal grow com- paralively fast.' By Ihe time they havo ovhauated the second lot they can be re- lumed lo the original one. Thus the two lots will support the sow and pigs until ttva pigs are old enougti to wean. II properly cared foi- they wKi support tlie sows the year round. f have uLso found il good practice to have a larger lot, if possible, of from five to t«n acres, to turn all the plm into af tor they have been weaned. I al- low Uiem to remal]> there until they ara lour or five months old. I feed them in the meantime and allow them plenty of ground and exercise so that they may develop bone and muscle. They will then be in a good, heillhy condition to go Into the teed lot. In building these portable h<»us€is there 'i one thing that must ever be borne in mind, and that Is, n^ ipstter how or where they are built, liey should pro- vide good, clean, dry sL-c-ping quarters, and, above everything else, be sanitary. HOW TO DESTROY WEEDS AND INCBEASE YIELD. Most soils have plenty of weed seeds in them. In the corn field gross is a weed. Now, by taking a llttre pains il IS impossible to cause most of these to sprout and then dastroy them. Thus you will not be troubled wilh Ihem later. T) do this, work Ihe land do\yn flaelV and perhaps roll it, or go over with & clod crusher. Then leave It undislureed lur a few days. If it is growing weather Ihe weeds will soon start by tbe million. 1'hen work the land thoroughly w>mi Ihe sun shines ond kill them. This l5 I 111! proper way to destroy weeds, that is jiisl as they gel slarled. They haven't used up any plant food to speak of then. You save il for the crop. The corn should have all there is in soil, sod ana manure. If weeds are allowed to grow lo some size, their substances, after they are destroyed, may not get back to the (xirn roots this season. Think of this al) Ihrough the summer. But we are not done with this matter of tillage yel. AH aolls have have quite large quantities ot ilant food elements in them in any unavailable foi-rn. You can lake a piece o! loamy land or clayey, in such a way as to make little of Ihis available this year, or considerable, just as you please. «â-  PUTTING HIS FOOT IN IT. Some people are perpetually giving otfence in the most unconscious way. "Now, do let mo propose you as a member of Ihe club," says Smith, "But suppose they blackmail me?" re- plies Brown. "Pooh! Absurd! Why, my dear fel- low, there's not a man in the club who knows you, even!" A lady, very desirous of concealing Ihe owful fact that she is the same ago as her husband, observed to a visitor:â€" "My husband is forty; there are just five years between us." "Is it po.ssible?" was Ihe unguarded reply of her friend. "I give you my word, you look as young ns he does." As unex|iecled must ha've been Iho rf.ply of tho husband whoso wife said:â€" ">oii have never taken me to the c-e- nielery." ":\o. dear." he answered; "that Is a pleasure I have yet In nnllclpation!" II is related of u ixirlrait painter tlial, having roconlly painted tho portrait ol tt lady. critic who had Just dropped in to sec wlipl was going on in Mia studio exclaimed:- It is very nicely painted; bul why do you lake such un ugly model?" "It Ls my mother!" calmly replied tho artist. "Oil. pardon, a thousand times!" Irom the critic, in great eontusion. "I ought to have perceived it. .She re- .sembles you completelyl" On a .'iinllnr occasion a facelious friend, inspecting a portrait, .said lo iho artist: â€" "And Ihis is Tom Rynns, is il? Dear, dearl .\nd I remember him. S\ich a hdudsome. jolly-looking chap a month ago. Dear, dearl" ., . * • --*'.â-  HETUBNED WITH THANKS. "1 couldn't help il, papa." She looked up into his face wilh her frank blue <ves, and it was impossible lo doubt her. Bul you didn't .seem to be pivitesl- ing very much," said the old genlle- mnn. But it was .so sudden that I couldnl," she insisted. "Tell me aboul it," he said. "Well, he adopted a very clever ruse, you .see. He gol me In look Ihe other v.'uy, and then, before I knew it, he had ki.s.sed ine on the cheek." "Tho .scoundrel!" "It was wrong of him. ot course." "What did you do then?' "I was very angi-y; 1 told him it was an insult." "Indeed il was. and you should hnw- ordered him to leave thn house. Did yon?" "N-no; not exactly." "Well, what did you <lo?" "I told him il was an insult, and that h-" must take it back!" "And I hen?" "Hi' was Inking it back when you cnme in nnd saw him." SPBING POE.M. Mow Ilia breezes M'lnijsl llie Ireews Hive us colds and liltle sneezes. \s Ihe rwsles Stiring discloses. We pursue wilh tvoz-'.n noses. . HIS OFPORTt'NniliS. Rur)erl^."\\'hen y i^r brother wns CMinnink? on' did lin kill nnylhliig?" H'b -.'•«-•'>'â- -«. r!.«arly evrrybad/- Ho wns the co^?(!" \