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â- ,#T»T!.'^.' THE MYSTERIOUS KEY UR, PLANNING FOR THE ruruiiE. l y ^ CHArrKR XXIII. "Tho explanation will not be a p'casaut task," sigdcd L'iUy Brom- ley, with a sorrowful gl.uico at Mrs. iJryant. "It will ovolvo tho bitter Bocrrt of a lifi'tinic, which has boon ghaiod alone by my husband and my dearest frioad, Helen. "Of course, to make tlm situation nr.dor.slood by all our friiiids," her could not have been kinder to me. Thus, in tho hour of that terrible emergency, fhe proved a tower of Ktroagtli and comfort to us both, and proiiiised to guard our secret as sacredly us if it had been her own. But after the coming of my litllo daughter there arose the ap- palling question : 'What is to be- come of u&f (;harlic had taken ,,,.,- •., , „;,:i. of I ths proofs of our marriage into his ladysh>p began wah a s.gl, Ij i^^^.^^^ ^^^^ safe-keeping, and must make the hum.hat ng eonfes- , knowing the justice who •ion that I was secretly married ','_,,„ , ,f„ ^p' „u,nv. it while I was at a board ing-scliool rear Boston. It was a riixh act, ond one that I aft'.'rward repent- «Hl in dust and ashes, although 1 1 iovod my husband most fondly, and cur life was a very happy one, the only cloud upon our otherwise so had performed the ceremony, it was out of my i)ower to substanti- ate any statement 'wliich I might make regarding our union. I actu- ally dartnl not face my father â€" I foir:-d his bitter anger and repudi- ation. True, Helen misrht have only cloud upon our <'t'";7'^ ««: helped mc out, but slic also dread- renc sky hem;; tne act that we had, l consequences of such a dis- Do children. Sir Charles was on '•^^ "-"^ ^ ^ a visit to this country when we be- carre acquainted, a stnug and abid- ing affection springing up between us almost immediately. When ho was suddenly recalled to England by his father, he pleaded with all the eloquence of which he was mas- ter that 1 would become his wife before he Bailed. "He assert«<l that he must make eure of mc before leaving me, but ap soon as my school-days were over he would come immediately to cl.aim me from my father. I knew 1 was not doing right, but 1 yielded to his entreaties, and we were quietly married, Helen alone being adinit- t<'d to our confidence. Our niir- riage occurred during the Christ- mas liolidays. which my family be- lieved I was spending at the home of my friend, wliilc in reality Char- he and I passed them very happily in Boston, making our home in one oi tho Back Bay hot-els. He sailed closure "The lodgekeeper's wife advised uf to send the ;hild to some insti- tution in the city, claiming that we could easily keep track of it, and perliaps find a good home for it later on. At first I was wild over such a proposition. I wanted my darling. She was mine, honorably mine- She had my lost Charlie's beautiful blue eyes, fair hair, and complexion, and the mothcr-lovc within me revolted against such an unnatural act. But. on the other hand, there was the fear of the cen- sure of and ostracism from all my friends, and tho -worse fact that my child would tie doomed all her life to the suspicion of shameful birth. ^ "For a week I fought with my own heart and the arguments of Helen and the woman who cared for me. until, weak, despairing, and almost on tho verge of insan Ot tne uacK nay noi-ci»- »•«; .-»<*iiv-i> uuu aiinusu kih mu , v â-  ^v- v^i ...„„.. about the first' of January, and I ity, I -was utterly incompetent to I i_ ..U.-.^! l,aT\»-»*.- in ihfs t\,\,\\r «^ ».oocj-fcYi liwi/llv T WAR in returned to school, happy in the prospect of his return, when in a few months I should graduate. Then we were going to my home in Il- linois together to confess our sec- ret, make a little visit, after winch my husband would take me to Eng- land. "I exerted myself to the utmost to make a good showing in my class. for I believed that Charlie would i)o present at commencement, and 1 was ambitious for his sake, as well as for my own. But, alas! a dhort time previous to the close of the term he wrote me that his fa- ther wa.» very ill, and he could not leave. bu„ he charged me to be of good cheerâ€" to go home as usual, and he would follow me the moment he was free to leave his father. But 1 found that I could not go home without bringing great reproach upon both i;ivi:elf and family, and i.i this extremity Helen proved hcr- ielf to bo my good angel. "Her father and mother were up- on the eve of going abroad, to be absent a number of months, and at her earnest solicitation they mvit- td mc to remain with her during their absence, as otherwise she would have t-o pass the time with n<. companion save the housekeeper and one servant, who wa» the wife of the lodgekeeper and gardener. My father cheerfully accorded mc the de«ired permission, to my in- tcn»e relief, and then I tried to poh-eBB my soul in patience w^hile awaiting the coming of my hus- band. "I wa» very unhappy m some re- •pccts, for 1 realized t4iat I had done very wrong to deceive my friends. If my mother had been living, I think I should have con- fessed all to her and thrown my- liclf upon her love and mercy, for 1 was sorely in need of comfort and motherly advice. But I had always itood ill awe of my father, \yho was rather austere and very strict with his (hihlren; and thus I was con- strained to keep -up my deception and preserve my secret until Char- Jie came, when I trusted to him to smooth everything for mc. "A f..rtnight or three weeks after the departure of Mr. and Mrs At- wood, the housekeeper was taken \iolently ill, and was obliged to Ri> to a hospital in ]5oston. The summer passed, and Kcptember (came. Toward the last of the month I received a letter from Charlie saying his father had die<l. and that ho should sail for Ameri- ca within a week. Then there fol- lowe<i ft cable despatch, stating he would leave Liverpool the next day on the Catalonia. Tho vessel was that ill fate<l steamer which was wrecked when only two days from port. When I read the report rf this tragedy, together with tho names of those sup|Mjscd to he lost â€" C!harlie'» among them- the shock nearly killed me, and my baby was iiorn a few hours afterward. "I should have said that a few weeks after tho departure of the housekeeper. Helen an«l I <li!cided to take the lodgekeeper's wife into our confidence, aii<I it was well that we di<l so, for tho woman's sym- nathies were imme<liatcly enlisted in mv behalf, and my own n.other tliink or reason lucidly. I was in a very critical condition." Lady Bromley became greatly agitated at this point in her story, whereupon Mrs. Bryant exclaimed, although she was scarcely less moved : "Mabel, dear, let me tell the rest. I alone am to blame for what followed, and I will not shrink from my share of reproach." Then addressing their friends, she con- tinued : "When I realized Mabel's dan ger I was terribly frightened. I knew that Maryâ€" the lodgekeeper's wifeâ€" wns afraid she wad going to die, and I was appalled at the thought of having the babe discov- ered in the Inuso in that event, when the truth would all have to come out and the fair fame of my dearest friend be forever tarnished. So I res<ilvcd to act upon my own responsibility ia accordance with Mary's advice. "One terribly stormy day I dress- ed the child nicely, but with the keenest heartache 1 ever experi- enced in my life, determined to send her adrift into the world. I do not know what inspired mo to the act, but I went to Mabel's jewel-box, took from it a little golden key which I had often seen lying in it, and pinned it upon the baiby's dress. Then I wrote a brief note containing these words: 'Will some kind woman take this child, or see tliat it finds a good home where it will be well reared] Nothing but direst necessity compels her aban- donment. She is well and honorab- ly born, ay} yet a relentless fate makes her an outcast from her own kindred. A peculiar-shaped golden key is fastened to h^r clothingâ€" it is her only heritage. Will who- ever responds to this appeal insert iu the early issue oi the Boston Transcript, under tho head of per- sonals, the following: "X. Y. Z.â€" The golden key has unkwked a re- sponsive heart," and rolicvo the writer of this of a heavy burden? "I pinned this also to the blan ket in which the poor little waif was wrapped. Mary administered an effective potion of soothing syrup, and then, with tho child wrapped in a soft gray shawl and in a way to attract as little attention as pos- sihl?, I started out to consign her to the tender mercies of a certain 'homo' in the city. -I cnveloijcd myself in Mary's ample waterproof, aiid wore a thick veil, hoping thus to escape recognition, while 1 plan- ned to make my trip in the short- est possible time. But when 1 ar- rive<l at tho staticm in town, my unaccustomed burden had become s<i heavy I was obliged to rest be- fore going farther. So I went di- rectly to tho private waiting-room, where I laid the cnild upon a great table, which stands there to this "I had not been there Jivo min- utes when two girls whom I knew entered the r< nm- I recognized them by their y-iccs, and though I wOA in a corner where I could not s( e them, or they me, I was in mor- tal tear lost they should O'py me. Tliey passe<l directly into one of the adjoining rooms, however, nnd then, to make sure of not being discoverod when they came out, I siippod stealthily into tho other room, and concealed myself behind a door, to w.uit for them to leave the place. I was confident that the baby would not wake, and so felt safe to leave it for a few min- utes. But I was very tired. I had been broken of my rest for many nights, and was almost worii out with anxiety and excitement, and before I was aware that I was even drowsy I had fallen soundly asleep. I awoke, at length, with a terrible start, and, glancing at the clock, found, to mydisiuay, that 1 hud slept fully half an hour. In- stantly remembering my charge and my errand, I hurried tremb- lingly into the other room, to find tho baby gone !" CHAPTEll XXIV. "I was appallcl, amazed, fright- ened!" Mrs. Bryant resumed, after pausing a moment to recover from a nervous trembling that seized her as she rccaliexJ the terrible ex- periences of that hcur>. "I fel't almost like a murderess, with my crime branded upon my brow. I sank into the nearest seat, weak and very nearly unconscious, won- dering what I should do, how I over could f.icc Mabel if she recovered and confess what had happened. Then a comforting thought came to me. It was that no one would have taken the child from tho station without first making inquiries and creating an excitement in sca-rching for tho mother, unless that one had rc-ally A-anted it. That no disturb- ance had been made I was very sure from the placid appearance of the few penplr. about, and the woman in charge of the waiting- room. "Doutbless, some traveller, on going into the inner room, had ob- served the Buspicious-looking bun- dle, and, upon examining it, had found the appealing note pinned to the blanket, and so. yearning for just ".uch a child, had taken her to some home where she would be ten- derly care<l for. At least, I tried to solace my aching heart and guil- ty conscience by such reasoning as, weary and almost ill, I hastened home, whore I awaited with the most harrowing impatience for the next day's Transcript, hoping against hope to find some response t<> the ap!})eal in my note. "The paper came, but there was no comfort in it for mo. The second day. however, greatly to my joy, I read the welcome words I was looking for, and a great bur- den rolled off my heart. I was re- lieved in one way, and yet I was filled with apprchoi:8ion in another, i had no longer any fear regarding tho welfare of the child, but I trembled to confess to Mabel, if she recovered, that it was irretrie- vably lost â€" that instead of being placed in an institution, as we had suggested, where we could see it at any moment, or trace it, if giv- en away, we could never hope, be- cause o-f carelessness and neglect, to know augi^ of its future. "The thi •> aight afterward we believed that my poor friend would never know the truth, for it seem- ed likely to be her last, and though my heart was almost broken at the thought of losing her, I tried to feel that everything would be rightly adjusted in the unknown realm whither I believed she was going, and her own grief-stricken heart at rest. It proved to be the crisis, for when the long night of watch- ing was over, she began to rally. A few days more and .she was out r;f danger, when 1 could endure my burden no longer, and confessed what I had done. "I shall never forget the loiik of hopeless despair that swept over her face as she realized the truth ; but she nover uttered one word of reproach or condemnation. It was as if she recognized that a cruel fate had set its iron heel upon her, and she had nothing to do but sub- mit to it in patient silence- I told her, of course, of the response that had eoine to me in the Transcript, and this appeared to comfort her a little. She simiply said, with a gen- tle sigh : 'If the poor little waif has found a good home, and can be roared in happy ignorance ot her origin, I suppose I ought to be thankful.' "But who shall describe what wo experienced when about ten days afterward. Sir Charles walked in upon us, well and hearty and full of bright anticipations for the fu- ture? He was greatly shocked at the change in his wife, but when he learnexJ the truth about his child he was horror-stricken, and for a few days we were a most wret<;hed household. He declared that the little one should be foundâ€" ho would rake tho country over to recover her. For weeks he inserted adver- tisements in the Transcript and other papers. Ho searched through- out Boston and spent money un- sparingly, but all to no luirpose. No response ever came â€" no clue to the little one was ever obtainefl, and finally the sorrowing couple were compelled to abandon all hope. "As soon as Mabel wa.i strong enough to travel, they left mo and went to her home in Illinois, Sir Charles tried to bo kind, but I know, in his heart, he never for- gave me tor tho last act that rob- bed him of his child," Mrs. Bry- ant concluded, with a regretful sigh. I "Helen, dear, why did you per- j sist in tormenting yourself .with J that old thought 1" said Lady Bromley reproachfully, "I am sure Charlie was. very grateful to you for all your devotion and self-sac- rifice for me. It is you who have rievor forgiven yourself, but now I hope you will forget it all and re- joice with me in the recovery of my lost one." "I do, believe me," said Mrs. Bryant, bending a fond look upon both mother and daughter, and then her fortitude forsook her and she burst into tears of mingled gra- titude and regret. "Well, this is the most thrilling story of its kind that has ever come within my parsonal experience, and i have helped to ferret out some very curious fj.ct» regarding the his- tory of various individuals!" Mr- Lvttleton here interposed, to draw attention from the weeping woman and give her time to recover her- selqf. "It was a teirrible experience. No one will ever know what Charlie find I endured during the few weeks following his return to me," ob- served Lady Bromley, with emo- tion. "I do not like to dwelt upon it. If my mother had only been alive, wo need never have lost our child, for I would have flown to her in my trouble but, as I have said, I feared my father, You know how austere â€" how relentless he was, Richard. You remember that it was with great reluctance that he forgave me, even when Charlie and T anneared before him and confessed our marriage. Hn* not my husband been a wealthy baronet, I believe he never would have overlooked my rash act. Be- fore leaving Boston, Helen, Char- lie, and I pledged ourselves never to reveal the secret about our little one. It was to remain locked for- ever away in our own hearts." "How about tho woman Mary and her husiband ?" questioned her brother. "Her husband never knew any- thing of what occua-red," her lady- ship replied. "He was away at work on a farm belonging to Mr. Atwood during almost the whole ol my illness; the ooachiman was attending to his duties about the residence, and as they did not live upon the place, they never came into the house. Mary we paid handsomely, and swore her to sec- recy, and Helen thinks she was true as iong as she lived ; she died three years afterward. Now you can un- derstand, Richaffd, why, in spite of our strong affection for each other, Charlie and I were sometimes so depressed during those weeks we spent at home- You used to rally us about it occasionally, you know. Before sailing for England wo went on +« Boston once more, to make a last attempt to recover the child. But it was a useless journey, and we finally gave up our seairch and went homo. Our loss seemed a pe- culiarly trying one, in view of the fact that no other children ever camo to us. It was the one dark cloud upon the otherwise clear sky of our cxi'tence, and though we seldom talked about it, yet each knew that tho other grieved in sec- ret over the fact. (To be continued.) •♦^♦â- â™¦â€¢4 ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ ♦♦♦â- â™¦â™¦â™¦â™¦â™¦â™¦â™¦ : AliGUf ths Farm : ^â- â™¦â€¢â™¦-M-f •♦â- â€¢â™¦â- â™¦â- â™¦â€¢â™¦â€¢â™¦ -♦-♦^♦^ ♦ ♦♦â- â™¦^•r* PUMPKINS AS COW FEEL. In all of the Eastern States where pumpkins are extehsweiy grown they are used for cow feed lu the late fall and early winier months, and as long as they can be kept without deteriorat o.j. Pos sibly they could be kept all v^irtpr under prop.'r ccnditions of ftora^o, but they are such a bulky food tnat a very large place is req'.'.ir<;d to store enougii of them to laisl a lar.;e herd through the winter corlbs. They are not only hollow insTde, but their round shapo make; them space-consumers in storage- I i.;- gard the pumpkin as equivulc.it t- silage for feed, but when we liav<- the problem of feeding many cows it. is much easier to build a »ilj tha'u will hold several tons of siiage than to build a receptacle for sevcal tons of pumpkins, writei Mr J. P. Fletcher. Moreover, the pura^kins must be cold enough to pr'neut them from decaying, for the air will get into any receptacle m which they can be placed. With silag3 the temperature makes little difference if it does not reach the point where it freci:os I have fmind in the feeding of pump- kins that we can feed about forty pounds per day per cow to advant age, and with some cows the milk production will be greatly increas- ed. I have, hovever, had occasion- al cows where the etiect of feeding pumpkins was to cause the cows lo lay on fat and decrease their milk production. There arc very few experiments to which we can point relative to the value of feeding pumpkins. In one experiment that I have in mind that was a gain of six per cent, more milk when pumpkins were fed than before ihey were admitt-ed into the ration. There is no better place to plant pumpkin seed than in the corn field. The corn field, or a proportion of it, IS just the pla-^e for them. Seeds placed in alternate hills of tho same row of corn will give ample room for the growth of the vines, and they will usua'ly bear well. The great advantage about feeding pumpkins is that the men who have no silos can feed them, and nearly all men who keep cows have no silos. WHY RICH FOLKS STEAL. Tho Views of a Celebrated Paris Physician. Why do women shoppers who have plenty of money steal things which they do not need? Others have dismissed the phe- nomenon after giving it a name â€" kleptomania â€" but a celebrated Paris physician and criminologist, has gone straight to 120 of the fair culprits tor their own version of the matter. The interest of these cases is in- creased by the fact that although a few professional tliicves and some persons who are driven to theft by poverty may be among their num- ber, by far tho majority of these shop thieves arc ladies in easy cir- cumstances. Some of them, iudeed, are rich. Hero are some loading facts from tho criminologist's investigations. The women only thieve in the large shops. Tho majority of them are in easy circumstances, ami many <f them are rich. The articles they take are often ot no use to them, or they do not need thom, or they have ahcady in their home similar ai tides, and often more than they require. Another point is that when ar- rested at tho door of the shop they readily distinguish from the rest of their possessions the stolen article, and many of them admit possession of it with an expression of relief, as if they had felt burdened by its weight. Many persons, again, go a step further. Anticipating their ques- tioner, they accuse themselves of former thefts committed in similar circumstances, and describe the stolon articles they have in their homes. As a rule, the goods have not been worn or used, and they fre- quently still bear the ticket ot the shop. Finally the same explana- tions are given in nearly every case. "It was too strong for me â€" I lost my headâ€" I thought that everything lielongod to me â€" if I had not been detected I should have gone on al- ways-" SMALL PRACTICAL SILO. It is well understood that to give plenty of milk a cow must have succulent food. Grass meets the need from late spring to early fall, and silage in the winter months. But can a farmer or a dairyman having from one to ten cows only afford a silo, and what is the smal- lest silo that will prove practical? This question has been propound- ed by a contemporary, and a con- tributor. Mr. Pidward Van Alstyne has tried to answer it. It will pro- bably be too late to build a silo â€" at least itâ€" by the time this article is read. Nevertheless, tliis is not the last year in which such things arc needed, and Mr. Van Alstyne's suggestions should be remenibcrtd. They are : "This que.'tion comes to me again as it has many times before. Its answer, like many others of like nature, depends large'y on the man. F'or some with one cow it would be a practical thing to sink a molasses hogshead in tln= ground and fill it ^vith cut corn. Its practicability would depend upon the amount of roughage available, and ths lack of other succulent fotw^'s, us well as the means at hand for growing the corn, and putting it into the silo. Now these same principals obtain ill every case up to ten cows. After that in any case where corn will grow, and tho silage milk can be sold. I believe it is not a question, 'Can I afford a silo?' but 'Can I afford not to have one?' Tho aver- age feeding s<' ison is about five months, or 150 days. The ordinary cow will eat about forty pounds of silage daily, or three tons in this period ; ten cows mean thirty tons. ,1 round silo twenty feet deep (I do not believe it wise to have one of less depth), and twelve feet across would hold thirty-eight tons, allowing for settling, would mean just about thirty tons actual. One the same height and fourteen feet in diameter would hold fifty tons, about forty actual after settling, This would cost but a trifle more to build, and would hold enough more for a longer season, more cows or summer feeding, either of those certainly a practical thing." as they are correctives and ar* relished by the hogs. Breed for* utility every time. Too many of our so-called profes- sional breeders have become cranky upon certain fancy points and loose sight of eveiything else in , .their efforts to stamp uniformity f>' markings in their herds. Every farmer should have a few ,. well bred hogs as they are waste- » savers. « Feed the young pigs whole oata' or. a platform in an enclosure by* themselves. » Lice take the life right out ot- I hogs- They can not grow ; thej, ! cannot take a minute's comfort j with them. Sprav, if you can't :dip. Even an old broom dipped i in spraying solution is better thaa nothing. # THE WELI^BRED CAMEL. ' Planners of These Animals ar» Generally Perfect. "Whenever I recall the sacredf city of Kairowan, my ear is awaref of the dull, soft sound of the cam- el's leisurely tread," declares Mr* Graham Petrie, in his boon on 1 "Tunis, Kairowan and Carthage." I The camel is ubiquitous in this city; one meets him at every turn, I pursuing every occupation, humble ' and exalted. I He draws the cart«, he treads tho wheat, he grinds the corn, and he I carries such enormous burdens ^of j hay and fodder that oae wondera i ii indeed, his p<?oi humped batk I would not be broken by adding the I proverbial straw. , Although his occup-itions are me- I nial, although his figure is gro- tesque and ungainly, although hi^ eyes are often covered with blinks ers and his mouth enclosed by a nose-bag, although his .leck is de-, nuded of its long, hand.so.ne collar and his body clipped and shaved till his skin is as ba.'e as a plucked ostrich, although he is lodged in filthy stables and beaten with' sticks by heartless boys, he never* loses his dignity of bearing. . The manners of the camel are, generally perfect, as is noticeable v.hen one sees a score or more' drinking at one of the many wells' outside the town. Arranging theoaselves in regular. and orderly rows on either side of , the trough, they stretch out their lo i-; necks and suck up the water' with a solemnity and orderliness' that would do credit to the formal . etiquette of a Chinese mandarin. There is no rudo hustling for place, PC irdecorous haste, no selfish and ' iil-brcd disregard of neighbors ' needs and the rights of others. When a camel has assuaged his- thirst, he quietly rithdraws, and with a graceful motion of the neck • which suggests a courteous bow of thanks, another takes his place. Every one knows that a camel i» able to carry a store of water which • will last him for many days when CKissing a desert. One day. as I was watching some camels lying in - the sun, I learned how the store was utilized. I saw a smtlll irride- , scent bubble appear froju the- mouth of one of thom. which rap- idly expanded till it was the size ' ot a football. For a moment it- - bung there, looking quite bcauti- ^ ful, if a little uncannv. as it re- . fleeted all tho colors of the rain- » bow in the brilliant alare of the . African noon. Then there came a ^ liquid, gurgling sound as the water passed down t lo throat into the stomach. It is really quite a pret- ty spectacle. BRISTLES. The hog lots should be dry. Burn over the feeding places at least once a year. Hogs should have plenty of clean water to drink, and their feeding troughs should be kept clean. Dry meal can be fed in shallow troughs; hogs chew it well. When the little pigs are weaned put the sow out of their hearing for a while. Take care not to allow food to eour in the pig troughs. Feed just what the pigs will eat up clean ; if an.v remains clean it out. Charcoal, sulphur and salt should be k«pt in every pen and hog lot, A STREXLOIJS HOLIDAY. Aiinstua C'hurehill to bo the Kai«- ser's Guest. Mr. Winston Churchill, President of the British Board ^>f Trade, has been invited by the German Em- peror to be present at the German military manoeuvres at Wurtcm- burg this month. General Sir Bruce Hamilton will also bo pre- sent, as well as the Archduke F"ranz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary, ^nd General Chetket Pasha, the famous Young Turk leader. The Kaiser expects his guests to devote twenty hours a day to the manoeuvres. They will be awak- ened at 3 in the morning, and tak- ing the train for the field at 4 o'clock, an hour later, will be in their saddles for the day's opera- tions. Each day is taken up with hard, k>ng rides on horseback or in mo- tor-cars. The Kaiser himself goes ungrudgingly through the fatigues of the mimic campaign, and delights to set his guests an example of en- durance by weathering a pelting rain-storm in the saddle. German officers of high .position will bo attached to Mr. Churchill and General Hamilton to inform them minutely regarding the pur- pose and the progress of the ma- nouvres. When the field operations are; over the Imperial guests are re- galed each night with exhaustive debates on tho day's results and the morrow'? plans. With somo good. luck they may retire by H o'clock, but in no circumstances are t' ey allowed more than four hours' sleep. Veteran foreign officers who have had experience both of actual war-, fare and ot the "Kaiser manoeu-, vres" say t' at the latter are in- comparably more exhausting. ' I ;.;»st.a •f^tNplM