The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 3, No. 252, Ed. 1 Tuesday, May 30, 1916 Page: 2 of 4
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norman daily transcript
13
py ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
ILLUSTRATIONS
SYNOPSIS.
CHAfiLESW
ssarBigts 1211 %
wife
0«orge Anderson ami
Inarkalil,. liMikln* man comw out of the
.'T2 hi"!?1', '"Vk "round furtively,
?,U/L !? .1 ln 'now and pau on
\,T. thwI> to the Clermont,
SJhK AhV ,oun<1_ ,h"' ti'- IwaullfuJ Ml mi
■an (lua Hi /v. h" ,H|1"" ,le«d Ander-
h«nrt^ """i, """ W "l> >ll
5*".°* ,n"w Th" l>otol nmnugiT
Ph vSi *i 1 bo Orlando Brotheraon.
i Pn,t ,hat M1 " Challoner wa
rlt-ar Brotheraon of amplclon. dry™ at
SSinftV'™- s« twater. id, a"
Jilf? 'l ,ak' "Pu the can.-. Mr, fhallonei
.atuh 1,1 hi*
n niKji(Hi h d. ak. nlgm-d "O H " All are
hi" L**.*n ""••• wfil. t. ihoWM that
the h rlter waa .Maple;!*..,! Thla letter
IiilL .1 Orlando Brotheraon. Aiul-
n7,?t! ,h Sweetwutfr to Identify
.mSil IS0"' wh" '■ « tenement
under the name of Dunn. He la an In-
rh i?r Bro,h".r"on telli oroner Mil..
Challoner repulsed him with acorn when
!Sli. fl®4 h" l,lN love Sweetwater re
ea"s the mystery of the murder of a
itmlUrrW,°m".£ stalls wore
■miliar to th« Challnner nftalr Chal-
teJmtil If" h,U1d*|'«h'<'r was deeply |n-
nn '"love with Brotherson
h.TtMlW ,,,"^ lodfrlnus In the same
nulldln* with Hroth«raon. He watch H
t«^tedVhi"tnh V ,rrk ' nd Is de-
tected by the latter The detective move.
'' J"!,™ « JnlnK Brotheraon'a He
oores a hnle In the wall to spy on Rroth-
vetl'tor l?hl I. "1 *nl1 <he In-
ventor In his work. A tfr sent bv Hweet
water with Edith Challon"" le'tte™ la
?^'r«",.out hy Brotheraon He derlarea
awe. wiT" ■w"r* n'" rltten by him.
;r .*V'r l unmasked hy BrotVraon.
Th? TI h" recognised him at once
.Im.l T'n." thal ,h
. ° B. were written hy two
.e«i-ehmJn.i *"«'■ to Derby
In search uf the second "O. B,." whom he
miKti 'J through one Ilorls Scott
icIPnL" " ,hl> le,,er« She Is found
who ^Iim "IT" '."l °"5al'1 Brotherson.
?f f 1 li'lrS J,",11 oall lh« name
Edith In his delirium Sweetwater
He «eea.''rn " > ™llar "«t In the Woods
I Brother. •• "f 1, boxes marked "O
. Brotherson. laken Into the hut under
tills Phaii J of n"ri" s'""n ""rl"
face of .1 "*'"lnl< I" " dream the
rlonr hill ? n,an f'1" klll, 'l llth. The
S be , rings and she reoognlsea In the
land nroli"""1 ' ,.""r 'beam II Is Or-
lando Brotheraon, who requests an Inter
with Mis brother It ls derZl Or
"on < ,:>rr",v nKiua-'1 ni «"•« ii -
Dorls " fall"n ,n lov'1 with
^"Ce k' .I!"8 Rhallon"r'B dBat . If I the horrors of thla week without be
mn r ays - «— ~rzx.
what word, could he urKe auch a re- met. acted like acid upon a wound
Iiueat upon this man? None gugKe t- und It wug not till six duyB had paused
ed themselves, yet he had promised and the dreaded Sunday was at hand
M s. Scott that he would Insure his : that he slept with .nr .en"e of re« or
thla""!?!*" 'h8 reg®r(1' and H wa8 wlth WPnt his way about the town without
thl dlfflcul y and no other he had that halting at the corners which be
came um'^him ln'lh" Ih "r°ther"°n traJ,e'1 hls Perpetual apprehension of
You hnve l h r r°.°m' .. "'°8t "'"'"""-able encounter.
buKge.ted the In11er""a' "?• Th" for thl. change will be
sne^ritatJ:":; ;iuc;p.':.;rcv: apparent in i""—.0
. iMITH
CHAPTER XXX.—Continued.
"This. 1 make no apologies and ex-
pect In answer nothing more than an
unequivocal yes or no. You tell me
that you have never met my brother
<"an that be said of the other mem-
bers of your family—of your deceased
aauRhtpr, In fact?"
"No."
"She was acquainted with Oswald
Hrotherson."
"She was?*'
"Without your knowledge?"
"Entirely so."
"Corresponded with him?"
"Not exactly."
"How, not exactly?"
He wrote to her—occasionally. She
wrote to him frequently—but she nev-
er sent her letters."
"Ah!"
The exclamation was sharp, short
aad conveyed little. Yet with Its es-
cape, the whole scafToldtng of this
man's hold upon life and his own fate
went down ln Indistinguishable chaos
Mr. Challoner realized a sense of
havoc, though the eyes bent upon his
countenance had not wavered, nor the
stalwart figure moved.
"I have read some of those letters "
the Inventor finally acknowledged
The police took great pains to place
them under my eye, supposing them
o have been meant for me because of
the Initials written on the wrapper
But they were meant for Oswald. You
believe that now?"
"I know It."
And that is why I found you In
the same house with him."
"It Is. Providence has robbed me
of my daughter; If thlB brother of
yours Bhould prove to be the man I
am led to sytpect, I shall ask him to
take that place In my heart and life
which was once hers.''
A quick recoil, a smothered excla-
mation on the part of the man he ad-
dressed. A barb had been hidden in
this simple statement which had
reached some deeply-hldden but vul-
nerable spot In BrotherBon's breast,
which had never been pierced before.
It was a sight no man could see un-
moved Mr. Challoner turned sharp-
ly away, in dread of the abyss which
the next word he uttered might open
between them.
But Orlando Brotherson possessed
resources of strength of which, pos
slbly, he was not aware himself. When
Mr. Challoner. still more affected by
the silence than by the dread I have
mentioned, turned to confront him
again. It was to find his features com-
posed and his glance clear. He had
conquered all outward manifestation
of the mysterious emotion which for
an instant had laid his proud spirit
low
I have already recorded
"I have," returned Mr. Challoner, re-
gaining his courage under the exigen-
cies of the moment. "Miss Scott is
very anxious to have your promise
that you will avoid all disagreeable
topics with your brother till the doc-
tor pronounces hltn strong enough to
meet the trouble which awaits him."
"You mean—"
"He I. not a. unhappy a. we. He
know, nothing of the affliction which
ha. befallen him. He was taken 111—"
The rest was almost Inaudible.
Uo you think I should be apt to
broach this subject with anyone, let
alone with him, whose connection
with It I Khali need day. to realize?
I'm not so given to gossip. Besides,
he and I have other topics of Interest.
I have an invention ready with which
I propose to experiment In a filace
he has already prepared for me. We
can talk about that."
1 he irony, the hardy self-possession
with which this was said struck Mr.
Challoner to the heart. Without a
word he wheeled about towards the
door. Without a word, Brotherson
stood, watching him go till he saw his
hand fall on the knob when he quietly
prevented his exit by Baying:
I nhappy truths cannot be long con-
cealed. How soon does the doctor
think my brother can bear these In-
evitable revelations?"
"He Bald this morning that If his
patient were as well tomorrow as his
present condition gives promise of, he
might be told In another week."
Orlando bowed his appreciation of
this fact, but added quickly:
"Who Is to do the telling?"
"Ilorls," nobody else could bo trust-
ed with so delicate a task."
"I wish to be present."
Mr. Challoner looked up, surprised
at the feeling with which this request
W'as charged.
"As his brother—his only remaining
relative, I have that right. Do you
think that Dor—that Miss Scott, can
be trusted not to forestall that mo-
ment by any previous hint of what
awaits him?"
"If she so promises. But will you
exact this from her? It surely cannot
be necessary for me to say that your
presence will add Infinitely to the diffi-
culty of her task."
' *et It !b a duty I cannot Bhirk. 1
will consult the doctor about it. I will
make him see that I both understand
and shall Insist upon my rights in this
matter. But you may tell Miss Dor-
is that I will sit out of sight, and that
I shall not obtrude myself unless my
name Is brought up In an undesirable
way."
The hand on the door-knob made a
sudden movement.
"Mr. Brotherson. I can bear no more
tonight. With your permission, I will
leave tills question to be settled by
otb-rs." And with a repetition of his
former bow, the bereaved father with-
drew.
Orlando watched him till the door
closed, then he too dropped his mask
But is was on again, when in a little I
while he passed through the Bitting-
loom on his way upstairs.
No other day in his whole life had
been like this to the hardy inventor;
for in it both his heart and his con-
science had been awakened, and up to
this hour he had not really known
that he possessed either.
held with a man he had come upon
one evening In the small park Just be-
yond the workmen's dwellings.
You Bee 1 am here," was the
stranger's low greeting.
Thank God," was Mr. Challoner*.
reply. "I could not have faced tomor-
row alona and I doubt If Miss Scott
could have found the requisite cour-
age. Does she know that you are
here?"
"I stopped at her door.
"Was that safo?"
I think so. Mr. Brotherson—the
Brooklyn one—Is up In his shed. He
sleeps there now, I am told, and
soundly too I've no doubt."
"What Is he making?"
"What half the inventors on both
sides of the water are engaged upon
just now. A monoplane, or a biplane,
or some machine for carrying men
through the air. I know, for I helped
him with It. But you'll find that If he
succeeds In this undertaking, and I be-
lieve he will, nothing short of fame
awaits him. His Invention has start-
ling points. But I'm not going to give
them away. I'll be true enough to him
that. As an inventor he has my
sympathy; but—well, we will see what
we shall see, tomorrow. You say that
he Is bound to be present when Miss
Scott relates her tragic story. Ho
won't be the only unseen listener. I've
made my own arrangements with
Miss Scott. If he feels the need of
watching her and his brother Oswald,
I feel the need of watching him."
"You take a burden of Intolerable
weight from my shoulders. Now I
shall feel easier about that interview
Iftit I should like to ask you this: Do
you feel justified in this continued
surveillance ot a man who has so fre-
quently, and with such evident sin-
cerity, declared his imjocence?"
I do that. If he's as guiltless as
he says he Is, my watchfulness won't
hurt him. If he's not, then, Mr. Chal-
loner, I've but one duty; to match his
strength with my patience. That man
Is the one great mystery of the day,
and mysteries call for solution. At
least, there's the way a detective looks
at It."
"May heaven help your efforts!"
"I shall need Its assistance," was
the dry rejoinder. Sweetwater was
by no means blind to the difficulties
awaiting him.
trouble for me," was his unexpected
reply. "That I do not fear—will not
fear ln my hour of happy recovery.
So long as Edith is well—Doris!
Doris! You alarm me. Edith Is not
ill—not ill?"
The poor child could not answer
save with her sympathetic look and
halting, tremulous breath; and these
sign., he would not, could not read,
his own words had made such an echo
in his ears.
"111! I cannot imagine Edith ill. I
alwayB see her in my thoughts, as I
saw her on that day of our first meet-
ing; a perfect, animated woman with
the Joyous look of a glad, harmonious
nature. Nothing has ever clouded
that vision. If she were ill I would
have known it. We are so truly one
that—Doris, Doris, you do not speak.
You know the depth of my love, the
terror of my thoughts. Is Edith ill?"
The eyes gazing wildly into his,
slowly left his face and raised them-
selves aloft, with a sublime look.
Would he understand? Yes, he un-
derstood. and the cry which rang from
his lips stopped for a moment the
beating of more than one heart ln that
little cottage.
"Dead!" he shrieked, and fell back
fainting ln his chair, his lips still
murmuring ln semi-unconsciousness,
"Dead! dead!"
DoriB sprang to her feet, thinking
of nothing but his wavering, slipping
life till she saw his breath return, his
eyes refill with light.
But the rest must be told; his
brother exacted it and so did the sit-
uation. Further waiting, further hid-
ing of the truth would be Insupport-
able after this. But oh, the bitterness
of it! No wonder that she turned
away from those frenzied, wildly-de-
manding eyes.
"Doris?"
She trembled and looked behind
her. She had not recognized his
voice. Had another entered? Had
his brother dared—No, they were
alone; seemingly so, that is. She
knew—no one better—that they were
nodi
not. really alone, that witnesses were P°wftr.
breast which that cutter might have
made."
"Edith? never!"
The words were chokingly said; he
was Bwaying, almost falling, but he
steadied himself.
Who says that?" he asked.
"It was the coroner's verdict."
"And she died that way—died?"
"Immediately."
"After writing to you?"
"YeB."
"What was in the letter?"
Nothing of threat, they say. Only
Just cheer and expressions of hope.
Just like the others, Mr. Brotherson."
"And they accuse her of taking her
own life? Their verdict is a lie. They
did not know her." Then, after some
moments of wild and confused feeling,
he declared, with a desperate effort at
self-control: "You said that some be-
lieve this. Then there must be oth-
ers who do not. What do they say?"
"Nothing. They simply feel as you
do. They see no reason for the act
and no evidence of her having medi-
tated It. Her father and her friends
inslBt besides, that she was Incapable
of such a horror. The mystery of It
Is killing us all; me above others, for
I've had to show you a cheerful face,
with my brain reeling and my heart
like lead in my bosom."
She held out her hands. She tried
to draw his attention to herself; not
from any sentiment of egotism, but
to break, if she could, the strain of
these Insupportable horrors where so
short a time before Hope sang and
Life reveled in reawakened Joys.
Perhaps some faint realization of
this reached him, for presently he
caught her by the hands and bowed
his head upon her shoulder and finally
let her seat him again, before he said:
"Do they know of—of my interest
in this?"
"Yes; they know about the two
O. B.'s."
"The two—" He was on his feet
again, but only for a moment; his
weakness was greater than his will
PRUNING IN SUMMER SEASON
Work Must Be Done After Terminal
Buds Have Set—interlocking
Branches Should Go.
(By W. C. EDMUNDSON. Idaho Ex-
periment Station.)
Nearly every fruit grower has his
own particular plan or Ideal for shap-
ing liis trees. The same type of tree
"Tell me all. Kill me with sorrow but 18 not grown by a11 "rchardists, and
save me from being unjust." should not be. since each type Is e3-
"He wrote her a letter; It fright- Peclall>' adapted for certain condl-
He followed It up by a
ened her.
visit—"
Doris paused; the sentence hung
suspended. She had heard a step—
a hand on the door.
Orlando had entered the room.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
(Iona.
< Most orchard men practice winter
pruning, as winter Is the time to
prune to shape the tree. If heavy
pruning is done It can be accom-
plished ln the early spring or dor-
mant season with the least Injury to
the tree. Summer and winter prun-
ing have their particular advantages.
Alone. ! I wlsh to take up one point ln con-
Oswald had heard nothing, seen section with summer pruning and that
nothing. But he took note of' Doris' 18 the pruning of bearing trees for In-
silence, and turning towards her in creased color.
frenzy saw what had happened, and ' In 8om0 fruit-growing sections the
so was ln a measure prepared for the apples do not take on sufficient coloi
stern, short sentence which now rang to make extra fancy fruit. We have
through the room: J found that under such conditions by
"Wait, Miss Scott! you tell my practicing summer pruning we can in-
story badly. Let him listen to me. creaBe the color from 20 to 40 pel
From my mouth only shall he hear cent.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Tell Me, Tell It All.
The day was a gray one, the first
of the kind in weeks. As Doris
stepped into the room where Oswald
sat, she felt how much a ray of sun-
shine would have encouraged her and
CHAPTER XXXI.
"You are con Heraie of my broth
er," were the words w.'th which he re-
opened this painful conversation. "You
will not find your confidence ml:
placed. Oswald is a straightforward
fellow, of few faults."
"I believe it. No man can be so uni-
versally beloved without some very
substantial claims to regard. I am
glad to see that your opinion, though
given somewhat coldly, coincides with
that of his friends."
1 am not given to exaggeration,"
was the even reply.
Nothing which had vet passed
showed in*- d the fact
tha' °" .<<• in lgno-
ft
What Is He Makinj?
Other boxes addressed to O. Broth-
■rson had been received at the sta-
tion. and carried to the mysterious
shed in the woods; and now, with
locked door and lifted top, the elder
brother contemplated his stores and
prepared himself for work.
He had been allowed a Bhort Inter-
view with Oswald, and he had in-
dulged himself ln a few words with
Doris. But he had left those mem
ories behind with other and more seri-
ous matters. Nothing that could un
nerve his hand or weaken his InBlght
should enter this spot sacred to his
great hope. Here genius reigned
Here he was himself wholly and with I ing, almost without breathinc
out flaw—a Titan with his grasp on a | "What Is the matter, child
mechanical idea by means of which
he would soon rule the world
Not so happy were the other char-
acters In this drama. Oswald's
thoughts, disturbed for a short time
by his brother, had flown eastward
again, in silent love and longing-
while Dons, with a double dread now
in her heart, went about her dally
tasks, praying for strength to endure
"Dead!" He Shrieked Out.
yet how truly these leaden skies and
thle dismal atmosphere expressed the
gloom which Boon must fall upon this
hopeful, smiling man.
Advancing slowly, and not answer-
ing because she did not hear some
casual remark of his, she took her
stand by his side and then slowly and
with her eyes on his face, sank down
upon her knees, still without Bpeak-
So
weary, eh? Nothing worse than that,
I hope."
"Are you quite strong this morn-
ing? Strong enough to listen to my
troubles; strong enough to bear your
own If God sees fit to send them?"
came hesitatingly from her lips as she
watched the effect of each word, in
breathless anxiety.
"Troubles? There can be but one
within hearing, If not within sight.
Doris," 1 urged again, and thiB
time she turned in hie direction and
gazed, aghast. If the voice were
strange, what of the face which now
confronted her. The ravages of sick-
ness had been marked, but they were
nothing to those made in an in-
stant by a blasting grief. She was
startled, although expecting much,
and could only press his hands while
she waited for the question he was
gathering strength to utter. It was
simple when it came; Just two words:
"How long?"
She answered them as simply:
"Just as long as you have been ill,"
said she; then, with no attempt to
break the inevitable shock, she went
on: "Miss Challoner was struck dead
and you were taken down with ty-
phoid on the self-same day."
Struck dead! Why do you use
that word, struck? Struck dead! she,
a young woman. Oh, Doris, an acci-
dent! My darling has been killed in
an accident!"
"They do not call it accident. They
call it what It never was. What it
never was," she insisted, pressing him
back with frightened hands, as he
strove to rise. "Miss Challoner was—"
How nearly the word shot had left
her lips. How fiercely above all else,
in that harrowing moment had risen
the desire to fling the accusation of
that word into the ears of him who
listened from his secret hiding-place.
She refrained out of compassion for
the man she loved, and declared in-
stead. Miss Challoner died from a
wound; how given, why given, no one
knows. 1 had rather have died my-
self than have to tell you this. Oh,
Mr. Brotherson, spoglk, sob, do any-
thing but—"
She started back, dropping his
hands as she did so. With quick intu-
ition she saw that he must be left to
himself If he were to meet this blow
without succumbing. The body must
have freedom If the spirit would not
go mad. Conscious, or perhaps not
conscious, of his release from her re-
straining hand, albeit profiting by it,
he staggered to his feet, murmuring
that word of doom: "Wound! wound!
my darling died of a wound! What
kind of a wound?" he suddenly thun-
dered out. "I cannot understand what
you mean by wound. Make It clear to
me. Make it clear to me at once. If
I must bear thiB grief, let me know
Its whole depth. Leave nothing to my
imagination or I cannot answer for
myself. Tell it all. Doris."
And Doris told him:
"She was on the mezzanine floor
of the hotel where she lives, she
was seemingly happy and had been
writing a letter—a letter to me which
they never forwarded. There was
no one else by but some strangers
good people whom one must believe.
She was crossing the floor when sud-
denly she threw up her hands and
fell. A thin, narrow paper-cutter was
In her grasp; and It flew Into the
lobby. Some say she struck herself
with that cutter; for when they picked
h«r up they .found n wound ln her
Orlando and Oswald Brotherson,
she explained, in answer to his brok-
en appeal. "Your brother wrote let-
ters to her as well as you, and signed
them Just as you did, with his ini-
tials only. These letters were found
In her desk, and he was supposed, for
a time, to have been the author of
all that were so signed. But they
found out the difference after awhile.
Yours were easily recognized after
they learned there was another O. B.
who loved her."
The words were plain enough, but
the stricken listener did not take
them in. They carried no meaning
to him. How could they? The very
Idea Bhe sought to Impress upon him
by this seemingly careless allusion
was an incredible one. She found it
her dreadful task to tell him the hard
bare truth.
"Your brother," she said, "was de-
voted to Miss Challoner, too. He even
wanted to marry her. I cannot keep
back this fact. It is known every-
where, and by everybody but you."
"Orlando?" His lips took an iron-
ical curve, as he uttered the word.
This was a young girl's imaginative
fancy to him. "Why Orlando never
knew her, never saw her, never—"
"He met her at Lenox."
The name produced its effect. He
8tared, made an effort to think, re-
peated Lenox over to himself; then
suddenly lost his hold upon the Idea
which that word suggested, struggled
again for it, seized it in an Instant of
madness and shouted out:
"Yes, yes, I remember. I sent him
there—" and paused, his mind blank
again.
Poor DoriB, frightened to her very
soul, looked blindly about for help;
but she did not quit his side; she did
not dare to, for his lips had re-
opened; the continuity of his thoughts
had returned; he was going to speak.
"I sent him there." The words
came in a sort of shout. "I was bo
hungry to hear of her and I thought
he might mention her ln his letter.
Insane! Insane! He saw her and—
What's that you said about his loving
her? He couldn't have loved her;
he's not of the loving sort. They've
deceived you with strange tales.
They've deceived the wholl world
with fancies and mad dreams. He
may have admired her, but loved her
n<^! or if he had, he would have re-
spected my claims."
"He did not know them."
A laugh; a laugh which paled Doris'
cheek; then his tones grew feven
again, memory came back and he mut-
tered faintly;
"That is true. I said nothing to
him. He had the right to court her
and he did, you say; wrote to her;
Imposed himself upon her, drove her
mad with importunities she was
forced to rebuke; and—and what else?
There 1b something else. Tell me; I
will know all."
the stern and seemingly unnatural
part I played ln this family tragedy."
The face of Oswald hardened.
Those pliant features—beloved for
their gracious kindliness—set them-
selves ln lines which altered them al-
most beyond recognition; but his
voice was not without some of Its nat-
ural sweetness, as, after a long and
hollow look at the other's compose*]
countenance, he abruptly exclaimed:
"Speak! I am bound to listen; you
are my brother."
Orlando turned towards Doris. She
was slipping away.
"Don't go," said he.
But she was gone.
Slowly he turned back.
Oswald raised his hand and checked
the words with which he would have
begun his story.
"Never mind the beginnings," said
he. "Doris has told all that. You
saw Miss Challoner ln Lenox—ad-
mired her and afterwards wrote her a
threatening letter because she reject-
ed you."
"It is true. Other men have fol-
lowed Just such unworthy impulses—
and been ashamed and sorry after-
wards. I was sorry and I was
ashamed, and as soon as my first
anger was over went to tell her so.
But she mistook my purpose and "
"And what?"
Orlando hesitated. Even his iron
nature trembled before the misery he
saw—a misery he was destined to aug-
ment rather than soothe. With pains
altogether out of keeping with his
character, he sought In the recesses
of his darkened mind for words less
bitter and less abrupt than those
which sprang involuntarily to his lips.
But he did not find them. Though he
pitied his brother and wished to show
that he did, nothing but the stern
language suitable to the stern fact he
wished to impart, would leave his lips.
"And ended the pitiful struggle of
the moment with one quick, unpre-
meditated blow," was what he said.
There is no other explanation pos-
sible for this act, Oswald. Bitter as
It Is for me to acknowledge It, I am
thus far guilty of this beloved wom-
an's death. But, as God hears me,
from the moment I first saw her, to
the moment I saw her last, I did not
know, nor did I for a moment dread
that she was anything to you or to
any other man of my stamp and sta-
tion. I thought she despised my coun-
try birth, my mechanical attempts, iny
lack of aristocratic pretensions and
traditions."
"Edith ?"
"Now that I know she had other
reasons for her contempt—that the
words she wrote were in rebuke to
the brother rather than to the man,
feel my guilt and deplore my anger.
I cannot say more. I should but in-
sult your grief by any lengthy expres-
sions of regret and sorrow."
A groan of Intolerable anguish
from the sick man's lips, and then the
quick thrust of his reawakened intel-
ligence rising superior to the over-
throw of all his hopes.
Summer pruning cannot be done any
time the grower happens to have time
to do the work, but must be done at a
definite time. That time is after the
terminal buds have set.
At this time the trees have stopped
growth for the season and the wood
begins to ripen up for winter. II
pruned earlier the trees will send out
a new growth after forming a rosette
at each cut, and this late growth wilj
Dften winter kill.
Summer pruning should not remove
the heavy branches but should take
out the Interlocking branches and
about one-half the present seasons
growth. This opens up the tree and
admits the sunlight at the ripening
period.
ROBIN IS FOND OF CHERRIES
Bluebird's Consumption of Cultivated
Fruit Is More Limited and Eating
Period Shorter,
The complaints against the robin
have dwelt on his fondness for cher-
ries, strawberries, blackberries, rasp-
berries, pears, peaches, prunes, grapes,
and even olives in California.
The bluebird's consumption of cul-
tivated fruits seems more limited, ba-
The Robin.
Ing practically confined to cherries,
raspberries, and blackberries, and its
fruit-eating period Is very short, be-
ing only from late fall to early
spring, when the Insects which It pre-
fers are scarce.
BEST CROPS IN AN ORCHARD
Considerable Number of the Mora
Progressive Fruit Men Are Giv-
ing Up the Practice.
Most farmers grow some crops be-
tween the trees for a few years at
least. Potatoes, beans, cabbage and
corn are used extensively. The tree
rows are kept thoroughly cultivated.
It Is not uncommon to see a hay crop
between the rows, but It is an unusual
sight to see a young orchard planted
and kept for any time within the sod.
A good many of the more progres-
sive fruit men, who have kept rec-
ords of expenses and sales on these
various crops interplanted, have come
to doubt the advisability of growing
field crops in an orchard, and unless
it is necessary for financial reasons,
a considerable number are giving up
for a woman of Edith's princinle i ti, Kl>'"8 UP
to seek death In a moment of despera " C ?"d 8lmply,, keeP a11 'he
Hon, the provocation must have been f.0" fb®tween he ,r°wa thoroughly cul-
very great. Tell me if I'm to hate you growing"* Cr°1)8 ar9
through life-yea through all eternity I growmg'
or If I must Beek in some unimag-
He was standing now, his feeble-
ness all gone, passion In every linea-
ment and his «ye alive and feverish,
with emotion. "Tell me," he repeat-
ed. with unrestrained vehemence.
inable failure of my own character ..
conduct the cause of her intolerable
despair."
"Oswald!" The tone was controlling,
and yet that of one strong man to
another. "Is it for ub to read the
heart of any woman, least of all of a
EASY TO RAISE STRAWBERRY
Small Patch Will Produce More Fruit
Than Average Family Can Use
Plants Are Hardy,
A patch of strawberries, two or
woman of her susceptibilities and j three rods square, will produce more
keen Inner life? The wish to end all j frult than a family of eight or ten can
comes to some natures like a light ' u8e- The work is just as easy and Just
nlng flash from a clear sky. It comes, ! aa simple as growing tomatoes, cab-
It goes, often without leaving a sign, j bfl8a or any other crop, says Frank E.
But if n weapon chances to be near— ' Beatty, the strawberry specialist in
(here it was In hand)—then death | ^""m and Home, Strawberry plants
follows the Impulse which, given an j are set Just the same as a tomato or
instant of thought, would have van- { cabbage plant, and after strawberry
lshed ln a back sweep of other emo- Plants are set, there 1b little to do
. °"u. fjha?.°e. was "le rea' "cceBsory but cultivate and give them an occa-
to this death by suicide. Oswald, let
us realize it as such and accept our
sorrow as a mutual burden and turn
to what remains to us of life and
labor. Work Is griefs only consola-
tlon. Then let us work."
But of all this OBwal* hsd caught
but the one word.
(TO BB CONTINUED.)
sional hoeing, Just the same as for
vegetables.
Strawberry plants are the hardiest
of all plants and succeed in all soils
and under all climatic conditions. The
chief essentials are strong, fruitful
plants, good drainage and plenty ot
manure.
(
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Burke, J. J. The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 3, No. 252, Ed. 1 Tuesday, May 30, 1916, newspaper, May 30, 1916; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc113225/m1/2/: accessed May 5, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.