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Also Agent for Fire, Accident Causualty and Bond Insurance. Best Companies, best rates, best terms and prompt and careful attention given to all business placed with the agency. A FAR SIGHTED MAN, Knowing the uncertainties of the future and realizing the responsibilities of life, does not let ■the fire which may consume Iris property find him without Insurance. Furthermore, he pro tects his estate and those dependent on him by insuring his own life. For reliable Insurance, life and fire, see KILGORE & RADFORD, Insurancec Agents, Office at The Winder Banking Company. I carry in stock everything that it takes to build a house and the prices are right. W. E. YOUNG, The Shingle Man. No restrictions as to residence, travel, occupation. Total and permanent disability at once secures you your Policy fully paid up with no further premiums to pay. But instead of premiums being du<*, you re ceive an annual payment from the Company during such disability. TIE LAST ACT, Arriving at a Decision About Changing Its Ending. By VIRGINIA BLAIR. [Copyright, 1909. I y Associated Literary Press.) “You must give it happy end log." said Miss Atherton Carrot hers looked tit her gloomily “Not unless you say 'Yes.' " “As if that had anything to do with It,” said Miss Atherton scornfully. “It has everything to do with It." said Carrot hers. “When 1 write a piny 1 write as 1 feel. If 1 am sad the play will be sad. and If 1 am happy the (tiding will he happy. And 1 can't he happy as long as you persist in refus ing me; hence 1 shall have to give m\ play a sad ending.’’ "Oh. well, then,” Miss Atherton tossed her head, “end il any old way Cut 1 won't play it if it doesn't sui: fne.” A week later lie t ailed her up. "It b finished," la' said, "and you can read It at your leisure.” “ftend it to me.” she said and set the next afternoon. Carruthers found her alone .very beautiful in a violet crape house g'own. with her dark hair handed with a gold ribbon. “I want you to dress like that in tin last act of m.v play." lie said, “and carry violets. It will give the propel note of mourning.” “Thou you have made it sad?" sin demn tided. — '•**r**&/z^**~+* “Yes. The lien Lie is a isio.-’iiy prill cess who spurns her lover all through the play, and in the end lie finds an other woman moro gentle, more kind, and the princess is left alone in her haughtiness. That is why 1 want you to wear a purple gown.” "Oh!” said Miss Atherton somewhat faintly. When he came to the last act lie saw that Miss Atherton was intensely in terested. “But I don't think I am at all like that,” she said Ingenuously ns he finished. "Who said you were?” lie demanded “I am writing of a princess in Egypt.” The color flamed into her face. "Of course. I had thought you had me in mind.” "I perceive,” Cnrruthers replied, “that you and the princess have cer - - ——. MISS ATHERTON S EVES SNAPPED. tain characteristics in common, and that is why you would lit the part or the part would tit you But the ques tion now to decide is. ’Who shall take the part of the other woman?’ ” ”i believe you have spent more time on her than on the other woman,” Miss Atherton said jealously. Carruthers looked at her out of the corner pf his eye. "I had thought of Miss Muir us your opposite. She would fit in. I think." Miss Atherton's eyes snapped. “She isn’t half as gentle as you might irnag ine.” “Dear lady.” Carruthers remonstrat ed. "perhaps you are not a judge of gentleness.” "Oh. well”—Miss Atherton laughed a little—"my temper isn't in good shape this morning. You'll have to forgive me if I criticise everything and every body.” “What’s wrong?” Carruthers asked solicitously. “Everything." succinctly. "I've got to give up my apartment for one thing Aunt Sarali has to go back to Bine Point, and I can't live alone." "Of course not.” Carruthers agreed promptly, “and you couldn’t find a bet ter time to marry me.” “Marry?” she came back at him. “An actress hasn't any right to marry.” “It depends upon the point of view,” Carruthers stated. “Of course If you loved me"— “Please don't talk of love,” exclaim ed Miss Atherton. "1 have enough of It in my plays." “To return to our mutton,'' said Carruthera calmly. “I shall give Miss Muir the part of the helpless heroine who so works on the sympathies of the scorned lover that he turns from the. princess to her." "You have made the ending happy for the other g?rl, then?" "Yes; you can't pile sadness on too deeply.” "And the princess sits in the purple twilight. In a purple gown, with vio lets clutched in her two white hands, and moans. ‘My lost love, alas!' or words to that effect. 1 can’t see my self doing it." remonstrated Miss Ath erton. “You’ve simply got to change that ending.” “Rut how?" questioned Carruthers. “Have another lover in the back ground for the gentle maiden and ie the princess relent at ttie last min ute. You can still keep her in the pur ple twilight and the purple gown, hut you can have her lover at her feet, with the golden moon flooding them with light." "But the print css wouldn't relent not the kind of princess in tlie piny." "Slit 1 might." Miss Atherton liesi tated. ‘ You know you can never tell just what a • woman will do.” "Would you.' Carruthers demanded eagerly—"would you relent?" "1 am not talking of myself." Miss Athertou told him coldly; "1 am talk ing of tin 1 princess in the play" Carruthers folded up his manuscript before ho answered. "Then, positive ly. I shall not change the last act. I had thought of a better one than that of purple twilight and a lover at hei feet. 1 had thought of the princess at dawn on the terrace, with -a wreath of roses On her head, and coming toward her with outstretched hands was her lover, and the glory of the rising sun about them both"— “BoiitjMful!" brokejn Miss Athortou “Wc will have "that." ••**.as**** "\V<_ will have that," was the stuTiiiorn rejoinder. "As 1 have told you. 1 am not In a mood for ha lip.'' endings.” "Oh. well, have your way, then.' said Miss Atherton crossly. During rehearsal Miss Atherton ob served that Carruthers took especial pains with Miss Muir’s part. "You act as if she were the star.” she remonstrated one day just before the last act. “I like her part.” lie said. "It fits in with my ideal; 1 want the audi ence to realize what gentleness and sweetness may accomplish as against beauty and pride." Itefore Miss Atherton could answer she was called for the last act. She played it well, putting into it all the despair of a woman who. having seQrned love, knows that she has lost that which she prizes most in the world. Even In iter street gown she made it effective, for with the violets against her lips she murmured: "1 shall wear no other flowers. They are the flow ers of mourning, and all my days 1 shall mourn—alone!" As the last word came in a whisper she stared, unseeing, into space. “Beautiful!” Carruthers told her when she came off. "Beautiful!" “But I don’t like it." she sobbed. "It makes me miserable to play It.” lie took her to a quiet spot where they could talk. "Why should it make you miserable?” he asked. "Because I want happiness," she an swered, "in inv play—and in my life. Carl.” She had never called him that. For a moment he stared at her. Then he cried, "You mean that you will?” She smiled, but her lips were white. “Yes. I want my life to have a hap py ending. Carl." "Dear heart." he whispered, "I will change the last act.” The Wrong Man. “A marriage had been fixed for 10 o’clock.” said a clergyman, "and I had an appointment with the bishop at 11 ;30. Half past 10 came, a quarter to 'll. and no bride or bridegroom. Presently the clerk announced their arrival. 1 went out. The couple stood in the usual place at the entrance to the chancel, and I began the service. “‘Please, sor.’ began the man. “'Don’t speak now.’ I said and con tinued the service. “ ‘I am very serry. sor. but’— “‘Never mind now.’ I said hastily. ‘I cannot listen to excuses, for I have no time to spare.’ And again 1 went on with the marriage service. "A movement of the unhappy man caused me to look up. "’But I am not the man!’ he shrieked, like some frightened animal. ‘I have only come to say the cab has broken down, sor.’ he gasped. ‘I am only the best man.’ And, with a sigh of relief, he mopped his brow. All the while the lady smiled serenely. "Poor man! Did he get a fright? So did I. for I was new at the work and did not know what the conse quence might be.”—iDtidon Telegraph. Lost and Found. ‘‘Found a dollar yesterday.” "Lucky boy!” “Not so lucky. In stooping to pick it up 1 drop|>ed and broke my eye glasses.”—Kansas City Journal. Transposed. Griggs—The doctor said I must throw up everything and take a sea voyage. Briggs—Got the cart before the horse, didn’t he?—Boston Tran script. THE TEAJHER. Ho took the sou! of a little child, Fresh ami plastic and good, And he hammered it into the fashion Of n grown man’s iron mood; Early and late lie heat tit it With blows of a grown-up fist, Till the little soul forgot itself And vanished in the mist; The little soul forgot itself And wamh rod far away, And all that was left on earth at last Was a form of ductile clay. Ho took the sottl of a littl child, 1 lelicate, s< >ft and sweet, And ho trod its dearest ilhtsii n I.iko dust beneath hi> foot; He sneered at fts simple learning, Aml jeered at its gentle glee, And made of sill its hidden things A solemn moekthy; lie fastened it down with hahits, And tied it about \\ith dread. Till tile gentle soul of the little' child i For v. ry anguish fled. He took the soul of a little child, T his teacher stern and kind, Ami ho slowly hammered it into the shape Of a grown-up blockhead s mind ; He bound it about with habits, And fastened it with a rule,' Till the little soul fain was of death And hated his dreary school; And all that was left was a mockery ()f childish hope and joy— A poor little puling monster They called him the “model hoy.” Hubert Warren Gilbert. WHAT IS A JRIEND. “Wlmt is a friend?” It is the fel low who will inconvenience himself for yon. It is the man who will sit beside your bedside when your frame has been touched by disease. It is the man who will conn* to you when the clouds are black, while the muttering thunder of misfortune growls along the sky. It is the man who will say: “Don't he discour aged. I see you are in trouble, let me help you out.” It is not the man who will do you a kindness only when lie feels he will get in re turn full value for services rendered . \\V would not give two cents for a man who writes his name in fancy letters in our friendship album if he would not visit us when we are in trouble. —Kx. Youare proud of your wife and chil dren. Why don’t you bring them to us to be photographed? We will give you a picture that will make you prouder still. ALLEN’S ART STUDIO WINDER, GEORGIA. Tt spoils all a woman’s pleasure in shopping to Buy anything. The way to write a good loye let ter is to Ere careful not to say any thing rational in it.