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Copyright, 1899, by Jeannette H. Walworth.
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; “Don't go yet, please. Mr. Clarence.
It looks as if Providence had sent yon
here on purpose tonight. I have a fa
vor to ask of you.”
“Certainly, anything 1 can do,” he
said, politely enough, but he looked a
trifle bored. lie was net devoid of
kindly feelings, but really the “queer
old party who had just shuffled off this
mortal coil and the unbeautiful spin
ster upon whom he had intruded in
search of Olivia” had never appealed
very strongly to the aesthetic side of
him.
Miss Malvina stood with her hands
resting reverently on the big Bible. He
hoped she was not going to ask him to
read a portion of Scripture with her.
Thar would be too much for his nerves.
As if direct contact with the book had
brought strength to her. Miss Malvina
suddenly lost all that timid nervous
ness which possessed her whenever
she came in contact with this elegant,
rather haughty young fellow, who
made her “feel like a milkmaid for
clumsiness.” This man as Olivia’s affi
anced husband and the owner of Brox-
ton Hall had a much better right than
she had to know about that particular
paper. She entered abruptly upon the
task she had set herself.
“I don’t know that you ever heard of
It, Mr. Clarence, but my poor mother
had a mania.”
“Spare yourself. Miss Spillman. I
heard every word she said to Mr. Mat
thews last night.”
“About—about—some papers and
things?”
“Yes, poor old lady! She was really
unsparing, dreadfully caustic. But of
course it went for nothing. We all
knew, don’t you know.”
Miss Malvina flung back the lid of
the big Bible and revealed the papers.
“There are the papers my mother
spoke about.”
In life she had helped the world to
cast discredit upon her mother. To
shield Horace Matthews she had put at
.naught her mother’s words. In death
she would make reparation, so far as
was possible. Westover turned an un
comprehending stare from the old pa
pers to the plain, twitching face upon
which the lamp cast uncanny shades.
“So then there were some hidden
documents. Any importance, do you
suppose?”
“I think so. There are the inventories
of the jewels and the plate which I
suppose are—oh, well, what do I know
about any of it? I do want you to
read just that one short paper, Mr.
Westover.”
She handed to him the slip of paper
over which she had pored in growing
perplexity for half an hour before his
coming. She watched him while he
read it, and she knew from the quick
mounting of the hot blood to his tem
ples that she had not overestimated its
importance. He looked up at her pres
ently with knitted brows.
“By Jove! And this wan among the
papers that Matthews allowed to be
lost?”
“I don’t know that we ought to say
that he ‘allowed it to be lost.’ You
see, Mr. Westover, it was my fault that
his horse shied and made him drop his
bag just outside our gate. How moth
er ever got hold of them is one of the
mysteries that can never be solved
now. It was only when that poor, un
happy child came here begging me to
search for them that I did it just to
quiet her.”
Westover made it clearer. “She said
something the other night about Jim
mie Martin finding them and her pur
posely keeping you in the dark for
fear you would give the papers she
wanted Broxton to have to Mr. Mat
thews.”
“Which is just what I should have
(done, just what I shall do as soon as
'he gets better.”
“That is what he will never do,” said
[Westover gravely. “Govan gives him
only a few days more.”
“Dear Lord! And that poor child”—
“Will not be left entirely without
friends,” said Ollie’s lover stiffly.
“Oh, I know it! I know that she is
just as fond of you as can be. But
about these papers. What am I to do?
I don’t even know where Tom Broxton
is.”
“Neither do I. But this paper”—he
was folding the oldest sheet of writing
into compact shape—“concerns my fa
ther as purchaser of Broxton flail
more nearly than it does any one else
just at present. I should like to show
it to him, Miss Malvina.”
Miss Malvina looked wistfully from
the pile of papers to the young man.
Westover interpreted the look prompt
ly.
“You are afraid you are not doing
the right thing by your friend, Mr.
Broxton. I respect your anxiety and
pledge you my word of honor as a gen
tleman that his interests shall not suf
fer in my hands. How such a weighty
paper as this should have been left to
mischance it is useless to conjecture
now. Mr. Matthews is done with all
worldly cares and responsibilities. I
simply ask you to lend me this paper
long enough to show it to my father.
If it is genuine, his title to Broxton
Hall is not worth the paper it is writ
ten on.”
Malvina locked her thin fingers nerv
ously about each other. “I was just
thinking that for Ollie’s sake and
Tom’s sake”—
“May I take this paper?” Westover
rose with it in his hands.
“Why, yes. It don’t belong to me,
does it?”
“By right of discovery, in the pres
ent mixed state of affairs, I suppose
you could hold on to it. Possession is
nine points of the law. But”—here
such a winning smile broke over the
young fellow’s handsome face that
Miss Malvina forgave Ollie’s infatua
tion for him—“if I promise you that no
use shall be made of it that does not
take Tom Broxton’s best interests into
consideration will you trust me with
it and believe in me?”
“I trust in you, and I believe in you,”
/said Miss Malvina, bolding out a rati-
rytug hand. “And the inventories—
what shall I do with them? There is a
catalogue of paintings, too. and"—
Westover waved the proffered papers
back.
"With them the Westovers have
nothing to do. Keep them, or send them
to Broxton, rather. They have belong
ed to him ever since he came of age.
Perhaps you might hold ou to them un
til”—
He left the sentence unfinished. Miss
, Malvina knew that he meant until Hor-
| ace Matthews should be beyond the
fret and worry of all things.
“Ah. well, just as you choose about
the rest of the papers! 1 thought may
be you could talk them all over with
Tom. Dear me! These inventories
stand for inexhaustible wealth to me.
What an extravagant fellow our dear
Tom must have been as a college boy!”
“College boys are not an ascetic class,
as a rule,” said Clarence and with it
“good night.”
Miss Malvina sat where he had left
her a long time. She found the papers
describing Thomas’ departed glories
intensely interesting reading. “Poor
old mother! She had been right all the
way through, even to the description of
Lucetta Broxton’s necklace.” She laid
her hands upon the package of papers
and sighed.
“In spite of all this, Thomas Broxton
is a pauper. The Hall could not be
sold, but it is sold. How do men man
age to blunder so?”
Not yet was. her loyal soul ready to
indorse her mother’s worst suspicious
of Horace Matthews’ stewardship.
CHAPTER XVI.
A DYING FATHEK’S COMMAND.
“He is wanting to see you.”
“Father?”
“Who else?”
Never conspicuous for suavity, loss
of rest and the universal upheaval of
his long established routine had
brought old Reuben to a pitch of surli
ness bordering on bearishness. Dr. Go-
van’s severe reprimand for his deser
tion of his post the night before added
the last drop of bitterness to his cup,
and it overflowed upon poor little
Ollie’s unoffending head.
Ou his return from the Spillman cot
tage Clarence Westover had come in
for a share of the old man's accumu
lated acrimony, after which he had
mounted his horse and ridden home
in a frame of mind scarcely less cynic
al than Reuben’s own. Said the old
servitor:
“There ain’t a mite of common sense
in your going all to pieces about that
child. I’ve been knowing her ever
since she was big enough to be strap
ped into a baby carriage, which she
generally was trying to kick all to
pieces like an unbroken colt. If any
body crossed her, she would just go off
and hide. Many a bad scare has she
given us all, just to wind up by walk
ing in as smiling as a May morning
and laughing at us for the pack of
fools we undoubtedly was. She is hid
den somewhere about the house now.
She won’t turn up smiling this time,
but you may as well stop worrying
about her.”
Westover looked searchingly into the
old man’s face. He would much prefer
to think ihat “that old hag's” arraign
ment of Olivia’s father had been heard
by no outsider but himself. As he was
going to Marry Horace Matthews’
daughter he should like the name to
be kept as clean as possible. With the
paper which Miss Malvina had con
fided to his care reposing in his pocket
he was in a combative mood. He owed
it to himself to see that the local gos
sip mill was supplied with no more
grist.
“Who has crossed her this time?” he
asked sharply.
“I’m not saying anybody has, sir. I
was just telling you what her custom
was. I guess she’s gone off to have a cry
where nobody can’t hear her. Dr. Go-
van don’t give the old man much of a
show.”
“But Miss Matthews has not been
told that?”
“No, sir, uo; but she is mighty sharp
at forming her own conclusions. She
Is mighty fretted over being kept out
of the old man’s room. I don’t see
into that myself. I should think, as
fond as he is of her, he couldn’t keep
her close enough for the little time
that’s left. But the old man always
had his own way of doing things.”
“And you have searched the house
all over, Reuben?”
“All over, sir, but that don’t prove
anything. There ain't but two places
for her to be—Miss Malvina’s and
here. She is somewhere about, but I
think she has made it plain enough
that she wants to be left to herself.
If I was you, Mr. Clarence, I’d take
things easier.” «
“That last piece of advice is rather
good, Reuben. I will try to follow it.
I shall gallop over home and back
again by midnight. I do not believ
I shall be wanted.”
Reuben had gladly seen him carry
this resolution into effect. Perhaps
the one soft spot in the old maw
indurated heart was for Horace Mat
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Westover looked searchingly into the old
man's face.
thews. They had grown up together,
they had come to Mandeville together,
and he was not as much in the dark
Clarence Westover would have
liked him to be. He closed the front
door upon the young man and shuf
fled back to the sickroom muttering to
himself:
“I’d just as lief as not nobody should
be spying on him in his last hours. He
do mumble a lot of mortal strange
stuff with the fever in his poor head.”
But the fever was all out of Horace
Matthews’ head when he turned to
ward Reuben and asked feebly:
“Reuben, when was Thomas tele
graphed for?”
“Might before last sir.”
“And what did you say in it?”
“Guardian very ill. Wants to see
you. Come at once.”
“Has he answered?”
“No, sir.”
“Perhaps he didn’t get it.”
“Now, there you go to fretting, sir.
It ain’t a bit like you. The doctor says
you was to keep calm.”
“So he did, Reuben, so he did. If
he got the message, when ought he To
be here?”
“I asked the telegraph man that
same question. According to his cal
culation. Mr. Thomas is • due here
about 1 a. m.”
“And it is now”—
“Just half past 11 „sir.”
* The sick man closed his eyes weari
ly. How insignificant all things here
below now seemed! It was as if he
were getting his life, with all of its
loves, all of its ambitions, its toils, its
achievements, its mistakes, in a true
perspective at last. And how mean,
how absolutely worthless, the sum to
tal was!
All the capacity for loving he had
been endowed with he had exercised
for one child. He had loved Olivia to
the exclusion of that broader, more
elevating love for his fellow man as
his neighbor. To make Olivia happy,
to secure her against any mischance in
the future, had seemed the one thing
worth doing. That she might have,
others must give; that she might re
joice, others must suffer. When he
was working his way with strenuous
stubbornness to this goal, he had not
questioned his own methods nor the
danger of working harm, and not good,
to the idol of his life.
With the presumption born of a phe
nomenally good physical record he had
looked forward to seeing Olivia enjoy
ing the fruits of his wise stewardship,
while he aided and encouraged Thom
as Broxton in his ascent of the ladder
which it was well for every man to
climb in his youth.
He was not the first man who has
been surprised by death in the midst
of unfinished schemes, and presently
Thomas Broxton would be standing
where that terrible old woman had
stood, defiant, accusing, merciless. He
opened his eyes from what Reuben had
thought was a tranquil slumber to say
hurriedly, “I think 1 should like to see
my daughter, Reuben, before Mr.
Broxton gets here.”
And it was then that Reuben, going
in search of her, had found her in her
own room, sitting with her head bur
ied in her outstretched arms.
~ For the first time in her life Olivia
obeyed the summons to her father’s
presence with reluctance. Dr. Govan
had reassured her on the subject of pa
ralysis.
“Your father was violently agitated
by the visit of that poor old irrespon
sible creature and temporarily lost his
powers of speech. All agitation must
positively be avoided, my dear, and
when y T ou go into his presence yon
must remember how much depends
upon your personal observance of this
caution.”
Then for the first time in her life
she must act a falsehood. She must
go into her father’s presence with a
heavy load on her young heart, long
ing to ask him questions that must
not be asked, yearning to have him
exorcise the demons of suspicion and
distrust awakened by that old wo
man's cruel words. Perhaps he would
die and leave them uncontradicted.
Could bereavement hold a sharper
sting?
She got up heavily and, going into
her dressing room, bathed her eyes to
efface the marks of recent tears and
smoothed her hair into trimmer shape.
Then she walked resolutely into the
sick man’s presence. He held out
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Doth wasted hands and drew her
down upon the bed by him, murmur
ing familiar terms of endearment.
“You are better, father, much bet
ter. Dr. Govan tells me so.” she said,
returning his caresses gently.
The sick man sighed wearily.
“For a little while, for a very little
while, my darling, l have told Govan
to keep me here until Thomas gets
home.”
“Thomas? Why, papa, have you
sent for Thomas?”
She was trembling violently. A
deathly pallor spread over her sweet
young face like a gray veil. Had ber
father any confession to make to
Thomas Broxton? Why did be want
him to come?
The sick man looked at her implor
ingly.
“I beg of you, my daughter, to sum
mon all your fortitude. Your agitation
reacts ou me. You are losing control
of yourself. I am a very ill man.
Govan does not try to deceive me. Sev
eral days ago 1 made Reuben send a
telegram to Thomas Broxton. He may
be here at any moment.”
“Yes, father.” She spoke in a dull
monotone, but her eyes looked tender
est pity into his.
“1 want to beg his pardon.”
“For what, father?” in the same sad
monotone.
“For my bad management of his af
fairs.”
Olivia dropped on her knees by his
bedside. She clasped both her hands
about one of his, as if imploring him
to vindicate his own good name before
he left her.
“But you did the best you could, fa
ther. Of course you did. Oh, I know
you did! I know you did by Thomas
as his father would have done by me
if I had been left a helpless little or
phan like Tom.”
A groan was his only answer.
“There, dear. Dr. Govan will scold
me sharply for agitating you in this
cruel way. Don't let us talk about it
at all, papa. We believe in each other.
There, now. Go to sleep in your
naughty Ollie’s arms.”
She laid her soft cheek against his
and crooned a soft lullaby. He stroked
her shining hair caressingly.
“Olivia, my darling, you heard that
old woman's terrible charges. She
hurled them at me over this precious
head.”
She lifted her head and looked at
him gravely.
“She knows better now, father.’
“Knows better now?”
He repeated the words after her with
labored slowness. He looked bewil
dered. Olivia smoothed the gray hair
back from his furrowed forehead with
a slow, mesmeric motion.
“Poor old ‘Mother’ Spillman is dead,
father. She is at rest. I think Miss
Malvina is scarcely sorry. She says
life has been such a burden to her
mother for a great many years that
death meant release. She says her
mother was very ‘queer.’ ”
“And she is gone, actually gone? Do
you know it to be a fact, child?” He
labored to lift himself into a sitting
posture.
“I know it to be a fact, father. I
saw her myself, dead. She looked so
quiet, so serene. She is at rest.”
“You saw her. Then you have been
to the Spillman cottage. What did you
go there for?” His voice rang out in
hallenge.
She shrank away from him until the
file of pillows with which Reuben had
propped him into a sitting posture hid
her pallid face from him. Was he go
to force her to say why she had
gone to the Spillman cottage? If he
did, must she lie? Instead he spoke
to her in the gentlest of voices. Rath
er did lie seem to plead for mercy than
upbraid her.
“Don't cower behind my pillows, my
poor child. Come where I can look
into your dear eyes. You have noth-
g to be ashamed of, Olivia. I know
hat took you there. You went in
search of a vindication for your most
unhappy father.” Her head drooped
until it touched his pillows. “You
thought to learn something more about
the papers which she claimed to be
holding for Thomas.”
“Yes, father.”
A gleam of gratification shot into
the shrewd eyes of the dying man. It
was almost as if his departing soul
paused to score on more pitiful little
triumph.
“Poor old magpie! She overreached
herself. Now they never will be
found.”
“Were they very valuable to—Thom
as—father? That is, if jou don’t mind
telling me, dear.”
“They were—they are,” he amended
slowly, “of uo value to any one. Thom
as would uot be one dollar the weakli
er for the finding of them.”
A silence fell between father and
daughter. The sick man seemed to fall
into a sudden doze. Olivia brought a
lit chair and seated herself as close-
as possible to his side.
The clock struck half past 11. Reu-
beu was to come on watch at mid
night. She twined her small, cool fin
gers about the sinewy wrist that lay
nearest to her and found its pulse.
The moments passed on. She waited.
For what?
The ticking of the clock on the man
telshelf and the beating of her own
heart seemed equally loud. A low
muttering from the sick man’s sunken
lips made her bend her ear quickly.
Every syllable that fell from his lips
now was a thing to be hoarded. In a
state of semiconsciousness Horace
Matthews was doing battle with his
conscience for the last time.
“It was for her sake, for my tender
little child’s sake. Good Lord, forgive
me! She could not battle with the
world in poverty, only a helpless, weak
girl. He is strong; he is young; he is
ambitious. It will all work out right
for him. He will carve out a uau^e and
a fortune for himself. But—but—I am
going to met them. I am going to see
Lucetta, Rufus, all of them. What shall
I say? What can I tell them? Unfaith
ful friend, false steward, sinful man—I
hear them crying it in chorus. Thomas,
forgive me! Lucetta, don’t turn your
dear face away from me! Rufus, friend
of my boyhood.”
He opened his eyes with a start. His
first fully conscious gaze fell upoD
Olivia’s face. Its drawn, frightened
look startled him. He grasped her wrist
with a force that pained her.
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"1 have been dozing. Did 1 talk in my
sleep? Did I say anything silly, as
sleep talkers always do?”
“You talked a little, father, just a lit
tle. There, dear. Don't stare at me so.
You look as if you were angry with
me. It is only I, father, your loving lit
tle daughter. There is no one else here,
no one at all.”
“I know, 1 know—only you, poor lit
tle lonely girl; only you, my precious
one.”
She answered him with a pathetic
little boast.
“Oh. I could have half the town if 1
wanted to! Everybody has been beg
ging to help nurse you. Everybody
holds you in such high esteem, dearest.
But we don’t want them.”
“But we don’t want them,” he echoed
dully. “No, we don’t want them,
won’t last very much longer, my child
I am just waiting to see Thomas, and
then I will go.”
“Father, father, have you no thought
for me?” The wail escaped her un
guarded lips with piercing shrillness.
“No thought for you? God forgive
me, Olivia, there has been room iu my
brain for no one but you. For you, and
you alone, I have lived, I have labored
and”—his voice dropped to a tired
whisper—"yes, sinned.”
“Sinned? Father, take that one word
back. I know you do not mean it.
Take it back in pity for me. Don’t
leave it to me as a horrible puzzle.
It will torture me all the rest of my
days. Death is not the very worst
that can befall us, father. Leave me
the reverence for you that has gilded
all my youug life, father. I know
you have loved me too well. Perhaps
in your tenderness for me you waxed
careless of others’ interests. That was
all, papa. I am sure that was all.’
She was on her knees by the bed.
Her slight frame was quivering under
the storm of emotions no longer un
der her control. The dying man laid
his hand ou her bowed head. When
he spoke, his voice was calm and sol
emn, but very weak.
“True, child, death is not the worst
that can befall. I have confessed
everything to my Maker. I had meant
to confess tojThomas, but mj- strength
ebbs fast. I doubt if I shall be here
when he comes. The temptation to
secure your future against the possi
bility of want was too mighty for me,
Olivia. My idolatrous love for you
turned my boasted strength into weak
ness. Opportunity was my undoing.”
“1 will make restitution, father. He
shall have everything.”
“And blacken my name In the grave?
Restitution lies iu one direction only.
At least my failing senses .can point
out uo other course. You alone can
right the great wrong I have done Ru
fus’ son.”
“I, father?”
“Don’t speak. Listed- to me. Would
you help me undo what I have done
for jour sake?”
She shivered as if an ague had seiz
ed her, but her gaze never left his
face.
You know I would, father! Oh,
you know there is nothing I would not
do for your dear sake!”
A few weeks ago I could not have
humbled myself before my own inno
cent child as I am doing now, mj- dear,
but when the shores of eternity seem
actually in sight the mortal vision
broadens, and we can slough all that
“Only you, poor little lonely girl,”
is mortal of us with contemptuous pity
for its infirmities, its temptations and
its mistakes. I have been an unfaith
ful guardian to Thomas Broxton. You
can make the losses I have brought
upon him as nothing, weighed in the
balances against his happiness.”
A perplexed look came into the wide
eyes fixed upon his face. “I, father?”
“You, and you alone, can turn a curse
into a benediction.”
Again that pathetic “I, father? Oh,
tell me how!”
“Marry Thomas Broxton. He loves
you. You know that he does.”
“But I do not love him, father?”
“Marry—Thomas—Broxton.”
“Father, have you forgotten Clarence,
forgotten that I betrothed myself to
him with j’our full consent? I belong
to Clarence Westover, father, and 1
love him.”
A grayish pallor was creeping over
the sick man’s pinched features. She
did not know that it was death. Shc-
had never before stood in the presence
of the grim conqueror. Her father's
voice was lifted to a clear high note in
a supreme effort to impose his will
upon her:
“Marry Thomas Broxton! I command
it!”
A cold current of air swept across
the bed. Olivia rose quickly to close the
door by which it had entered. Another
hand drew it softly shut from the oth
er side. She turned toward the bed to
enter her final protest against this
monstrous invasion of her rights.
“But, father, would j’ou want me to
live my life out a stupendous false
hood?”
The unseeing eyes stared straight be
yond her; the tired lips fluttered and
drooped; a heavy sigh, stillness—Hor
ace Matthews was done with beseech
ing, done with commanding.
Another Installment of this interesting
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Opium’Morphine nor Mineral.
Not Narcotic.
Jieccpe of Old DrSAML/ELPffiihLH
Pumpkin SetJ-~
J Lx. Senna *
JtexAtUc SJis -
Anise Seed *
/
Jh Car&ona/t Sodas*
fiarm Seed -
Clarified Shgar .
Winfayreon Flavor.
A perfect Remedy for Constipa
tion, Sour Stomach,Diarrhoea,
Worms .Convulsions .Feverish
ness and LOSS OF SLEEP.
Tac Simile Signature of
NEW YORK.
Atb months old
35 Doses- 33CCMS
EXACT COPYOF WRAPPEB.
-c
For Infants and Childs
The Kind You
Always Bought
Bears
Signat
of
For Over
Thirty Years
THE CENTAUR COMPANY, NEW YORK CITY.
41
as S’ Barton Co.’s
,TI IPr- • R A Off A lINI £
Everythin thzi win make ; our home comfortable
sc;ive, ami at, prices to please tnose
of very moderate means.
and attr
etTrrrrrp'
I mill H i
D—3 C* -o—a- j—j j
:.toek of Brass and Enameled
!
Brass and Enameled Beds,!
$4.95 to $25.
Beals arc new in design, low in price,
and can be used with Golden Oak,
mahogany, Bird’s Eye Maple and
white enameled Dressers, Wash-
stands, French Dressing Tables
and Chiffoniers. *
Large Double Beds, light and dark finish $2, $2.50, $3
“ Bedroom Suits, solid oak $13.50, $15, $20
Wardrobes $-) to 535 j Dressers $4 to $35
Chifoniers .$(). 7 5 to $35 j Washstauds $1.75 to $20
ODD PIECES PARLfj.71 pffUhE. AT CLOSING OUT PRICES.
—1 L104 e S,
I JPUJEI:
fiioi
W t
pyyir ? >
’ r :§^ ! Co tut j, 1. i ion Cases,
f:M Book Coses,
-t : Ladies*’ Writing Desks,
:j 1 Dining Tables,
Side Tables, Sideboards,
Kitchen Tables,
Cffco Bo!; Top Desks Hail Hacks
Rockers and Chains for Bedrooms, Dining
Rooms, Parlors, Halls and everywhere, in
endless variety, at prices that will please the
pocket—T)e. to $3.00 each.
Polished Golden Oak or Mahogany finished
Rockers $ : >.9d each, worth
■o.
RtecSuotion
IDEAL NEW HOME
Reliable DOMESTIC
150 SECOND-HAND
in
ewing Machines.
with ab attachments) $25,
M U S f C
TES. .
To A
. each
$35, $45
40, 50
10, 12
BABY CABS, $4.75 to $50.
i risk H 1
No home is attractive without it.
*TPk^ is guaranteed fora life*
time.
Farrand & Voter’s
celebrated Organs for
parlor, church and lodge. If you have not all
the money,-Ave will make terms to suit.
_
SPECIAL SALE.
Rugs, Art Squares mid Lsee Curtains.
34 x 58 inch Union fringed Rugs 48c.; worth 85c.
20 x 46 inch Smyrna “ fiLrc Rugs GOc.; “ $1.00
30 x 60 inch “ “ “ _ “ $1.10; “ 1<
36 x 72 inch “ “ “ “ 1.60; “ 2.50
200 rolls Spring Mattings, 40 yards each . .$3.95 and $6
500 pairs Lace Curtains 29c, 50c, 08c and 75c pair
^^bTcvolTbs.
i00 high gnme SOUDANS, with guaranteed tires, $19.75; worth H
AGENTS FOR BEST FITTINcTsTANDARD PATTERNS.
m
706 to 710 Broadway, Augusta, Ga.
Free Elevator running to upper floors.
REmEmBER
NOVEMBER AND DECEMBER
Is the time to plant Fruit Trees.
Now is the time to order them. . .
CEDAR HILL NURSERY COMPANY
WINCHESTER, TENNESSEE,
Is the Nursery to order from. Thev grow what you want and you set what .von
HONEST PRICES, We pay Reasonable Salaries for Good Salesm -n
For further inlormation and Wholesale Price-List. Address
ulyl.’99—by J. W. SHADOW,manager, Winchester. T-nn
1 u.v af
e ^FECT” SC4f.£.
1 LAST FOREVER.
STEEL TRUSSED LEVERS
COPPER PLATED.
COMBINATION DEhM WITH BEAM BOX,
catalogue: free.
JONES OF BINGHAMTON,
BINGHAMTON. N. Y.
jw. D. BECKWITH,
RESIDENT DENTIST,
Office Over .Gray’si Waynesboro, G?-
Office bouis: 8 to 1 a. m., and fro»‘t
p. m. Specsal attention to crown ana t B
work. Satisfaction guaranteed. s
reasonable. The expense of a trip y
large city saved patrons. sepo, a '