text: yf v^rnvv-. 'fe r.h &>.':• KS *&*•••<• iffikfev RPv- IBv Ma-'", AM* M' \J'r tear KiMJt SB'"--'1 ,||§PPdoor His Doable House By Ylroinla Blair (OofjrlfM, 1811, br AjioelMCd Utuui FraM.) Mrs. Brinkley came over with a fetch of bread for Stephen Strong. "J should think you'd get married," shessid, daringly. 8tephen smiled at her. "How many grfi 1 MM? mes have you said that to me, Mrs. nkley?" "I shall say It an answer." "All that is over for me," bitterly. His head went up, but he smiled sadly, as Mrs. Brinkley laid her wrinkled hand over his big brown we. "I want to see you happy," she said softly. "Oh, I am happy, and I'm getting to be a very good housekeeper." He carried the situation off so lightly that she had nothing else to say, but when she reached the door •he turned and asked sharply, "If frary should come back, what then?" Stephen stared at her. He had never thought of that. He had planned his future with reference only to his bachelor needs. He walked to the gate with Mrs. Brinkley, and when he came back the loneliness of his big double house •truck him with a chill. Stephen's another had been with him until her death, and she and her son had lived |n the newer part The older wing, tarnished quaintly In the style of early Victorian days, was open only •nee a year when Mrs. Brinkley supervised the cleaning and airing. It was Mrs. Brinkley's neighborli Bess which had made it possible for 8tephen to live alone. He loved her not only for herself, but because she had always been a friend of Mary an. ei she had never dared speak to him as she had spoken today. He went about his tasks furiously, try ing to put out of his head the thought of his humiliation and consequent suf fering Outside, it was a night of wind and of fctorm. Within, afire burned on the hearth, and a cat purred in the warmth and glow. Stephen made a cup of coffee for himself and gave the cat some meat and a dish of milk. In younger manhood Stephen had not cared for cats, but now there was something of comfort in the presence of this gentle, white creature. He sat long over the fire that night dreaming. The door was shut be tween his portion of the house and the empty rooms. Suddenly he sat up startled. It seemed to him that somewhere, faintly, he heard the mstle of a woman's dress. He rubbed his hands across his «jre3. He must have fallen asleep, and the swish of the rain on the win dows had caused the illusion. He rose, lighted a lamp and went to bed. He left the cat on a cushion on the hearth. He thought he heard the click of a latch. "It is the wind." be said to himself, and fell asleep. In the morning when he went down the cat was still on the cushion on the hearth rug, but there was something else on the rug—a little fine square of white linen. Stephen picked up the handker- •r£ftj chief and stared at it then he looked at the cat. If only she could speak 00what would she tell? ffo* It was while he Was still standing there that Mrs. Brinkley came run ning over. "Were you in the other part of your house last night?" she •demanded breathlessly. "No." Instinctively Stephen hid the little handkerchief in his big lands. "There was a faint flickering light," Mrs. Brinkley said, "in one of the upper rooms." "You must have been dreaming." "I couldn't have been," Mrs. Brink ley Insisted, "for I called Mr. Brinkley up to look at it." "Dear Mrs. Brinkley," Stephen asked, "who would come into that unheated place on such a night?" "Well," Mrs. Brinkley said, de cidedly, "if I believed in ghost I should say that it was a ghost, and. anyhow, it gave me an awful fright." Stephen switched her from the sub ject by inquiring tactfully about a certain chocolate cake which she had promised to bake for him, and pres ently she flew homeward to beat up and bake. When she had gone Stephen stood still in the middle of the floor. "We've got to look into this, pussy tit," he' said, to the little cat. He went to a drawer and took out a''big key and inserted it softly in the lock of the dividing door. A blast of chill, damp air struck him. He shivered and went on. It was a ghostly place, with the gray winter light sifting through closed blinds. In the parlor there was no sign of any living preseoce, so Stephen as cended the carpeted stairway and came to the landing without having made a sound. And It was there he stopped, listening. Somewhere on that upper floor someone was cough ing! He made his way to the end room. As he approached the open he saw a little figure swathed' in blankets' sitting In a big chair by the window.. .Sto'gpNgLft.lfttto cry and.stood up. The heavy covering fell at her feet Wd VT-"V* Af until you give me Mrs. Brinkley turned and faced Mm. "You've never forgotten Mary Dean?" Nobody had spoken to Stephen of Mary Dean since, ten years ago, she bad Jilted him. *nd ste^ejt.bi%^ a.jti^et. .suit a«d .... 1 -.'„1& '.'•,."- a'Crv^-f: V' 'i-j.'^-'-v.-.vytf:^. ''.V.'"'-'N ."' .V: coat, shivering and shaking, bar cheeks flushed, her eyes bright "Oh, Stephen," she said, "what will you think of me?" He went Up to her and took her hand. "I think this," he said kindly, "that you are very cold and that yon must come down and sit by my flee." "I sat there last night," she said eager'y. "It was so bitter up here that when I heard you go to bed I crept in and shared the warmth with the pussy cat" The tears came in her eyes as she said it, and he saw how weak she was. "You must come right down," he said with authority. "You'll freeze here, Mary." She broke down and sobbed. "Oh, nobody has taken care of me for years," she said. "When my hus band died I tried to get work, and then I was ill, and at last I came back in the storm, and when I passed here I saw the light shining oat, and I wanted to stop and ask your mother to take me In but I watched and saw she wasn't here, and so I crept into the other part of the house. I remembered the way we used to get in when we were children, Ste phen." "And it was your handkerchief I found on the hearth," he said. "Some how I felt that it was yours, Mary." He helped her down the stairway and put her into his own big chair. Then he went for Mrs. Brinkley. "Mary Dean has come back. She's sick with a cold and she needs im mediate attention," he stated. "You'll come, won't you?" Mrs. Brinkley's chocolate cake burned to a crisp while she went on her errand of mercy, but she did not care. She sent Stephen for the doctor. Then she kissed Mary and cried over her and lectured her, and ended by saying, "Stephen is the very best man in the whole wide world." "Oh, don't I know it?" Mary asked. "It seemed to me, Mrs. Brinkley, that if I could only get back here and see Stephen once more I wouldn't care died." "But you are not going to die," said Mrs. Brinkley briskly. "You're go ing to get well and marry Stephen." "Oh, no!" Mary's face flamed. "He'll never forgive me, Mrs. Brink ley." "You get well," said Mrs. Brinkley, "and see how quickly, he'll forgive you. Stephen needs you. He's a lonely man—lonely because of his love for you." In the days that followed Stephen and Mrs. Briniley and the doctor fought for Mary's life. One morning Stephen brought her out and put her into the big chair on the hearth. "You'll be perfectly well in a few days," he said, heartily. Mary looked at him listlessly. "And then," she said, "I must go away." "You are going to marry me," he said, quietly. She would not, she protested, not after the way she had treated him. He urged and argued until at last he brought Mrs. Brinkley in to convince her. "Tell her how I need her." he said. "Mary Dean," said Mrs Brinkley, severely, "are you going to condemn Stephen Strong to keep house with a pussy cat for the rest of his days?" And then Mary gave in, and Mrs. Brinkley baked the chocolate cake for their wedding feast. HAD A SPEECH II^EDIMENT Demosthenes the Orator Trained Him self to Speak by Carrying Peb bles in. His Moutn. Demosthenes was a great orator. For many years he suffered from an impediment in his speech, even before the wine course had been served at dinner. So he trained himself to speak by carrying pebbles in his mouth. Many of our public speakers might adopt this method. If they had a derrick and one or two pieces of chiprock rolling around over their molars they would not talk so long. Demosthenes did not attain much fame as a speaker until he hit on the happy thought of whacking the table with his fist and announcing in bold tones that two and two made four, that the sun rose in the east, that the old flag floated above us, and that hon esty was the best policy. From that day forth his fame was made. When he would arise calmly, smooth down his toga over his bay window, clear his throat, bow and say: "Mr. Toastmaster and Gentlemen: I did not expect to be called upon to speak when 1 came here tonight, and in con sequence am absolutely unprepared to address so brilliant an audience, but there are one or two thoughts which have occurred to me while listening to the talented orators who have 3poken, and with your indulgence I will," etc., the audience settled back in its seats and prepared to enjoy it self. Demosthenes never told the story about the man who ate horseradish for the first time. He could listen with out impatience while some one talk ed two hours to make a ten minute speech. It's No Use. He'was telling ber about a book he had just read. "The absolute sincerity and direct ness of the author," he said, "are above all praises I don't know when Cte, read a book that seemed so help ful^ so uplifting, so purely inspiring." She hsd been regarding him withi rapt countenanoe. Now she spoke. "George," she said, bate Just thought of a war to Mm my ist! Wff #IIP BARBARA. And the. Beast By Borolhy Blacbim Barbara Graham was an artlAt, «nd like most of her kind she was strug gling to keep the wolf from stepping over the threshold of her studio. Practical beyond the usual Tun of young woman possessed of th6 artis tic temperament, she had even gone so far as to make capital out of that same hungry wolf by painting his im aginary image BO For this reason, she had obtained for the summer months an outdoor studio converted from the small back garden of an English basement house. She found it more convenient for her ani mal models and, in lieu of going to the country herself, she found the outdoor work beneficial. Ah old stone wall en closed the garden and ivy and Virginia creepers struggled over it here and there. The small grass plot in the center was edged with bright, old fashioned flowers, and Barbara had added a rustic urn or two to the cor ners. This morning she was putting the finishing touches to a canvas over which she had worked unusually hard. In the picture a big, tri-colored mother cat lay in an overturned basket with her small family about her. Barbara had discovered the feline family In her big rustic' chair one morning when she came down to work and she had taken it as a gift from the gods, for she was in need of a model for a new canvas. She had waited only long enough for the wee kittens to get their eyes open and assume fat and chubby proportions before begin ning to transfer their likenesses to ber canvas. Meantime, she had made the mother cat comfortable in a basket and fed her half a bottle of her own precious milk each morning. This picture, with two others, was to be hung in a small exhibit during the approaching winter. Barbara now had two of her pictures ready, and, for the third, she was wor ried. It was an easy enough matter to go to the animal home and secure a model from which to paint, but Bar bara's heart was set on painting a certain little thoroughbred dog she had seen pass her windows every morning for three weeks. The question was— how to get him! The dog followed his master closely and Barbara could not well accost a stranger and beg to be allowed to paint his pet dog. As she stood putting little touches here and there to the cluster of kittens on her easel and realized that the work before her was finished, she be came more and more obsessed with the desire to paint that white dog for her third picture. She placed great hope in the criticism of the work to be hung this winter and something told her she could do her best work if inspired by that strange little animal. She became restless and, n.aking the kittens comfortable in the righted bas ket, she donned her hat and went forth to walk off her uneasiness. Barbara had been of the idea, ever since she had come to the big city to follow her profession, that if she did exactly what was right at all times, thought evil of no one and harmed no one by deed or word, she would be given all that was her due. She had been brought up with this idea and the teachings of her mother clung to her now that she was alone in the world. Therefore, as she walked she thought, and gradually a peaceful feel ing took the place of the spirit of un rest that had possessed her for days. After a turn through a nearby park she retraced her footsteps toward her studio. When she was within half a block of the house behind which was her work-garden, she was surprised to see the old tri-colored mother cat ap proaching her. It was the custom of the animal, after she had put her ba bies to sleep, to mount the garden wall and go out for air and exercise, but Barbara 'was not expecting to see her gu the public street. "Well,- Puss," Barbara was beginning, and had stopped to pick up the animal when, with a spit and a growl and a rapidly bushing tail, the cat made for the narrow passageway between the houses, a white dog in full pur suit. "My dog!" cried Barbara aloud, and running to peep down the narrow passage. "Oh, if I could only keep him!" she wished aloud. Footsteps came quickly behind her. "I beg pardon, my dog is chasing your cat," said a man's voice benind her. Barbara turned and faced the owner of the dog. "Ho was," Barbara corrected. "She —Puss has climbed the wall and your dog is barking frantically at her." The iuan followed Barbara's direc tion and saw his white dog THE LEON REPORTER, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 1912. realistically that it sold for a goodly sum. Animals were Barbara's specialty. She had been a lover of the dumb beasts ever since she was old enough to love anything, and when she took np her palette and brush, ber fancy seemed to run always to animals. dnnr»ng about in a mad desire to be at the ob ject of his chase. "He's death on cats—is Tchucaats," he explained. "I'm glad he did not get ber. I beg a thousand pardons in his behalf." "It's Fate," Barbara said .half to herself. The man looked at. her oddly.r per haps this, young woman—though Intel* ligent and unusually prettyt-was net ttulte right HrfcprmaHi: BttfldeSly Mr bara looked him squarely in the £9d,bls doubt fled. *v* "1 must explain," she began. "I-r1 am an artist and animals are my forte. I have seen you pass with your dog for days, and ever since 1 laid eyes on him I have wanted to paint him. He Is such a beauty with his long white cost and his pert little body. That's the reason 1 say this is Fate, for now I shall have the temerity to ask if I may use him for a model long enough to get him sketched into the can vaB. I—" "But of course you may," the man interrupted. "Nothing would please me more. I'm proud of Tchucaats as you may well believe when I tell you I brought him all the way from Nome. He is an Esquimau dog and I had a hard time keplng him the first sum mer in this part of the country." "I thought he had come from a cold climate with that coat," Barbara said, her eyes on the now discouraged canine. "Here, Tchucaats," called the man. "Come and make your apologies to—" "Barbara Graham," quickly supple mented Barbara, a rich color spread ing over her face. "Miss Graham," the man repeated, bowing. "And I may paint him?" she asked, all her artist's soul rejoicing. "Most certainly. When will you want him?" the man asked, pulling the ears of the animal beside him. Barbara thought a moment. "I'll have to find a home for my kitties be fore I dare to bring their enemy into the studio," she explained. "Would tomorrow do?" she asked. "The sooner the better—eh, Tchu caats?" the man asked. "I will bring him tomorrow morning and—" pro ducing his card—"this is his owner's name." Barbara took the card. With her eyes on it she confessed to the uncon ventional situation and apologized but her plea was that her one passion in life was to succeed in her art and that if properly inspired she could do bet ter work. The man understood, and left her with the promise to bring his dog on the following morning. It took only a few days—for Bar bara worked constantly—to sketch In the figure of the dog, and then the artist was forced to admit that she could continue the work without the presence of the model. "But it is no trouble for me to leave him—if it would be easier for you," the man insisted. Barbara smiled up at him. "Of course it would be easier, but—" 'Then he shall come," the man in terrupted with a determined expres sion. Barbara said nothing. She was squeezing the contents of a small tube onto her palette with wonted extrava gance. "And—Miss Graham," the man be gan, waiting for her to ansyer him by looking up—"might the master come some day after studio hours, and sit with the artist—if not for her?" "Yes," Barbara answered, "he might if he likes." John Harden sat in the rustic studio many times after that, and when the picture his dog had inspired took an honorable mention at the exhibit he bought it to hang—in their home, his own and Barbara's. WHAT IS A DOORBELL FOR? Cy Pose Insisted That His Neighbors Must Use the Improvements on the House. Cy Pose was considered somewhat of a character round Hickory Forks. When he built his new house, he de clared that It was not going to be a mere place to stay in. He was going to have ail the "frills." Anyway, he had a doorbell, then a new thing in the neighborhood. Soon after the new house was com pleted, Josh Briggs, an old neghbor who lived on the farm just up the road, came over one Sunday afternoon for a little call. It was pleasant fall weather. The windows were all open, but the front door was shut. Josh knocked a little timidely, for everything looked pretty fine. Cy, comfortably rocking in the front room, gave no heed. Josh knocked again—louder. Cy rocked away, silently. Josh grew restive after a moment's' wait and knocked again—a good loud: knock. Cy rocked on. Josh changed feet, wiped his face, puzzled and offended, for he knew the folks were at home. Once more he tried it, a loud, continued knock that resounded over the entire place. Whereupon Cy, still rocking com fortably, yelled: "Ring the doorbell, consarn ye! Don't you know nothin'?"—Youth's Companion. Colored Teeth. Pearly teeth are not the fashion ev erywhere. Firms of artificial teeth manufacturers who have an export trade have to keep in Btock I LEON molars of every shade of color from, white to black There is a steady demand for Dlack teeth in Slam, Java, Batavia, and Burma, where the natives chew the betelnut, which blackens the teeth. For Persia the teeth must be abso lutely milk-white. Recently, an order was received from Bhavnagar, in In dia, for some bright red and blue, arti ficial teeth. Smokers' teeth are regu larly supplied to dentists in shades to match those which have been discol ored by nicotine. Their chauflecr moiu "i^ bobor, cant wen expeot, anything, COURTESY HAS A DEFINITE COMMERCIAL/ MARKET VAIililC, JUST THE SAME! AS A" WAGON LOAD OP CORN OR OATS, AND PAYS LARGE RETURNS. WE KNOW IT PAYS NO WHERE BETTER THAN RIGHT HERE IN OUR BANK, AND IN VITE YOU TO HAVE A PART IN IT BY STARTING AN ACCOUNT. The Reliable Grocery I I I I SATURDAY SPECIAL. BANANAS I5c per doz., 2 for 25c SATURDAY ONLY. CANNED 600DS. 3 cans No. 3 Hominy 25c 3 cans No. 2 Corn 25c, 2 cans No. 3 Maltese Brand Tomatoes. .2§C 2 cans No. 2 Early June Peas... 25c 3 pkg. No. 2 Krinble Cream Flakes... .25c 3 pks. No. 3 Krinble Cream Flakes... .25c HARRY BRADFIELD Pure Food Grocer YOU KEEP THE WOLF FROM THE DOOR most successfully when you possess a bank account. Be saving and yon will be happy. The headB of families ought to teach their children the habit of saving from thielr infancy. In middle age they will have some thing to fall back upon. There is no better protection in case of sickness, death, or sudden lack of-employment than a snug interest-earning sum in the bank. FARMERS ft TRADERS STATE BANK John W. Harvey, President, "ti Phone 23« GOING! GOING! SOLD! That is our business, auctioneering. We cry more sales than all the other auctioneers in Decatur county, and must girt satisfaction or people would not employ us over and over again. NO SALE TOO BIG OR TOO LITTLE FOR US. We will sell your stuff and we will get the very top prices for it every time. Ask any one for whom we have worked. Our sale dates are kept at The Leon: Reporter office, and you can call or phone for your date and it will, be held for you. /J Buchanan & Newlin, Live Auctioneers. Leon, lowa. Thos. Teale, Vice President, Fred Teale, Cashier, T. S. Arnold, Asst. Cashier. •. H. Ik. LAYTON AidtsroanoN mil» J.W.R0M9LL BVOSISB a IOWA C. A. McKern AND Milt Manchester Live Stock Auctioneers. Chas.Penisten West ol Exchange National Bank. c- I do all kinds of repair and custom work in a work manship manner 1 ii? '. 1 11 rrv l&km SIS *& Si ii Hi :m-• Mii J£- ''i ix- See us before you list your sales. Terms per cent. Satisfaction guar anteed or no charges.1 •». 1 iil.i'J!! it F®S. STEWARTJ Licensed Undertaker r'-i- 1 -.Sir P.. 