The RedMirage A Story of the French Legion . in Algiers ' By I. A. R.WYLIE onnl (All rijhti reserved. The Bobbs-MerriU Co.) SYNOPSIS, 11 Sylvia Omney, her lover, Rlclmrrl Far quhar, finds, lias fallen In love with Cap tain Arnaud of the Forelun Lesion. In Captain Sower's room Farquhar forces Sower to have Preston's I O. U's re turned to Mm, Farquhar is helped to his rooms by Gubrielle Smith. Sower demands an apology. Refused, he forces Faniuliai to resign his commission In return for possession of Farquhar's father's writ ten confession that he had murdered Sow er's father. Gabrlelle saves l-'urquhar from suicide. To shield Arnaud, Sylvia's fiance, Farquhar professes to have stolen war plans and tells the real culprit why he did so. As Klclmrd Nameless he Joins the Foreign Lesion and sees Sylvia, now Mme. Arnaud, meet Colonel Destinn. Farquhar meets Sylvia and (Jubrlelle, and learns from Corporal Goetz of the col onel's cruelty. Arnaud becomes a drunk ard and opium smoker. Sylvia becomes friendly with Colonel Destinn. Arnaud becomes jealous of Farquhar. Farquhar, on guard at a villa where a dance is In progress, Is shot down by Arnaud. Ar naud Justifies his insanely jealous action to Colonel Destinn. Arnaud goes to a danc ing girl who loves him for comfort. Ga brlelle meets I-owe, for whom she had sacrificed position and reputation, and tolls him she is free from him. Sylvia mets Destinn behind the mosque. Col. Destinn understands what a mean little soul Sylvia has and she knows he does. As a result of his power over her, do you believe she will surren her herself to him a man with out honor or mercy? CHAPTER XI Continued. She tried to wrench her hands free, the while her eyes remained In help less attendance on his. "Colonel Destinn you are insult ing you have no right" "I am not Insulting. And if I were you would have to listen to me. The power I have over you is yours over me. We belong together, Madame Ar naud, by virtue of our vice. We are both corrupt, worthless you In your way, I iu mine. Hear me out, please! I am a brutal man, and I am tearing down the veil with brutal hands. But no matter you will have It mended by tomorrow. For an hour I choose that you should see clearly. You have hounded two men to their ruin in all innocence. You set yourself on a false pedestal which they could not reach you set them a task which they could not accomplish without using your own methods. They had not your powers of assuming virtue nor my powers of valuing your peculiar worth. The one man virtually committed suicide at the altar of your perfection, the other murder." He stopped entirely. It was as though his own thoughts had engulfed his knowledge of her existence. She drew her hands away, and he made no effort to retain them. "Colonel Destinn," she said gently, "I think you must be mad. Even if the dreadful things you have said were true, why should you sny them to me? I gave you my friendship because you seemed to need it a little, as you sny, because I myself was lonely and un- m. . have done wrong you have thrown a shadow on a friendship that I treas ured. Whatever we have to bear we must bear bravely and with honor." "What do I ask of you?" lie took her hands betw'eeu his own and hold thorn caressingly. "Only what you sny you have given me friendship, but friendship freed from false convention and hypocrisy, friendship that dure be itself and its own law. I'need you. A man's fate lies in your hands." He broke off, and she too was silent. In his silence there was covered irony. In hers fear. Her eyes no longer met Ills. She was gazing fixedly across the plateau to where a chirk stream flowed out from between the banks of olive and came ou swiftly, Its surface. caught by the evening sun, glitteriu In long lines of silver. "Look," she said under her breath. He glanced over his shoulder. A har3h bugle note rang through the peaceful evening stillness, and as though the sound had held enchant ment the stream recoiled, rolled buck on Itself in waves of light, and then amid muffled thunder came to rest, Colonel Destinn nodded. "It is their last camp-out before we go south," he said. "We are going south, Did you know that?' "No," she said In that same low one. "There is the road to be completed my road. Until you came It was my life the thing I deadened my brain with a kind of narcotic. It is the finest military road in Algiers, and in three months it will be finished." He looked her deep into the eyes. "There are limits to human patience. I had not meant to outlive my ambition. It was the term I had set myself. Shall I come back, Sylvia?" She made no answer. She seemed only in part to understand him. But Instinctively she recognized that the pleasant intermezzo of romance which she had played to her own boredom had ended abruptly, leaving her at the mercy of an Incalculable force. This man, as he had said, held the reins. Colonel Destinn laid his hands on her shoulders. "Poor child!" he said almost pityingly. "You canno choose the straight path even to the devil. Who am I to blame? Come, I will make an end for you. You need not choose; leave it to destiny to me. There is only one thing I ask. Before I go south I must say good-by to you. You will come? It is the only answer I shall need." A Jewish woman laden with flow ers came Tound the corner of the mosque, singing a monotonous AraD song. Colonel Destinn bowed. "Au revoir, Madame Arnaud." She turned from him with a little strained smile about her white Hps. "Au revoir, Colonel Destinn." The flower-seller came up to her, of fering her a sprig of Jasmine, and she accepted and paid for it with a me chanical self-possession. Convention had lent her the strength to appear in different. Yet her hand trembled. The woman looked up into her face with a bold smile. Let madame keep the flower ever with her," she said. "It carries a bless ing to a pure heart." Sylvia Arnaud nodded and passed on. task, were also In thefllght, and their extraordinary whiteness and beauty caught Sylvia's wandering attention. What wonderful hands you have!" she said, with a delightful spontaneous enthusiasm. "One would think you spent half your days looking after them which, of course, you can't do.'' "They are heaven's customary com pensation to ugly women," Miss Smith answered, smiling. Sylvia turned away impatiently, and the old pucker of nervous restlessness crept back between her brows. For i few minutes neither woman spoke Then suddenly Sylvia broke the silenci with a rush, as though a deep re Instance had been swept aside by i deeper need of speech. Oo you believe the dead see us Miss Smith?" she asked. ' Miss Smith looked up then, her eye- full of shadowy thought. "I don't know," she answered, to herself. "But there is one thing o; which we can he sure our instinct our conscience. If we feel that t:u dead see us, then we know that wi a:-e standing at the crossroads be- I-H:V;-:-:-.;;:"::i;:-:v,: 5 $ al A f ) $ V " f 1 i mm 1 1 f1? J "Wait a 1 1 , in f CORN FOR GREEN FEED Grow in Drills Wide Enough Apart for Sulky Cultivator. Working Crops Four Times Will Has ten Growth of Plants, Clean Land of Weeds and Put It In Order for Fall Seeding. Corn for feeding green to cows In midsummer or to cure for winter feed should be grown In drills wide enough apart to be worked by the sulky culti vator. Drill the corn in with about 400 pounds of some good bone phos phate to the acre. The corn Biiould be put in. for winter feed not later than HARVESTING ON ACM1LL ISLAND A "Colonel Destinn," She Said Gently, "I Think You Must Be Mad." happy. But does that merit so much brutality in return?" "Forcive me. madame. I m a ruf fian. I have forgotten the language, See, I am pleading with you for my life, my sanity. A soul In hell a soul that you could save cries out to yon as to the last hope of its salvation. Are yon a woman and have not the cour age to hold out a hand from your own grief to a deeper grief, a deeper de spair? Will yon turn away from me, Sylvia?" "Colonel Destinn, we shall neither of as find peace in evil," she said. "Yon CHAPTER XII. The Choice. ' Sylvia Arnaud sat at her small writ ing table beneath the lamp, and before putting her signature to the completed letter before her reread Mrs. Farqu- har's concluding sentences. "You will be pleased to hear that Richard has settled down at last," Mrs. Farquhar had written in her sprawling, reckless hand. "He has taken a ranch In Aus tralia and is doing very well. I have even hopes that some day soon I shall have news from him of the sort dear to every woman's heartthough heaven knows why. He asked me in his last letter to be remembered to you." Sylvia Arnaud sighed and picked up ber pen. T am glad to hear such good things of Richard," she wrote, and then added "Sylvia Arnaud" in prim neat letters, When the envelope had been addressed and closed she sat back with a little exclamation of relief. "How I hate letters," she said Irrita bly. "They are the worst form of so cial hypocrisy without even a cup of tea or nice frocks to make them bear able. You never write letters, do you, Miss Smith?" Miss Smith, intent on mending a beautiful bertha collar of brussels lace, did not look np. "I have no one to whom It is worth while pretending," she said In her di rect way. "And even if they were worth while, I doubt if I should think so." "Yon have really no friends no re lations?" ' "No one." The light from the tall rose-colored lamp behind her fell softly on her bent head and drew warm golden col ors from tne tnlcK colls of hair as usually neatly plaited Into obedience. Her hands, bus; with the delicate Moment, I Have Something to Say to You." tween good ana evil and that we must choose." She got up quickly, for Sylvia Arnaud had dropped forward with her face buried in her hands and the white, beautiful shoulders were quivering. "Madame Arnaud, what is it? Have I hurt you?" "No, not you. But I am unhappy terribly unhappy. I never felt it be fore, but I feel tonight that my brother is dead. Until now I always had hope and now I have none." She lifted her tear-stained, twisted young face to the woman beside her. "I think I loved my brother," she said. "You won't believe me you think I am vain and shallow and heartless, and you may be right I I am not sure of anything except my brother. I have been trying to go right down into my self, but I can only find darkness and confusion. I want to stop thinking to be like I was but I can't. Even my love for my brother doesn't seem so certain. What is it what has hap pened to me?" Gabrlelle Smith did not answer for a moment. She touched the lightly- clasped hands with a gentle compas sion, but her eyes were fixed absently In front of her. "I don't know," she said. "I expect we all feel like that sometimes when we stop taking ourselves for granted. Or perhaps unknown to you the crisis is there.v "The crisis?" Outside In the court yard Sylvia Arnaud's ear had caught the sound of heavy footsteps. She rose with a painful change of expression, then, as she saw her companion's face, became calm, gently indifferent, with out trace of the sudden outburst save for the heightened color, the feverish brightness of her eyes. Desire Arnaud glanced at her as he entered. She had resumed her corre spondence and did not turn, but the quiet disparagement of her attitude seemed too usual to affect him. He crossed the room and, tossing his kepi on the table, sank wearily in the chait which Gabrlelle had Just vacated. Hie uniform was soiled and dust-stained, and the fine yellow sand of the desert seemed to have crept into the deep fur rows of his face, marking them out as with a merciless pencil. Gabrlelle Smith turned from him, and went quietly to the tea table and began to pour out But he did not seem to see her. The whole man had sunk Into a heavy stupor, beyond the reach of sound apparently, without knowledge of bis surroundings. Yet at his wife rose from her place he stirred, his eyes followed under the heavy whlte-lashed lids. "Wait a moment I have something to say to you." She stopped. Her fair head was thrown back slightly; her features would have been expressionless but foi the faint suggestion of contempt about the mouth. Has Arnaud learned of Syl- 0. vla't meeting with Col. Deitlnn, $ : and In his madness, Is he about to shoot her and then commit :j suicide? $ T LAST we came where the road ended and stood opposite the seldom visited Island of Achill Beg. There was only one thing for us to do that was to shout and shout until someone on the island heard us and launched a boat to ferry us across, writes a traveler to the Emerald Isle, In Ireland. We talked while we waited about the ultra-nationalism of the friend we were going to visit. There had been a project to build a causeway from this peninsula of the mainland to the is land of his sojourn. Our friend ob jected because he did not want the 25 families he lived amongst to be cor rupted by an alien culture. We shout ed again. Then we saw a stir on the island and knew that a boat was being launched. Another wayfarer had come up and was waiting to cross over with us. This was a young woman who thought little of nursing her baby while she waited. She had taken the child to some far-away dispensary upon the peninsula and had received a pronouncement upon its sickness. Now she held It and talked to It as if it was a treasure as If it was won derful she had got the child back so far. This young woman took our phrases in Gaelic as good conversa tional coin. Most native speakers talk to learners either scornfully or patronizingly, but she talked trusting ly, as if we had the Gaelic "like the flowing sea," aB they say. It was evi dently that our friend on the island had brought no hint of paucity In Gaelic speech. He lived with one of the Island families In the utmost discomfort Meat the people seldom saw, and they burnt It when they undertook to cook it. They boiled potatoes well enough But no amount of repetition could get them to make drinkable tea. Our friend had a room that had no catch on its door and he was waited upon by a barefooted girl. His mental nour ishment seemed as zestless as his physical fare. There were bookB on his shelf, but they were dictionaries, grammars, textbooks, handbooks, ex ercises in translation, volumes of propagandist journals. There was one thing In the room that promised some delight our friend's fiddle. We knew how well he could play the music of fishers and shepherds of Gae lic Scotland and Ireland. a.. (TO BE CONTINUED.) New Use for Hopvlnes. One of the latest results of the et forts of Germany's scientists to aid the fatherland is the discovery thai hopvlnes make an excellent materia; for paper, Jute and charcoal. A Stronghold of Gaelic. He held this remote island as lonely post In a battle that seemed long lost a battle of languages and civilization. Gaelic might be surren dered or sold on the mainland or in the big Islands, but here 25 families would be drilled to hold and keep It. Actually he had made this island the one spot In the British islands where English is a decaying language. He had found It flourishing here and Gae lic weak and ready to give out. He had restored Gaelic. The young men and young women who would spend six months of the year in the fields of England and East Scotland spoke no English here. We saw him fling the door open and dart out like a weasel when he heard an English phrase used by someone in the main room. But the harvester was speak ing of "The Midland Great Western Railway" and how could a name like that be put into Gaelic? He was giving a. lecture that night, and we followed him as he went, lan tern In hand, to the schoolhouse. We passed closed houses before which geese seemed to sleep standing. We walked amongst ducks that gave one the impression that they were truants from school they slipped Into pools of water and pushed out. "They'll say nothing about it; they'll say nothing about It," they told each other In quacking undertones. We crossed the stepping stones and came to the schoolhouse. Inside we lighted lamps and waited. Have you teen a herd of mountain ponies break down a road? So they rushed In, the Island glrio who came to our rriena s lecture. No one e!r,e i came. They (lung themselves about ' the room until they were winded. Then they became less disorderly. At ture. When he was three-quarters through they showed some disposition to break away. But the power of the human eye held them for a space long er. Then It became necessary to ap ply the voice threateningly: "Now Brighid," "Now Oona," "Now Slav." At last, by opening wide the door, he signified that the lecture was over. Brighid, Oona, Slav, Cauth and the others bolted out. Comfort of Peat Fires. The peat fires make it possible to live In houses that are drenched with constant rain. On the outside walls where the thatch drips down you see the green of the damp. But Inside, with the pile of burning peat on the hearth, everything is dry and warm. Naturally, the people do not keep their good friends the horse or the cow from the kindly warmth. The family sits about the fire, and at the end of the room the horse stands as quiet and as well-behaved as a guest could be. From Infancy the children are in timate with the animals; at three one can drive the cow where it should go, at five one rides on a pony behind hampers of sea weed. The people have a fuller life than those who have no friendliness with horses or cattle. And yet we have heard H. O. Wells speak of such people as parasites liv ing upon animals. We suppose it would be impossible for the great pro phet of machinery to understand that people may live with animals, and be better human beings for the experi ence. In the house where my friend stays, around the fire In the living room, a few young men are seated. They are not dressed In the flannels of the Is land, nor in the ready mades one might buy In a town on the mainland, but In ragged clothes that suggest Lanca shire. They are returned harvesters. From April until October the young men and women of the Island work for the farmers of England and East Scotland, crossing over with the gangs that go from the west of Ireland. For the rest of the year the young men stay on the island, putting in their time working on fields on which the plow cannot be put or fishing In boats that do not go miles out to sea. The main Income of the island is earned abroad. The young men and women come back with from 12 to 20 In their pockets. This goes to pay the rent, the shop debts, or buys tea and the hag of flour or meal. The English that the young men can speak Is scanty and Is eked out with a good many oaths. Abroad they have the name of being good workers. Music of Crickets and Sea. In our friend's room the peat fire is lighted also. He takes up his fiddle and sits down on his bed until the barefooted girl comes into the room with an apron full of peat. The fire Is renewed, and It is time to go to bed. A mattress Is laid on the floor, and our friend shows us how to make a sailor's bed, folding the blanket into a sleeping bag, into which we insert ourselves. Then we lie down at the fire. The visitors have left the room above and the people of the house have gono to bed. It is now the hour of the crickets. They riot about the firo In the living room, making a continuous noise. And the noise of the crickets has for a background the noise of the sea a score of yards from the house it dashes upon the island. But at last comes sleep, and we hear no more un til a sea bird cries in the silence of the morning. Then a young harvester comes into the room with another arm ful of peat, and the Arc, which was slumbering down in the ashes, breaks up again. Bread and tea and eggs soon come our way, and our friend talks of taking us to shoot wild goats on the high places of the peninsula. Root Development of Corn In Poorly Drained Soil. latter part of May, says a writer In the Baltimore American, Drill one bushel of largo, sound, selected corn to the acre; this will allow ten to twelve grains tq the running foot In the 42 inch rows. The ground should be in good order. After drilling roll the field, the corn can then bo worked with the double section smoothing harrow before the grain germinates. Work the crop four times; this will hasten the growth ot corn and clean the weeds and put it in nice order for fall seeding. It the ground is mellow and rich, nearly every stalk will grow a single ear of corn. The time to cut the fod der is when the grain Is in the dough and the lower loaves commonce to turn yellow. Cut with the self-rake reaper, make small bundles, let the fodder wilt for a day or so, then set up, putting six to eight bundles to the Bhock. Make the Bhock as fol lows: Take three armfuls for the horse, tie securely in the middle, then set the other five armfuls evenly all around, make an even shock, tie se curely with tarred twine. Make straight, even-shock rows. ' After the fodder settles they should be tied tighter. We do not bind the bundles, the fodder keeps better when the fod der is put into the shock and pressed close with the hands. Drilled corn fodder, set up by this method, will keep dry and sweet and better In the shock than when packed in the barn. Corn grown by this method for fod der will average four to five tons ot cured dry fodder to the acre, by actu- Eighteen of One Family Killed In War. Court Chamberluln Count Carl von Wedel-Plcsdorf, the head cf ono of the most distinguiHhed aristocratic fam ilies In Germany, reports that Blnce the beginning of the war five counts and thirteen barons Von Wedel have given their lives for their country. Seventeen other members of the fam- last, having trepanned them between ' i'y have been bai'Jy wounded and five school desks, our friend began his lec- slightly wounded. In Well-Drained Soli Roots Go Deep and Are Not So Affected by Drought. al weight, and makes, next to first crop clover hay, a most substantial winter forage for all stock. By drill ing early in wide rows and giving thorough culture, the corn gets an abundance ot sunshine and air, and has the full benefit of all plant food. The stalks have plenty of silica and are not easily blown down by heavy wind and'rain storms, and there is no difficulty In harvesting and curing the crop. Corn for fodder should never be sown broadcast or too thick in the row, as such stalks contain nothing but water and are worthless for feed. Fodder contains the most sugar and is In the best condition to feed green, or to cure, when the milk Is Just out ot the grain and the grain is In the dough stage. CLEAN STALLS AND BEDDING Milk Is Tainted With Foul Odors Very Quickly After It Is Poured Into Receptacle. The cow should have a clean bed ding every night, and all filth should be removed from the stall early In the morning. The milk is tainted with foul odors very quickly after It goes Into the bucket. The stall must then be kept scrupulously clean.' It Is a good plan to keep walls whitewashed and all dust should be well brushed from them,