I'5, t —-THE _
I Story of Francis Cludde
A Romance of Queen Mary's Reign.
BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN.
; .
CHAPTER XIX.
Tllo bitterness of that hour long
(past, when he had left me for death,
■when he had played with the human
longing for life and striven without
thought of pity to corrupt me by
hopes and fears the most awful that
•mortals know, was in my voice as I
spoke. I rejoiced that vengeance had
come upon him at last, and that I was
Its instrument. I saw the pallor of a
great fear creep into his dark chock
and read in his eyes the vicious pas
sion of a wild beast trapped and felt
no pity. “Master Clarence,” I said and
laughed—laughed mockingly. “You do
not look pleased to see your friends,
or perhaps you do not remember me.
'Stand forward, Master Bertie. May bo
.'be will recognize you.”
, But though Master Bertie came for
ward and stood by my side, gazing
at him, the villain's eyes did not for
an instant shift from mine. "It Is the
man!” my companion said after a
'solemn pause, for tho other, brenth
;!ng fast, made no answer. "He was
a spy in the i .»y of Bishop Gardiner,
when I knew him. At the bishop’s
(death I heard that he passed into the
(service of tho Spanish ambassador, the
'Count do Feria. Ho called himself at
(that time Clarence. I recognize hint."
Tho quiet words had their effect.
(From full one half of the savago
•crew round us a fierce murmur rose
‘more terrible than any loud outcry, yet
.this seemed a relief to tho doomed
man. He forced himself to look away
'from me and to confront the dark
•ring of menacing faces which hemmed
•him In. The moment ^ie did so he
.appeared to find courage and words.
j*'They take me for another man!" ho
'cried In hoarse accents. "I know noth
ing (<f them!” and he added a fearful
(oath. “He knows mo. Ask him.”
I Ho pointed to Waiter Kingston,
■who was sitting moodily on a tram
outside the ring, and who alone had
(not risen under the excitement of my
ichallenge. On being thus appealed to
(he looked up suddenly. "If I am to
Choose between you,” he said bitterly,
I"and say which Is the true man, I
'know which I shall pick.”
“Which?” Clarence murmured.
'"Which?" This time his tone was dtf
jferent. In his voice was tho ring of
(hope.
, "I should give tny vote for you,”
(Kingston replied, looking contemptoua
ly at him. "I know something about
you, but of tlie other gentleman I
'know nothing.”
, "And not much of the person you
.call Crewdson," I retorted fiercely,
"since you do not know his real name.”
“I know this much," the young
man answered, tapping his boot with
jhis scabbard with studied carelessness,
(“that he lent me some money and
■seemed a good fellow and one* that
hated a nmsg priest. That is enough
for me. As for his name, it Is his
(fancy perhaps. You call yourself Carey.
‘ ‘Well, I know n good many Careys,
■but I do not know J’irO. nor ever
heard of you.”
f i swung round on him with a hot
check. But challenge which was upon
■my tonguo was anticipated by Mas
ter Bertie, who drew me forcibly back.
■•‘Leave this to me, Francis," he said,
/■"and do you watch that man. Mas
ter Kingston and gentlemen,” he con
tinued, turning again to them and
drawing himself to his full height ns
die addressed them, "listen If you please.
/You know me, if you do not know my
(friend. Tho honor of Richard Bertie
lias never been challenged until to
gilght. nor ever will bo with Impunity.
‘Leave my friend out of the question
tfind put me In It. I. Richard Bertie,
isay I hat that man Is a paid spy and
informer, come here In quest of blood
hbotycy, and he, Crowdson, a nameless
Tnnn. says that I lie. Choose between
or look at him and Judge. Look!”
He was right to bid them look. As
the savage murmur rose again and
d»ok from the wretched man his last
hope, as the ugliness of despair and
(Wicked, Impotent passion distorted his
face, he was Indeed the most deadly
witness against himself.
The lights which shone on treach
erous weapons half hidden or on the
glittering oyes of cruel men whose
blood was roused fell on nothing so
dangerous as the livid, despairing face
■which, unmasked and eyed by all with
aversion, still defied us. Traitor and
■spy as he was, he had tho merit of
courago at least. He would die game.
And even as I, with a first feeling of
(pity for him, discerned this, his sword
was out, and with a curse he lunged
at me.
Fsnruddocke saved me by a bullet
■which sent me reeling against the
wall, so that tho villain’s thrust was
spent on air. Before he could repeat
It four or five men flung themselves
s. (Upon him from behind. For a moment
there was a great uproar, while the
group surrounding him swayed to and
fro as he dragged hts captors up and
down with a strength I should not
have expected. But the end was cer
tain, and we stood looking on quietly.
In a minute or two they had him down,
and disarming him bound his hands.
Fui me he seemed to have a special
hatred. "Curse you,” ho panted, glar
ing at me ns he lay helpless. "You
have been my evil angel! From the
first day I saw you you have thwarted
me In every plan, and now you have
brought me,to this!"
) "Not I, but yourself," I answered.
curse upon you!" he cried again,
tho rage and hate In his face so ter
rible that I turned away shuddering
and sick at heart. "if I could have
killed you,” he cried, "I would have
died contented.”
“Enough!’’ interposed Penruddocke
briskly. "It is well for us that Master
■Bertie and his friend came here lo
night. Heaven gram It be not too
late! We do not need." he added, look
ing round, "any more evidence I
think?"
The dissent was loud, and, save for
Kingston, who still sat sulking apart
unanimous. %
••Death?" said the Corntshman
Quietly.
No one spoke, but each man gave a
brief, stern riod.
"Very well,” the leader continued;
‘‘then I propose”—
“One moment,” said Master Bertie
Interrupting him. "A word with you
apart, with our friends’ permission.
Ton can repeat It to ihem af'.ei ward.”
He drew Sir Thomas aside, and they
retired Into the corner by the door,
where they stood talking in whispers.
I had email reason to feel sympathy
for the man who lay there tied and
doomed to die like a calf. Yet even I
shuddered—yes, and some of the
hardened nun round me shuddered al
so at the awful expression in his eye,
ns, without moving his head, he fol
lowed the motions of the two by the
door. Pome faint hope spilnging Into
being rung his soul and brought the
©respiration In great drops to his fore
Ihesd. I turned away, thinking gravely
of the early morning three years ago
j when he had tortured me by the very
1 same hopes and fears which now
J racked his own spirit.
Penruddocke came back, Master
| Ilerlie following’ him.
"It must not be done tonight,” he an
| nounced quietly, with a nod which
I meant that he would explain the rea
j son afterward. ‘‘We will meet again
I tomorrow nt 4 in the afternoon, in
stead of at 8 In the evening. Until
then two must remain on guard with
him. It Is right he should have some
time to repent, and be shall have It.”
This did not at once find favor.
"Why not run him through now?”
said one bluntly, "and meet tomorrow
at some place unknown to h>m? If we
come here again, we shall, likely
enough, walk straight Into the trap.”
"Well, have It that way, If you
please,” answered Sir Thomas, shrug
ging his shoulder. “But do not blame
me afterward If you find we have let
slip a golden opportunity. Be fools if
you like. I dare say It will not make
much difference In the end!”
He spoke at random, but he knew
how to deal with his crew, It seemed,
for on this those who had objected as
sented reluctantly to the course he
proposed. "Bnrnes and Walters are
here In hiding, so they had better be
the two to guard him,” he continued.
"There Is no fear that they will be
Inclined to let him go!" I looked nt
the men whom the glances of their
fellows singled out and found them
to belong to the little knot of fanatics
I had before remarked —dark, stern
men, worth, If the matter over came'
to fighting, all the rest of the band put
together.
“At 4, tomorrow', then, wo meet.,"
Sir Thomas concluded lightly. ‘‘Then
we will deal with him, never fear! Now
It Is near midnight, and we must be go
ing. but not all together, or we shall
attract attention.”
Half an hour later Master Bertte
and I rode softly out of the courtyard
and turned our fuers toward the city.
The night wind came sweeping across
ihe valley of the Thames and met us
full In the face as we reached the
brow of the hill. It seemed laden with
melancholy whispers. The wretched 1
enterprise., Ill conceived, 111 ordered,
and In its very nature desperate, to
which we were in honor committed,
would have accounted of Itself for any
degree of foreboding. But the scene
through which we had just passed, and
on my part the knowledge that I had
given up a fellow being to death, had
their depressing Influences. For some
distance we rode In silence, which I
was the first to break.’
"Why did you put off his punish
ment?" I asked.
"Because I think he will give us In
formation in the Interval,” Bertie an
swered briefly. “Information which
may help us. A spy Is generally ready
to betray his own side upon occasion."
“And you will spare him If ho does?"
I asked. It seemed to me neither
justice nor mercy.
"No," he said, “there Is no fear of
that. Those who go with ropes round
their necks know no mercy. But
drowning men will catch at straws, and
ten to one ho will babble.”
I shivered. “It is bad business,” I
said.
He thought I referred to the con
spiracy and he Inveighed bitterly
against It, reproaching himself for
bringing me Into It and for his folly
In believing the rosy accounts of men
who had all to win and nothing save
th^lr worthless lives to lose. "There Is
only one thing gained," he said. "We
are likely to pay dearly for that, so
we may think the more of It. Wo have
been the means of punishing a vlllnin.”
“Yes,” I said, "that Is true. It was
a strange meeting and a strnnge rec
ognition. Strongest of all that I should
be called up to swear with him."
"Not strange," Master Bertie an
swered gravely. "I would rnther call
It providential. Bet us think of that
and he of better courage, friend. We
hnve been used: we shall not be east
away hefore our time.”
I looked back. For some minutes I
had thought I heard behind us a light
footstep more like the pattering of a
dog than anything else. I could see
nothing, but that was not wonderful,
for the moon was young and tho sky
overcast. "Do you hear some one fol
lowing us?" I said.
Master Bertie drew rein suddenly, and
turning in the saddle we listened. For
a second I thought I still heard the
sound. The next It ceased and only
the wind toying with the November
leaves and sighing away In the distance
came to our ears. "No,‘ he snld, “I
think It must have been your fancy, I
hear nothing."
But when we rode on the sound be
gan again, though at first more faintly,
as If our follower had learned prudence
and fallen farther behind. "Do not stop,
but listen!” I said softly. "Cannot vou
hear the pattering of a naked foot
now?”
"I hear something,” he answered. "I
am afraid you are right and that we
are followed."
“What Is to be done?” I said, my
thoughts busy.
“There Is men wood In front," he an
swered, "with a little open ground on
this side of it. We will ride under the
trees and then stop suddenly. Perhaps
we shall be able to distinguish him ns
he crosses tho open behind us.” We
made the experiment, but as if our fol
lower had divined the plan his footstep
ceased to sound before we hnd stopped
our horses. He had fallen farther be
hind. "We might ride quickly back,”
I suggested, "and surprise him.”
"It would be useless," Bertie an
swered. "There Is too much cover
close to the road. Bet us rather trot
on and outstrip him.”
We did trot on, and what with the
tramp of our horses as they swung
along the rc?.-l and the sharp passage
of the wind by c.:r oars we heard no
more of the footstep behind. But when
'vo presently pulled up to brenthe our
horses—or rather within a few minutes
of our doing so—there It was behind us
nearer au.l louder than before. I shiv
ered as I listened, and presently, acting
on a sudden Impulse, I wheeled my
horse round and spurred him back a
dozen paces along the road,
j I pulled up.
There was a movement In the shadow
; of the trees on my right, nnd I leaned
j forward, peering In that direction,
i Gradually I made out the lines of a
; figure standing still, as though gazing
! at rr<*—a strange, distorted figure,
crooked, short and In some way, though
; no lineament of the face was vtr.ibie,
j expressive of a strange and weird
| malevolence. It was the witch! The
j "itch whom I had seen In the kitchen
} nt the gatehouse. How, then, had she
; come hither? How had she, old, lame
'decrepit, kept up with us?
I trembled as she raised her hand,
ilenrl standing otherwise motionless
| pointed at me out of the gloom. The
■ • boroe under me was trembling, too—
[ trembling violently, with Its ears laid
back, and as she moved Its terror In
creased, It plunged wildly. I had to
give for a moment all my attention to
it, and though I tried in mere revolt
against the fear which I felt was over
coming me to urge It nearer my efforts
were vain. After nearly unseating me
the beast whirled round, and getting
the better of me galloped down the
roai! toward London.
"What is it?” cried Ma.sl.or Bertie as
I came speedily up with him. He had
ridden slowly on. "What is the mat
ter?”
"Something in the hedge startled it,”
I explained, trying to soothe the horse.
"1 could not clearly see what It was."
“A rabbit, r dare say," he remarked,
deceived by my manner.
“Perhaps it was.” I answered. Some
Impulse, not unnatural, led me to say
nothing about what I had seen. I was
not quite sure that my eyes had not de
ceived ine. I feared his ridicule, too,
though he was not very prone to ridi
cule. And above all I shrank from ex
plaining the medley of superstitious
fear, distrust and abhorrence In which
I held the creature who had shown so
strange a knowledge of my life.
We were already near Hoi born, and
reaching without further adventure a
modest inn near the Bars we retired to
a room we had engaged and lay down
with none of the gallant hopes which
had last night formed the subject of
our talk. Yet we slept well, for de
pression goes better with sleep than
does the tumult of anticipation, and I
was up early and down In the yard
looking to the horses before London
was well awake. As X entered the stable
a man lying curled up in the straw
rolled lazily over, and shading his eyes
glanced up. Apparently he recognized
me, for he got slowly to ills feet. "Morn
ing!" he said gruffly.
I stood staring at him, wondering if I
had made a mistake.
"What are you doing here, my man?”
I said sharply when I had made certain
I knew'him, and that he was really the
surlv hostler from the Gatehouse tavern
at Hlghgate. "Why did you come here?
Why have you followed us?”
"Come about your business," he an
swered. "To give you that.”
I took the note he held out to me.
"From whom?" I said. Who sent It
by you?”
"Cannot tell, " he replied, shaking his
h ea d.
"Cannot or will not?” I retorted.
"Both," he said doggedly. "But
there! If you want to know what sort
of a kernel is in a nut, you don't shake
the tree, master—you crack the nut.”
I looked at the note he had given
me. It was but a slip of paper folded
thrice. The sender had not addressed
or sealed or fastened it in any way,
had taken no care either to Insure its
reaching its destination or to prevent
prying eyes seeing the contents. If
one of our associates had sent it, ha
had been guilty of the grossest care
lessness, "You are sure it is for me?”
I said.
"As sure as mortal can be,” he an
swered. “Only that It was given me
for a man, and not a mouse! You are
not afraid master?"
I was not, but he edged away as he
spoke and looked with so much alarm
at the scrap of paper that it was
abundantly clear he was very much
afraid himself, even while he derided
me. I saw that If I had offered to re
turn the note he would have backed
out of the stable and gone off there and
then as fast ns his lame foot would let
him. This puzzled me. However, I
rend the note. There was nothing in
It to frighten me. Yet. as I read the
color came Into my face for it con
tained one name to which I had long
been a stranger.
"To Francis Cludde,’ it ran. "If you
would not do a thing of which you will
miserably repent ail your life, and
which will stain you In the eyes of all
Christian men, meet me two hours be- !
fore noon at the cross street of St. |
Botolph's, where you first saw Mistress |
Bertram. And tell no one. Fail not I
1o come. In heaven's name, fall not!”
The note had nothing to do with the !
conspiracy, then, on the face of it, rays- j
tcrious as it was and mysteriously as it I
came. “Look here!” I said to the man.
"Tell me who sent it. and I will give
you a crown.”
"I would not tell you," he answered
stubbornly, "If you could make me king
of England! No, nor king of Spain
too! You might rack me. and you would
not get It from me!”
His one eye glowed with so ob
stinate a resolve that I gave
up the attempt -to persuade and
turned to examine the message
Itself. Bat here I fared no better. I
did not know the handwriting, and
there was no peculiarity in the paper.
I was no wiser than before. “Are you
to take back any answer?" I said.
"No,” he replied, “the saints be
thanked for the same! But you will
bear me witness," he went on anxious
ly, “that I gave you the letter. You
will not'forget that or say that you
have not had It? But there!" he added
to himself as he turned away, speaking
in a low voice, so that I barely caught
the sense of the words, "what is tha
use? She will know!"
(Continued Next Week.)
Pioneer of Predigestion.
From the New York World.
Ferdinand Schumacher, the dead “oat
meal king,” deserves more than a passing
tribute. He had won a double niche in
the temple of fame. He will rank with the
Morses, McCormicks and Edisons as a
hero of Invention, and among the Have
meyers and Armours as a captain of In
dustry.
Schumacher found the American break
fast table a chaos of pancakes, hot bls
suit and pie, and he left it a sweet sym
phony of cereals and cream. He was an
apostile of predigestion among a dyspep
tic people. Under his diet manipulation
the despised grain which Dr. Johnson said
was food for horses in England and for
men in Scotland was transformed Into a
gastronomic delight. Will Edinburg have
no monument to the Hanoverian immi
grant who carried abroad the celebrity of
its "gran’ fuid,” as Davy Ballour’s laird
called it? The pink cheeks of a million
schoolboys testify to the reform Schu
macher wrought in a nation’s dietary.
Thanks to him, corn, rye, barley and all
the farinaceous grains now supply bone
and sinew to the populace.
In a record of Schumacher’s achieve
ments his contributions to American lit
erature should not be overlooked. He was
the Maecenas of the 10-cent magazine.
The muck-rakers may have had the glory,
but the true story of the success of many
a periodica! Is to be read In the break
fast food advertisements. The muse
would have been on short rations but for
the cereals.
The Art of Punctuation.
From the Boston Transcript.
Returning from school the other aft
ernoon, little Edith proudly informed
her mother that she had learned how
to ‘ punctuate."
“You see, mamma," explained Edith,
when you write ‘scat’ you put a hat
pin after it, and when you ask a ques
tion. then you put down a button
hook.” ^ _
Mr. Elsenstein—I vant my boy to
learn some odder languages besides der
I English.
} The Professor—All right; which do
| you prefer, Spanish, Italian, Russian or
French?
Mr. Elsenstein—Vich ist der cheapest?
Some of the great Atlantic liners em
ploy 1B0 firemen.
FOR FEMININE EYES
i
MORNING FROCK OF PINK CHAMBRAY.
The accompanying sketch shows a becoming and smart morning gown of
chambray—linen, percale or gingham also being suitable for such a gown. The
short skirt was cut in two parts, the upper part being joined to the lower under
a stitched tuck. Bands trimmed the bodice and skirt, the frock fastening at
the left side of the front. The low turndown collar was of white hand em
broidered linen, and was -worn with a tie of black satin.
♦ FOUR SEASONABLE F
F DESSERT SUGGESTIONS F
+4-FT-FF-f •F-F-f-F-f-F-F-f-f-F-F-f-f-f-F-f-fF-t
Preserve Melons for Winter.
Take watermelons about this time of the
year and cover them with a thick coat of
varnish, being sure to have them thor
oughly covered to insure air tightness. Put
away in a cool, dry place, and they can
be served all winter.
Cream of Strawberry Pie.
Make a shell and six strips of puff paste;
plain pastry will do. To one box of crush
ed strawberries add o-ie-half cupful of
sugar; thoroughly blend, cover, and set
aside. Whip one cupful of rich sweet
cream until it begins to thicken, then slow
ly add one-half cupful of powdered spgar
and continue to whip until it is quite
thick; then add one-half teaspoonful of
manilla extract. Mix the strawberries with
the cream and fill the pie. Then lay the
strips on top. Serve at once. A delicious
pie, quickly and easily prepared.
Blueberry Pudding.
Beat three eggs separately, add the yolks
to one cup of sugar creamed with one
tablespoon of butter; add alternately two
cups of flour, sifted with three teaspoons
of baking powder, and one cup of milk.
Flavor with a little nutmeg and add more
flour, If necessary, to make a soft bat
ter. The last moment fold in the whites
of the eggs beaten stiff and one-half tea
spoon of salt and a quart of berries well
dredged in Hour. Bake half an hour and
serve with cherry sauce. Cream one
quarter cup of butter, add one cup sugar
and one cup of stoned cherries.
Raspberry Mousse.
Mash a quart of berries, add one-half
cup of powdered sugar and one table
spoonful of granulated gelatin which has
been soaked In cold water and dissolved
in one-quarter cup of hot water. Sir un
til the mixture begins to thicken, then add
one cup of cream beaten stiff, and fold in
one banana cut in thin slices. Turn into
a mold, pot on ice, and after three hours
serve with sponge cake.
CANDLES FOR TIRED EYES.
When the excessive light of the gas
Jet or the electric bulb tires weak eyes,
resort to the good old tallow candle.
In sick rooms, where a candle would
do the best service during the night,
it is entirely forgotten, and the tired
eyes of the Invalid are forced to endure
a light that perhaps is constantly
working injury and adding nervous
ness to the other malady.
Candles could also easily be used to
economize on the gas bill.
Furnishing a holder with one for
each bedroom can be done at small
cost with good result.
Shades might also be bought for
them at a small cost and give them
even a neater appearance and save
them from flickering in airy rooms.
For the sick room wax candles are
preferred, as they never produce smoke
or smell.
They seem to soothe the nerves of
the Invalid, and in this way help to
produce a restful night.
In spite of the fact that the Univer
sity of Moscow does not admit women
students it is to have the first woman
professor ever appointed in Russia. Dr.
Donehakova is the woman. She is a
graduate of Zurich and is looked upon
as an authority in pathology.
Miss Sweet—So you prefer beauty to
money?
Cholly—Yes, Indeed! Beauty is even
more lasting than money nowadays.
t* 4
4- MEAT SUGGESTIONS 4
4- WORTH REMEMBERING. 4
♦ ^ M ^ ^ ^ ^4
Lenox Chicken or Veal.
Dissolve a teaspoonful of gelatine in
three-fourths of a cup of hot chicken
cr veal stock. When this begins to
thicken, beat until frothy and add
three-fourths cup of heavy cream beat
en until stiff, and one and a half cups
of cold chicken or veal cut Into dice;
season with salt and pepper, turn in
to Individual molds, and serve. A slice
of lemon put into the bottom of each
mold makes a pretty dish for a lunch
eon.
When Stuffing a Fowl.
When stuffing a fowl stick tooth
picks through both sides of the open
ing, near the edge, and the dressing
can be laced in in much less time than
it can be sewed, and it can also be
much more easily served at the table.
A Spanish Roast.
Take two pounds of round steak and
one pound of pork shoulder; have
ground together; then take one egg,
one cup of cracker crumbs, season, and
mix all together in form of a loaf. Then
take one can of tomatoes and pour
over the top and season. Put in the
oven and bake until the juice o’ to
matoes is nearly all gone; take the re
mainder and make gravy. It is fine
served hot and is good sliced cold for
luncheon.
To Test Deep Fat for Frying.
When the'fat gets real hot, throw
into it an Inch square of bread and
county 40. If at the end of this count
the bread is a golden brown it is
ready for frying. _
♦
4*
4 -4’
4 My heart is full of song, my lips 4
4 are scant of speech, 4
4 It is you, you, you, it is us, each 4
4 to each! 4
4 It is happy winds of dawn that 4
•4 blow the world awrake, 4
f It is sunlight, leaping sunlight on 4
4 the ripple-crested lake! 4
4 Oh, the wave of love in me that 4
4 sweeps me when I think! 4
4 Oh, the founts of memory where my 4
4 glad spirits drink! 4
•4 Night and siar and ripened corn, 4
4 harvest-burdened hill, 4
4 And the woods at twilight when the 4
4 earth is still! 4
4 Oh, loveliness of years that floods 4
4 my mind anew, 4
tAnd back of all and in all just you, 4
you, you! 4
4 —James Oppenheim, in the July 4
4 Metropolitan Magazine. 4
“The Gray Walls of the Garden.”
The gray walls of the garden
Hold many and many a bloom;
A flame of red against the gray
Is lightning in the gloom.
The gray walls of the garden
Hold grassy walks between
Bright beds of yellow blossoms.
Golden against the green.
And In the roof of the arbor
Heaves woven through and through—
Great grape leaves, making shadows—
Shine green against the blue.
And, O, In the August weather
What wonders new are seen!
Hong beds of azure blossoms
Are blue against the green.
The gray walls of the garden
Hold paths of pure delight
And, in the emerald, blooms of pearl
Are white against the night.
■4 4
4 ROASTING MEAT IN A JAR. 4
4 4
4 "At last I have found a way of roasting meats which costs little In 4
4 gas and nothing at all in trouble,” said a young housekeeper who is fond 4
4 of cooking and likes to try experiments. "I take a two-gallon butter jar, 4
4 one that is as wide as it is high. You can get one for 10 cents. I wash 4
4 the roast, season it to taste and place it in the jar dry—not a drop of 4
4 water. No, it won't burn and the steam makes the gravy. To keep the 4
4 steam In I have a good cover, heavily weighted, to hold it 'down tight. 4
4 I place the jar over a gas burner with an asbestos mat between and the 4
4 gas not too high. Then I just let it alone. In a couple of hours or so, 4
4 according to the size of the roast, it is done to a turn, with gravy golden 4 |
4 brown and ready for thickening. 4
4 "This process makes even tough moat tender and the gravy is nicer 4 !
4 than the gravy of meat roasted in the oven. But what commends it to 4 j
4 mo is the fact that in roasting meat this way there is no stooping down 4
4 and scorching your face every few minutes to baste. You can just put 4 1
4 the jar over the fire and go out shopping and when you come back the 4
4 chief part of your dinner is done. I have prepared six-pound roasts in 4
4 this way. 4 I
4 "I’ve made a schedule of the length of time needed for cooking dif- 4 1
4 ferent kinds of meat: For beef, 30 to 40 minutes; chicken, 30 to 35 4
4 minutes; pork, 20 to 30 minutes; tame duck, 30 to 40 minutes.’’ 4
SANITARY RULES FOR
THE HOUSEKEEPER
The Housewife Should Know
That All Supplies Are
Pure and Clean.
The food committee of the National
Consumers' league, with headquarter*
in New York city, has just issued a
leaflet of sanitary maxims which every
housewife should read to tell intelligent
consumers what they will not have,
and manufacturers will fall in line if
they know that there will be no sale
for their products unless they conform
to the pure food laws. Among the
“maxims" are the following:
Dirt, danger, disease:
“Clean water, clean food, clean
streets, clean houses, keep us healthy."
At the store—buy food at the clean
est stores only.
Buy only clean, fresh food.
Refuse to take food hajidled by dirty
hands. Insist upon its being well
wrapped. Paper bags are best.
Buy only the purest candles.
Is the candy pure and clean that
your children buy from the pushcart?
Do not buy decayed fruit because it
is cheap.
Do not buy bread and cake at dirty
bakeries. Look into the baking room*
If possible. Are they clean?
Examine the packages of cereals for
worms before cooking. Packages on
standing often become infested with
worms and are sometimes found at the
best stores.
Does your grocer keep bis butter and
milk in clean, cold places and ar«
they covered? Does he keep his candle*,
figs, dates, berries, lettuce, bread, etc.,
exposed to flies and dust from the
street, in shop or show windows? Flie*
carry dirt and disease to food rmd man.
Are your grocer, butcher and baker
cleanly in person? Are their clerk*
cleanly?
Urge them to keep t’.ieir goods off tha
sidewalk. There is danger of diseas*
in street dirt. Ask the delicatessen
storekeeper and the pushcart man to
keep their eatables covered. Refuse to
buy food sold in open buckets which
stand in the store day after day.
In the Kitchen.
Keep all food covered in the Ice box
or cupboard. A paper bag is easily
slipped over a pitcher or platter of food
to protect it.
Save your clean paper bags.
Keep your ice box clean and filled
with Ice if possible.
Don’t leave food standing around la
kitchen or living room.
Don’t stand it in a sink or washtub.
Keep your garbage can clean and cov
ered. and don’t stand it near the lea
box or where you keep food.
Protect All Food From Flies—Wash
thoroughly all meat, fish and vegetable*
and fruit before using.
Boil or filter the drinking water if it
is not dear.
Don’t let drinking water stand un
covered. The air of living rooms is full
of dirt from human breath and human
bodies; therefore air your rooms daily.
Keep your cooking utensils clean
and off the floor.
Vermin and mice carry infection.
They never stay in clean places.
Don’t serve food on a dirty table,
nor from dirty utensils. Keep the dish
pan clean, and everything else that ha*
to do with food. The cook's hands
must be clean. Typhoid fever has been
contracted from dirty hands.
Keep flies out of your house, espe
cially the kitchen.
A Few Milk Rules.
Tuberculosis kills 5,000,000 people an
nually. It may be carried through in
fected milk.
Select a milkman who has clean
hands, clean clothes, clean wagon,
clean cans, clean bottles.
Do not select a milkman because ha
sells tniik cheap.
Refuse milk that shows a deposit of
dirt in the bottom of the bottle.
Do not forget that dirt in milk is »
menaee to health.
Do not forget that dirty milk may
kill the baby.
Always keep pasteurized milk cooL
Use at once. Do not forget that germ*
multiply more rapidly in pasteurized
milk than in any other.
Do not leave milk uncovered any
where.
Do not leave milk in a warm room
or unchilled ice box. Protect it from
flies. Do not leave it out of doors in
the sun. or exposed to cats and dogs.
Do not use the milk bottles for any
thing but milk.
Wash and scald milk bottles as soon
as emptied. Return clean bottles to
the milkman. Buy only bottled milk
if possible.
While these “maxims” may horrify
some good housefteepers, who would
never think of being guilty of the neg
ligence implied, there are homes with
out number, nice homes, too, whera
sanitary and hygienic rules are vio
lated constantly. In some of these it m
because the housekeeper is young or
inexperienced. In others, here th*
care of the kitchen and marketing art
left entirely to servants ignorant or
constitutionally careless.
X THREE WAYS TO 1
♦ PREPARE VEGETABLES -♦*
How to Prepare Spinach.
One peck of spinach, washed and
boiled until tender and salted when
boiling. Drain, pour cold water over It
and drain again. Chop fine. Mine*
two slices of bacon and fry brown, take
one large onion minced and fried In
bacon fat, leaving bacon in. When done
turn in spinach, adding .three table
spoons of cream, a little flour to thick
en, a dash of pepper, and a small
spoonful of sugar. Fry thoroughly.
Preparing Lettuce for Use.
Rinse and pick the lettuce to pieces.
Have a clean eioth ready, iay lettuce
in the cloth, fold up, and lay the cloth
on the ice about two hours before serv
ing. You will find the lettuce crisp and
the water absorbed.
Preparing Radishes for Use.
Wash and trim radishes. Place the™
In a bowl of water, set bowl on the Ice
two or three hours before using This
makes them hard and crisp and re
moves the strong taste.
WASHING CUT GLASS.
Dust cut glass with a small paint
brush having long, pliable bristles' this
Is far better than a cloth. To wash
cut glass use a little liorax dissolved
in luke warm water. This will restore
the brilliancy which has been dimmed
by washing in common dish water
This treatment is just as good for
pressed glass and some of the better
grades of pressed glass when well
cared for look better than neglected
cut glass. Remember that a sudden
change of temperature must be avoid,
ed with all glass.
There are about 11,.715.000 families In
Brance, of which 1,084.720 have no chil
dren.