' >-■■ - ■~ ..-- - * - ■‘'
__THE_„
Story of Francis Cludde
A Romance of Queen Mary's Reign.
BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN.
CHAPTER XXIII—Continued. |
"Then I shall be hanged.” replied the
steward sullenly. "There never w'as a
Cludde hanged yet without one to keep
him company. To hear of it would
make my grandsire turn in his grave
out there. I dare not do it, Sir An
thony. and that is the fact. But for the
rest I will do as you bid me."
And he had his way. But never had
evening fallen more strangely and sad
ly at Coton before. The rain pattered
drearily In the court yard. The draw
bridge, by Baldwin's order, had been
pulled up, and the planks over the
moat In the rear removed.
"They shall not steal upon us again!”
he muttered. “And If we must sur
render they shall see we dO It will
ingly."
The tenants had gone to their homes
and their wives. Only the servants re
mained. They clustered, solemn and
Sorrowful, about the hearth In the great
hall, starting If a dog howled without
or a coal flew from the fire within. Sir
Anthony remained brooding In his own
room, Petronllla sitting beside him
silent and fearful, while Ferdinand and
his wife moved restlessly about listen
ing to the wind. But the evening and
the night wore peacefully away, and
so, to the surprise of everybody, did
the next day and the next. Could the
sheriff be going to overlook the
matter? Alas! on the third day the
doubt was resolved. Two or three
boys, who had been sent out as scouts,
came In with news that there was a
strong watch set on the Ridgeway,
that the paths through the forest were
guarded, that bodies of armed men
were arriving In the neighboring vil
lages, and that soldiers had been de
manded—or so It was said—from War
wick and Worcester, and even from a
?ilace as far away as Oxford. Probably
t was only the sheriff's prudence
which had postponed the crisis, and
inow it had come. The net was drawn
all round. As the day closed in on
Coton and the sun set angrily among
the forest trees the boys' tale, which
grew no doubt in the telling, passed
from one to another, and men swore
And looked out of window, and women
wept in corners. In the tower room
8ir Anthony sat awaiting the summons
and wondered what he could do to save
his daughter from possible rudeness,
or even hurt, at the hands of these
strangers.
1 There (vas one man missing from
hall and kitchen, but few in the sus
pense noticed his absence. The fool
had heard the boys’ story and, unable
to remain Inactive under such excite
ment, he presently stole oft in the dusk
to the rear of the house. Here ho
managed to cross the moat by means
,of a plank, which he then drew over
and hid in the grass. This quietly
managed—Baldwin, be it said, had
strictly forbidden any one to leave the
house—Martin made off with a grim
chuckle toward the forest, and fol
lowing the main track leading toward
Wootton Wawen presently came
among the trees upon a couple of sen
tinels. They heard him, saw him dls
.tlnctly and made a rush for him, but
this wa5 just the sport Martin liked
<anrt the fun lie had come for. His
■■quick ear apprised him of the danger,
•and in a second he was lost in the un
derwood, his mocking laugh and shrill
taunts keeping the poor men on the
■shudder for the next ten minutes. Then
“the uncanny accents died away, and
satisfied with his sport and the knowl
edge he had gained the fool made for
home. As he sped quickly across the
last field, however, he was astonished
by the slglit of a dark figure in the
.very act of launching his (Martin's)
plank across the moat.
"Ho, ho!" the fool muttered in a
fierce undertone. "That is it, is it?
'And only one! If they will come one
iby one, like the plums in the kitchen
porridge, I shall make a fine meal!”
j He stood back, crouching down on
the grass, and watched the unknown,
his eyes glittering. The stranger was
a tall, big fellow, a formidable antag
onist. But Martin cared nothing for
that. Had he not his long knife, as
keen as his wits— when they were at
home, which was not always. He drew
It out now, and under cover of the
darkness crept nearer and nearer, his
blood glowing pleasantly, though the
night was cold. How lucky it was he
had come out! He could hardly re
strain the “Ho, ho!" which rose to his
lips. He meant to leap upon the man
on this side of the water, that there j
might be no telltale traces on the!
farther bank.
But the stranger was too quick for
him In this. He got his bridge fixed
and began to cross before Martin could
crawl near enough. As he crossed,
however, his feet made a sltght noise
on the plank, and under cover of it
the fool rose and ran forward, then
followed him over with the stealthi
ness of a cat. And, like a cat, too,
the moment the stranger’s feet touched
the bank Martin sprang on him with
his knife raised—sprang on him si
lently, with his teeth grinning and hl»
eyes aflame.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A moment later the servants In the
hall heard a scream of such horror
and fear that they scarcely recognized
a human voice In the sound. They
sprang to their feet scared and trembl
ing. and for a few seconds looked Into
one another's faces. Then, as curiosity
got the upper hand, the boldest took
the lead and all hurried pellmell to
the door, Issuing in a mob Into the
court yard, where Ferdinand Oiudde,
who happened to bo near and had
also heard the cry, joined them. "Where
was It, Baldwin?" he exclaimed.
"At the back, I think," the stewart
answered. Ho alone had had the cool
ness to bring out a lantern, and he
now led the way toward the rear of
the house. Sure enough, close to the
edge of the moat, they found Martin,
stooping with his hands on Ids knees,
a great wound, half bruise, half cut,
upon his forehead. "What Is it?” Fer
dinand cried sharply. "Who did It,
man?"
Baldwin had already thrown his
light on the fool's face aud Martin,
seeming to become conscious of their
presence, looked at them, but In a
dazed fashion. "What?" he muttered,
"what is what?"
By this time nearly every one In
the house had hurried to the spot,
among them not only Petronllla, cling
ing to her father’s arm, but Mistress
Anne, her face pale and gloomy, and
half a dozen womenfolk who clutched
one another tightly and screamed at
regular Intervals.
"What ta It?" Baldwin repeated
roughly, laying his hand on Martin's
arm and slightly shaking him "Come,
who struck yoc. man?"”
"I think," the fool answered slowly,
gulping down something and turning
a dull eye on the group, “a—a swallow
Hew by and hit me."
jSyj' •
They shrank away from him In
stinctively, ami some crossed them
selves. "He Is In one of his mad fits,”
Baldwin muttered. Still the stewart
showed no fear. "A swallow, man?" he
cried aloud. “Come, talk sense. There
are no swallows flying at this time
of year, and If there were they do
not fly by night nor give men wounds
like that. What was It? Out with It,
now! Do you not see, man” lie added,
giving Martin an Impatient shake, "that
Sir Anthony Is waiting.”
The fool nodded stupidly. “A swal
low," he murmured. “Aye, 'twas a
swallow, a great big swallow. 1—1
nearly put tny foot on him.”
“And he flew up and hit you In the
face?” Baldwin said, with huge con
tempt in his tone.
Martin accepted the suggestion plac
idly. "Aye, 'twas so. A great big swal
low, and he flew In my face,” he re
peated.
Sir Anthony looked at him rom
passkmately. "Poor fellow,” he said.
"Baldwin, see to him. He has had one
of his fits and hurt himself.”
"I never knew him to hurt himself,"
Baldwin muttered darkly.
"Let somebody see to him," the
knight said, disregarding the interrup
tion. “And now come, Petronllla. Why
where haB the girl gone?”
Not fur. Only round to the other
side of him, that she might be a little
nearer to Martin. The curiosity In the
other women's faces was a Binall thing
In comparison with the startled, ear
nest look In hers. She gazed at the
man with eyes not of affright, but of
eager, avid questioning, while through
her parted lips her breath came In
gasps. He. cheek %vns red and white
by turns, and for her heart—well, It
had seemed to stand still a moment
and now was beating like the
heart of some poor captured bird
held in the hand. She did not
seem to hear her father, speak
to her, and he had to touch her sleeve.
I hen she started as thoujjh she were
awakening from a dream and followed
him sadly Into the house.
Sadly, and yet there wns a light in
her eyes which had not been there five
minutes before. A swallow? A great
big1 swallow ? And this was December,
when the swallows were at the bottom
of the horse ponds. She only knew of
one swallow whose return was possible
Ih Winter. J3ut then that one swallow—
aye. though the snow should lie Inches
<Jef*jp In the chase and the water should
ireeze In her room—would make a sum
rner for her. Could It be that one?
Could It be? Petronllla's heart was
beating so loudly as she went up stairs
after her father that she wondered he
did not hear It.
The group left round Martin gradu
ally melted away. Baldwin was the
only man who could deal with him In
his mad fits, and the other servants,
with a shudder and a backward glance,
gladly left him to the steward. Mis
tress Anne had gone in some time. Only
Ferdinand Cludde remained, and he
stood a little apart and seemed more
deeply engaged In listening for any
sound which might betoken the sher
iff’s approach than In hearkening to
their conversation. Listen as he might
he would have gained little from the
latter, for It was made up entirely of
scolding on one side and stupid reit
eration on the other. Yet Ferdinand,
ever suspicious and on his guard, must
have felt some Interest In It, for he
presently called the steward to him. "Is
be more fool or knave?" he muttered,
pointing under hand at Martin, who
stood In the gloom a few paces away.
Baldwin shrugged his shoulders, but
remained silent. "What happened?
What is the meaning of it all?" Ferdi
nand persisted, his keen eyes on the
steward's face. "Did he do it him
self, or who did It?”
Baldwin turned slowly and nodded
toward the moat. "I expect you will
find him who did It there,” he said
grimly. "I never knew a man suve Sir
Anthony or Master Francis hit Martin
yet but he paid for It, and when his
temper is up he Is mad, or as good as
mad, and better than two sane men!”
"He Is a dangerous fellow," Ferdi
nand said thoughtfully, shivering a lit
tle. It was unlike him to shiver and
shake, but the bravest have their
moods.
uangerous? " the steward answered.
"Aye, he Is to some and sometimes."
Ferdinand Cludde looked sharply at
the speaker, as if he suspected him of a
covert sneer. But Baldwin’s gloomy
face betrayed no glint of Intelligence or
amusement, and the knight’s brother,
reassured and yet uneasy, turned on his
heel and went into the house, meeting
at the door a servant who came to tell
him that Sir Anthony was calling for
him. Baldwin Moor, left alone, stood
a moment thinking and then turned to
speak to Martin. But Martin was gone
and was nowhere to be seen. The lights
in the hall windows twinkled cheerily,
and the great fire cast Its glow way
acrcrs the courtyard, as lights and fire
had twinkled aud glowtsl at Coton End
on many a night before. But neither
in hall nor chamber was there any
answering merriment. Baldwin, com
ing In, cursed the servants who were in
his way, and the men moved meekly
and without retort, taking his iatha for
ivhat Jfcry were—a man’s tears. JJie
h'o.v.en fullf sat listening, pale and
frightened, and one or two of the
; grooms, those who had done least in
, the skirmish, had visions of a tree and
a rope and looked sickly. The rest
I scowled and blinked at the fire or
i kicked up a dog if it barked In its
I sleep.
"Hasn’t Martin come in?” Baldwin
growled presently, setting his heavy
wet boot on a glowing log. which hissed
and sputtered under it. "Where is he?”
•Don't know!” one of the men took
on himself to answer. "He did not
come In here."
"I wonder what he Is up to now?”
Baldwin exclaimed, with gloomy irri
tation, for which, under the circum
. stances, he had ample excuse. He
knew that resistance was utterly hope
! less and could only make matters
worse and twist the rope more tightly
about hla neck, to put the thought as
he framed it. The suspicion, there
fore, that this madman—for such In
; his worst fits the fool became—might
i be hanging round the place in dark
1 corners, doing what deadly mischief
1 he could to the attacking party, was
not a pleasant one.
A gray haired man in the warmest
nook by the lire seemed to read his
thoughts. "There Is one in the house,”
he said slowly and oracularly, his eyes
on Baldwin’s boot, "whom he has Just
i as good a mind to hurt, has our Mar
i tin. as any of them Clopton men. Aye,
; that has he. Master Baldwin."
"And who Is that. gaffer?" Baldwin
! ask^d con'emptuously.
But the old fellow turned shy. “Well,
It Is nor Sir Anthony," he answered,
nodding his head and stooping forward
to caress his toasting shins. "Be you
very sure of that. Nor the young mis
tress. nor the young master as was.
nor the new lady that came a month
ago No, nor It la not you Master
Baldwin.”
"Then who la It?” cried the steward
Impatiently. _
"He Is shrewd, la Martin—when the
saint* have not got their backs to
him,” said the old fellow slyly.
"Who Is It?” thundered the steward,
well used to this rustic method of
evasion. "Answer, you dolt!”
But no answer came, and Baldwin
never got one, for at this moment a
man w ho had been watching in front
of the house ran In.
"They are here!” he cried. “A good
hundred of them, and torches enough
for St. Anthony’s eve. Get you to the
gate, porter, Sir Anthony Is calling
for you. Do you hear?"
There was a great uprising, a great
clattering of feet and barking of dogs
and some walling among the women.
As the messenger finished speaking a
harsh challenge which penetrated even
the court yard arose from many voices
without and was followed by the wind
ing of a horn. This sufficed. All hur
ried with one accord Into the court,
where the porter looked to Baldwin for
Instructions. j
"Hold a minute!” cried the steward,
silencing the loudest hound by a sound
kick and disregarding Sir Anthony’s
voice, which came from the direction
of the gateway. “Let us see If they
are at the back too.”
He ran through the passage, and
emerging on the edge of the moat was
at once saluted by a dozen voices
warning him back. There were a
score of dark figures standing In the j
little close where the fight had taken
place. ’■Right,’’ said Baldwin to him
self. “Needs must when the old gen
tleman drives! Only I thought X would
make sure."
He ran back at once, nearly knock
ing down Martin, who, with a com
panion, was making, but at a slower
pace, for the front of the house.
“Well, old comrade,” cried the
steward, smiting the fool on the
back as he passed, “you are
here, are you? I never thought
that you and I would be In at our own
deaths!”
He did not notice, In the wild humor
which had seized him, who Martin’s
companion was, though probably at an
other time It would have struck him
that there was no one In the house
quite so tall. He sped on with scarcely
a glance, and In a moment was under
the gateway, where Sir Anthony was
soundly rating everybody, and partic
ularly the porter, who, with his key
in the door, found, or affected to find,
1 i he task of turning It a difficult one.
As the steward came up, however, the
big doors at some sign from him
creaked on their hinges, and the knight,
nls staff In his hand and the servants
clustering behind him with the lanterns, I
walked forward a pace or two to the
end of the bridge, bearing himBelf with
some dignity.
'.'Who disturbs us at this hour?’’ he
cried, peering across the moat and
signing to Baldwin to hold up his large
lantern, since the others uncertain of
their reception, had put out their
torches. By Its light he and those be
hind hint could make out a group of
half a dozen figures a score of yards
away, while In support of these there
appeared a bowshot oft and still In the
• men ground a clump of, It might be,
a hundred men. Beyond all lay the
dark line of trees, above which the
moon, new risen, was sailing through
a watery wrack of clouds. "Who are
ye?" the knight repeated.
’’Are you Sir Anthony Cludde?” came
the answer.
’’I am.”
"Then In the queen’s name, Sir An
thony,” the leader of the troop cried
solemnly, "I call on you to surrender.
I hold a warrant for your arrest, and
also for the arrest of James Carey, a
priest, and Baldwin Moor, who, I am
told, Is your steward, I am backed
by forces which It will be vain to re
sist.”
“Are you Sir Philip Clopton?" the
knight asked, tor at that distance and
in that light it was Impossible to be
sure.
“I am," the sheriff answered earnest
ly, "and as a friend I be" you. Sir An
thony, to avoid useless bloodshed and
further cause for offense. Sir Thomas
Greville, the governor of Warwick
castle, and Colonel Bridgewater are
with me. I Implore you, rny friend, to
surrender, and I will do what good of
fices I may.”
The knight, as we know, had made up
his mind, and yet for a second he hesi
tated. There were stern, grim faces
round him, changed by the stress of
the moment Into the semblance of dark
Baldwin’s—the faces of men, who,
though they numbered but a dozen,
were his men, bound to him by every
tie of Instinct and breeding and cus
tom. and he had been a soldier and
knew the fierce Joy of a desperate
struggle against odds. Might It not be
better, after all?
But then he remembered his women- !
kind, and, after all, why endanger these i
faithful men? He raised his voice and
cried clearly: "I accept your good of
fices, Sir Philip, and I take your advice.
I will have the drawbridge lowered,
only I beg you will keep your men well
In hand Rnd do my poor house as lit
tle damage as may be."
(Continued Next Week.)
For Those Who Fail.
"AH honor to him who shall win fhs
prize."
The world haz cried for a thousand
years.
But to him who tries, and who falls and
dies,
I give great honor and glory and tears.
Give glory and honor and pitiful tears
To all who fall In their deeds sublime.
Their ghosts are many In the van of
years.
They were born with time In advance
of time.
Oh. great Is the hero who wins a na*ie.
But greater many and many a time, |
Some pale-faced fellow who dies In shame, i
And lets God finish the thought sub
lime.
And great Is the man with a sword un- 1
drawn.
And good la the man who refrains from
wine.
But the man who falls and yet still fights
on,
Bo! he Is the twin-born brother of mine.
—Joaquin Miller.
Fame in Certain Quarters.
From Success.
Edwin Marltham was one of the
guests of honor at a reception given by !
a wealthy New York woman. During a
conversation she said:
"My dear Mr. Markham, I’ve wanted
for years to meet you and tell you how
I just love that adorable picture of
yours—the one with the man hoeing,
you know—and he Is taking off his cap.
and that poor wife of his—-at least I
suppose It's his wife—bowing her head,
and they both look so tired, poor
things. I have a copy of It in my own
den. and the children have another In
their playroom, and It's—It's—simply
exquisite.”
" The Angelus,’ I presume you
mean'.’" replied the poet, gravely,
• Yes," doubtfully, "but we always
call It "The Hoe Man.”
"I am glad you like It, madam," said
Mr. Markham, and he took an early
opportunity of escaping from his sin
cere but mistaken admirer.
In selecting sows to keep for breeding
purposes don't pick the shortest block
! lest ones. A brood sow should be rather
Ilong and roomy.
It's the litter of big pigs that devel
ops Into quick pork.
j ^ ^ FOR FEMININE EYES ^ vg j
...—.. ..--—i
GOWN OF PONGEE OR LINEN.
A very simple but effective model Is here Illustrated. The original gown
was of white linen, but rajah or pongee would make up with excellent effect
after the same design. Eyelet w'ork, Insertion and embroidery were used as
trimming, the bodice and skirt being joined at the waist by rows of Insertion,
so that the gown was all in one piece. If pongee or rajah Is used for the gown,
heavy lace dyed to match could be selected for the trimming.
♦ SOME SUGGESTIONS ♦
♦ FOR THE SICK ROOM ♦
♦ ♦
Indiana Cough Cure.
To 5 cents worth of whole flaxseed
add three pints of water. Boil 15 or 20
minutes, strain, and add Juice of three
lemons, one-half pound of rock candy,
and one ounce glycerine. Take wine
glass of this three or four times a day
and before retiring. It will cure the
worst cough In two flays.
A Handy “Necessity Box.1'
Have a box in a convenient place,
and keep these things In it: 10 cents
worth of Iodoform, 10 cents worth of
adhesive plaster, 10 cents worth of car
bolic acid, some sterilized gauze and
surgeon's cotton.
Cooling the Sick Room.
In the cool of the morning cut small
branches from a tree, preferably maple.
Fasten over screens at open windows
and sprinkle with cold water with a
whisk broom, repeating often during
the day. The air, coming through the
wet leaves, becomes cooled. This Is a
tine thing when there are no trees near
the house.
Light for Sick Room.
In the country and small towns,
where gas and electric lights are not to
be found, hang a lantern from a hook
screwed Into the bottom of an upper
sash on the outside. The light In the
room may be regulated by raising or
lowering the shade. This obviates the
heat and odor produced by a kerosene
lamp In a room.
Speedy Relief for Corns.
Chew good, fresh gum until flavor Is
gone. While warm from the mouth bind
on corn. This removes the Inflamma
tion and causes the corn to peel off
gradually, giving relief.
Good for Cuts.
For a slight cut there is nothing bet
ter to control the hemorrhage than
common unglazed paper such as Is used
by grocers and market men. Bind a
piece on the cut.
Camphor Cures Colds.
Take gum camphor and dissolve In
kerosene, having enough so there is al
ways a little camphor undtssoved in
the bottom of the bottle. Rub the lame
'parts thoroughly and often with this
and you will have relief. Do not band
age it on as It will blister if used that
;way. This Is also an excellent remedy
for cold In the throat or lungs. Rub It
In well.
THE CARE OF IRON3.
The woman who la going away for
a short time In the summer, or who
Is not having the laundry done In the
house, should be careful that her flat
irons are not allowed to rust.
When she needs them she may not
realize how rusty they are until she
finds out that they do not keep enough
heat In them to do but a few sec
ond’s work.
They will be practically useless for
a quick day’s work unless the entire
surface Is again carefully worked up
to a smooth polish.
The damp weather of the end of the
summer Is quite ant to rust any metal
that is left unprotected. Irons should
be well wrapped iu newspaper and then
put away In a dry spot.
TO KEEP JELLY FROM BURNJNG
When the Jelly is put Into the kettle
to boll, drop into the kettle a small
agate marble such as the children use
to play with. This marble will keep
In constant motion In the bottom of the
kettle while the jelly Is cooking. Thus
It need not be stirred or looked after
until finished. _
Conundrums.
Why Is a spendthrift’s purse like a
thunder cloud?
Because It Is continually lightening
(lightning).
When Is a hat like a heart full of sor
row ?
When It Is felt.
If a man should give 15 cents to one son
and ten cents to another, what time would
It be?
A quarter to two.
Why don’t they collect fares from the
policemen on the tram cars?
Because you can’t take a nickel from a
copper.
When are prisoners like gas?
When escaping. I
When are houses like hooks?
When they have stories in them.
When Is a step like a great burden?
When heavy.
When are streets and shoes alike?
i When cobbled.
4- VARIED LIST OF 4
4 GOOD RECIPES 4
4 4
New Style Club Sandwich.
Use three slices of bread, thinly cut
In any desirable shape, and buttered.
Place a lettuce leaf on lower slice and
on its top put slices of chicken breast,
then put another slice of bread and a
lettuce leaf, followed by thin slices of
veal loaf or peanut butter. Another
slice of bread with thinly sliced pickles
on top.
Delicious Shirred Eggs.
Take baking dish pan, put in Just
enough milk to cover bottom well,
break In as many eggs as you may
wish, salt and peper to taste, add a
little butter, and set in oven and bake.
You will And this much nicer than to
poach your eggs.
Spaghetti Stew.
An excellent dish made from the left
overs of roast beef is a spaghetti stew.
Cut the meat in thin slices or small
cubes, as preferred. Cover with two
cups of stock or thinned gravy; add
one-half cup of tomatoes, a chopped
onion, and, when boiling, a cup of spa
ghetti, broken in one inch pieces. Sea
son and let simmer for two hours. A
little thickening may be added Just be
fore serving.
Apple Sauce Recipe.
To make splendid apple sauce, wash
thoroughly and quarter apples. Cook
with little water until soft; strain
through colander; add sugar to taste
and boil few minutes longer. This
does away with paring of apples, dis
coloring the hands, something that
every housewife objects to.
Dumplings for Soup.
Put spider on and let get hot, then
take one cup of flour, one cup of milk,
and three-quarters of a cup of butter;
put in spider and turn back and forth
until dough gets like putty. Take off
and cool, then stir in two eggs and
some grated nutmeg to flavor.
A Good Cheese Omelet.
Take one cup of sweet milk, six heap
ing teaspoons grated cheese, three ta
blespoons bread crumbs, three table
spoons melted butter, two eggs beaten
separately, one-third teaspoon of salt,
and a pinch of cayenne pepper.
Put bread crumbs in milk and let
come to a boil, add butler, salt, pepper,
cheese and yolks, lastly whites, beat
en stiff. Bake 15 to 20 minutes in
earthen dish.
Apple preserve*.
Peel and core apples whole; make a
sirup of two cups of sugar and one
cup o‘ water. When boiling put apples
In. When tender grate a nutmeg over
them and remove. Then boll the sirup
thick and pour over the apples.
Putting Up Pickles.
Wash and wipe pickles; place In two
gallon Jar. To one gallon cold vinegar
add one and one-half cups granulated
sugar, one-half cup salt, and one cup
ground mustard. Mix mustard to paste
with a little cold vinegar; then stir
all together and pour over pickles cold.
Place plate over them wltn small
weight on Just enough to keep pick.es
under vinegar. In three days they are
ready for use. and will keep 10 months
or longer. For four gallon jar double
the recipe.
When Cooking Dumplings.
When cooking dumplings with meat
or chicken boil slowly aim tiiey will
never fall or get heavy.
Half Graham Bread.
Set bread at night wit i compiessed
yeast, using same proportions as for
white bread, only instead of all white
flour use half graham. This does not
stick nor become heavy and is much |
more healthful for children than all
white bread. Put right in pans next
morning, let raise, and bake in moder
ate oven one hour.
Unanswered Prayer.
'Twas long ago, .
When I was young. Alas! 1 did not know |
A better way. 1 said, “It must be so, i
Or God can not be good." I
Alas! alas! my poor, weak human pride;
How differently would I have quickly
cried
If I had understood.
And now I bear
A thankful heart for that unanswered
prayer,
And so I think it will be when, up there '
Where all is known,
We look upon the things we longed for so.
And see how little were they worth and
know
How soon they were outgrown.
—Unidentified. j
Oysters live In water which contain* ,
about one part Balt to 27 of water. '
r:_ ~rm " ~
Not Even a Curtain.
From the Washington Star.
At the Players' club in New York a
prompter said of the late Peter
Dailey:
| “He had the sunniest, cheeriest dis
position. Once 1 toured with him. The
accommodations were sometimes rath
er rough, and on such occasions the
true gold in the man showed forth.
“In a little southern town the
dressing rooms were awful. Everybody
swore and raged, but Dailey restored
them to good humor. Said he:
“ 'Why. this Is nothing to what I
have been up against at times. I played
once In a theater where at the end of
every act the stage manager had to
come forward and say:
“ 'I must ask the ladles and gent
lemen in the audience to be good
enough to turn around. The players aro
about to change their costumes.’ ”
TO LiVE TO OLD
AGE, BE A WRITER
Paris.—According to a writer in thn
Parisian daily paper, Figaro, the writ
er's profession is one which leads to
longevity. The writers of novels, sto
ries, verses and plays, says the author,
usually live longer than those who
practice other professions.
The paper gives as an instance thn
fact that the Society des Gens des Let
ters has among its members men who
are so old that their names have been
forgotten already by the reading pub
lic in spite of the fact that they wern
famous writers In their younger days.
Among these members are Francois
Fcrtinnult, who is over 95 years of age.
Felix Bordac, another member, wan
born in 1820. Jules Bheynat was born
In 1821, as was his friend. Ernest Re
dourler. There are four members who
were born in 1S2L Many members were
born in 1830.
, From these the Parisian paper con
cludes that writers live long and it ad
vises all throse who desire to have a
long life to become writers.
la a Pinch, Use Allen’* Foot-Baa*.
A powder to ahake into your shoes. It rants
the fe«t, Cures Corns, Bunions, Swollen,
Sore, Hot, Callous, Aching, Sweating feat
and Ingr»w!ng Nall*. Allan's Foot-B»ao
makes new or tight shoes easy. Sold by all
Druggists and Shos Stores. 25c. Sample
mailed FREE. Address Alien S. Olmsted,
I.« Roe. NY
Mater Dolorosa.
Because of one dear infant head
With golden hair.
To me all little heads
A halo wear;
And for one saintly face
All babes are fair.
Because of two wide, earnest eyes
Of heavenly blue,
Which look, with yearning gaze.
My sad soul, through,
All eyes now fill mine own with team
Whate'er their hue.
Because of little death-marked lips
Which once did call
My name in plaintive tones.
No voices fall
Upon my ear in vain appeal
From children small.
Two little, hands held in my own
Long, long ago.
Now cause me as I wander thro’
This world of woe
To clasp each baby hand stretched out
In fear of foe.
The lowest cannot plead in vain—
I loved him so.
__ —C. C. Hahn.
The chief “pageant" in England this
summer is to be given at Winchester,
which for its size is perhaps the most his
toric city in the country. It is described
as a “national" pageant, and its aim will
be to show through the history of the
town that of the nation, in the sense of its
gradual welding into one people under
one faith. It will begin with Alfred, and
Raleigh is to figure prominently in it as
“the first apostle of true imperialism." On
the opening day sermons will be preached
in the cathedral by the bishops of Massa
chusetts and Niagara.
CASTOR IA
For Infants and Children.
The Kind You Have Always Bought
Bears the
Signature of
9*T
■■ /■*"
fM'jsmme*
TOILET ANTISEPTIC
Keeps the breath, teeth, mouth and body
antiseptically clean and free irom un
healthy germ-life and disagreeable odors,
which watery soap and tooth preparation*
•lone cannot do. A
germicidal, disin
fecting and deodor
izing toilet requisite
of exceptional ex
cellence and econ
omy. Invaluable
for inflamed eyes,
throat and nasal and
uterine catarrh. At
drug and toilet
stores, 50 cents, or
by mail postpaid.
Large Trial Sampls
WITH "HCMkTH AND BEAUTY” BOOK BENT 1MtC«
THE PAXTON TOILET CO., Boston, Miss.