HHM By WALDO PON DRAY WARREN.
Gratitude is a word that
comprehends the happiness
of the human race. It
turns the heart toward the
Fountain of all good and so makes
possible a greater receptivity and
a greater joy. Without it even
glories of heaven could not confer
happiness, and all the sweet ameni
ties of life would fail. With it the
• humblest home may be blest with
angel visits, and one step upward
from the depths of grief may he
fraught with a new-found joy.
But shall we be grateful for the
mere incidents of life and forget to
he supremely grateful for life it
self? We murmur so much at the
conditions of life, and as a reluctant
concession we admit that this is bet
ter than that, and so we express our
feeble thanks—praising the beauty
of a single leaf while murmuring
at the tree that bore it.
Are you truly grateful for life?
Are you glad that you were born?
Do you accept your life from the
hand of Hod as His richest gift—
the containant of all other possible
blessings?
. “ 9
Life is a wonderful gift—the
most wonderful and the most
blessed gift that the Infinite God
could plan for the objects of His
love. We have hardly begun to
learn how great it is, how great it
can be. Beginning at birth, and
through childhood, youth and age,
it stretches out into the realms of
Eternity—ever growing vaster and
yet more vast in its approximation
of limitless possibilities. If you
had not been born you would never
have known life—the sum of all
blessings. Are you glad that you
were born?
The unqualified acceptance of
life, with all its mystery and pain,
all its labor and weariness, and vet
with all its sweetness and joy, and
all its latent potentiality—that is
and forever must be the basis of
true Gratitude, the one great theme
for thanks. Unless you are grate
ful for life itself you cannot be truly
glad for anything that life contains.
But being grateful for life itself
adds a tinge of celestial glory to
every simple blessing and makes
Today akin to the vast Forever.
___ j ■ —
+♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦ »»44
4- 4
4^ THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS. 4
For the days when nothing happens,
For the cares that leave no trace.
For the love of little children.
For each sunny dwelling-place.
For the altars of our fathers
And the closets where we pray.
Take, Oh, gracious God and Father,
Praises this Thanksgiving day.
For our harvests safe lngathered.
For our golden stare of wheat,
For the cornlanda and the vine-lands.
For the flowers up-sprlng sweet,
For our coasts from war protected,
For each Inlet, river, bay,
By Thy bounty, full and flowing.
Take our praise this Joyful day.
Thousands of yean ago a leaf fell on
the soft clay, and seemed to be lost.
But last summer a genologlst In his ramb
llngs broke off a piece of rock with his
hammer, and there lay the image of the
leaf, with every line and every vein and
all the delicate tracery preserved In the
■tone through those centuries. So the
words we speak and the things we do to
day may seem to be lost, but In the great
Anal revealing the smallest of them will
appear.—James Russell Lowell.
Autumn.
The year's last, loveliest smile—
Thou comest to fill with hope the human
heart
And strengthen It to bear the storms
awhile
Till Winter days depart.
—John Howard Bryant.
I trust In Nature for the stable laws
Of beauty and utility. Spring shall plant
And autumn garner to the end of time.
—Robert Browning.
DRUSILLA’S THANKSGIVING.
By Kato Cloves.
(Copyright, 1313, by the McClure News
paper Syndicate.)
It was the day before Thanksgiving that
Drusilla Orde made up her mind to throw
up her position in Hannan’s department
store and go back to Laurelton.
For 15 years she had stood behind the
glove counter in the big store and fitted
gloves on all sorts and shapes of hands.
*'I hate it; I hate it; I hate it!" she had
cried to herself for five years; that was
the last five years of her service there.
After the novelty of being a wage earner
In a large city had worn off. Now she de
tested the tiny third floor room, which
was all she could afford even after 10
years’ work; she hated the smell of toast
made over a gas Jet; the odor of coffee
was detestable when it clung about the
little space in which she slept and ate
two meals each day.
For the first five years she had been
able to send money down to her parents
in Laurelton—a tiny sum each week, but
enough to help. Then they had died and
the place had been sold and Drusilla had
never gone back. The little money from
the place was hoarded In the bank.
But now It was the day before Thanks
giving and all the store clerks had been
full of holiday plans. Many were going
to spend the day in their homes among
their own people, and poor Drusilla grew
more homesick as the hours flew past.
She had few friends in the city and no one
had invited her to dinner.
At the lunch hour she went to the bank
and drew out almost all her money, then
she went to her little room and packed
her trunk and sent it to the railroad sta
tion. Then she went back to the store
and gave up her position. When she was
on the train she strained her eager eyes
for the first glimpse of the familiar moun
tain that overshadowed Laurelton. The
shabby old coaches were familiar enough,
and the face of the elderly conductor who
took her ticket was that of an old ac
quaintance.
"How do you do, Mr. Bemis?" she tysked
Joyfully.
"Rrusllly Orde! Good Lord, girl, I ain’t
seen you In years! Well," he said "you
ain’t grown any younger!"
Drusilla tucked her graying hair be
hind her pink ears. "And you haven’t
got any more manners, Dan Bemis," she
retorted.
Dan chuckled. "Your tongue’s as sharp
as ever, Drusllly! Well, where you going
to stop—at your Aunt Lucetty’s?”
"I guess so," said Drusilla.
"You must come and see us. Flora’ll
be pleased to meet you again,” and Mr.
Bemis went on to collect other tickets.
And to each passenger he imparted the
Information that Drusilla Orde was in the
front seat there and that she was going
to stay in Laurelton all winter.
8o it was that when Drusilla arrived at
Daurelton In the early November twilight
ahe found many pleasant greetings from
people whom she scarcely knew. Warmed
oy these cheery greetings, Drusilla walked
on down the familiar road that led to the
village.
The air was crisp and cold and the
smell of the pines was invigorating to her
lungs stifled by the close air of the city.
As she walked the years seemed to fall
from Drusilla, until, when she reached
the village street she was quite 20 again,
in spite of the gray threads in her brown
hair.
She passed the Methodist church, the
moving picture theater, which was a glit
tering innovation, the meat market, the
jpostofflee, and came suddenly upon Sam
TThome's drug store.
The red and green lights confronted her
f BE THANKFUL FOR
These to he thankful for; a friend,
A work to do, a way to wend.
And these In which to take delight:
The wind that turns the poplars
white,
Wonder and gleam of common
things—
Sunlight upon a eea gull's wings.
Odors of earth and dew-drenched
lawns.
The pageantry of darks and dawns;
Blue vistas of a city street
At twilight; music; passing feet:
The thrill of Spring, half joy, half
pain,
The deep voice of the Autumn
rain—
Shall we not be content with these
Imperishable mysteries.
And, Jocund-hearted, take our share
Of Joy and pain, and find life fair?
Wayfarers on a road where we
Set forth each day right valiantly;
Expectant, dauntless, blithe, con
tent
To make the Great Experiment.
^ —Constance D'Arcy Mackay^^
like the eyes of some dragon-ltke, un
pleasant memory.
Drusllla had entirely forgotten Sam
Thorne—and It had been her quarrel with
Sam Thorne which had been the cause of
her leaving Eaurelton.
She hurried past the brightly lighted
doorway, but paused near the window,
where she caught a glimpse of a young
man In a white coat dispensing Ice cream
soda to a group of laughing girls. At
first she thought it was Sam Thorne him
self until she recollected that Sam must
be stout and rather bald by this time.
Her cheeks were burning as she hast
ened on with this old memory tugging at
her heart.
Drusllla’s Aunt lametta Mills lived In a
little white house beyond the school
house and Drusllla’s old home had been
a few hundred yards further on.
She turned In at the little white gate
which seemed smaller than ever to her
eyes and felt a sudden depression as she
noted that the house was dark.
Her repeated knocks at the side door
brought a neighbor from an adjoining
house.
"Lucetty Mills has gone over to Rooky
brook to her daughter's.” said the wom
an peering curiously at the dark form
on the porch. "Who he It?"
“Thank vou," said Drusllla stiffly, and
she waited until the woman had gone
back Into her own house before ohe went
away.
Her heart heat rebellious!/ as she
realized that there was only one thing
to do now. That was to go to the hotel
and stav until Aunt Dueetta came home.
She would spend Thanksgiving alone
after all.
Now she was at the gate of her old
home. She leaned against It and stared
at the transformation that had taken
place In the old house. The outlines were
the same but some skillful hand had re
built. preserved, and Improved until the
house looked as It must have looked that
day when Drusllla's father brought her
mother there a bride.
Drusllla wondered who had bought the
old place—Aunt lametta had never told
her In those gossipy monthly letters. She
bowed her head on the gatepost and list
ened to the wind blowing through the
trees, with hopeless longing In her heart.
How easily, carelessly, one parted with
happiness. Drusllla never heard a step
on the path nor a voice that addressed
her in concerned Inquiry.
It was not until firm hands lifted her
head and turned her face to the search
ing light of the full moon that Drusllla
cried out sharply and drew back.
“Who Is It?" asked a voice that was
vaguely familiar.
Drusllla's head drooped wearily. She
was very tired and she did not care if
folks did hear that she had been found
staring wistfully at her old home.
“I am Drusllla Orde—I used to live
here,” she said.
“Drusllla? No!" The man strode for
ward.
“Drusllla. don't you know me?” he
asked tensely.
■'It's—It’s Sam Thorne,” said Drusllla
faintly. “What are you doing here?
“I live here—I bought the old place,
Drusllla—I had a silly notion that you
might come home some day, and If you
did I wanted you to find the old place
and me waiting for you. Of course I
knew you might get married—” he hesi
tated.
Drusllla laughed softly—such a happy
laugh.
“Thero Isn't a chance of my getting
married, Sam? unless you ask me,” she
said bravely.
“Do you mean It, Drusllla?" he demand
ed eagerly. "I've been waiting all these
years—and it's been hard—and If you do
mean It, dear, we can go over to the min
ister's and be married tonight. You can
spend Thanksgiving In your own home."
“Let us w», Sara—to the minister's,” said
Drusllla.
•t. --- ♦ --
The Pounder of Cold Storage.
From the Dally Oklahoman.
The death of Charles Telllcr presents a
lamentable example of the failure of an
Important Inventor to secure for himself
even a tithe of the benefits and profits
which he bestowed upon the world. He
died at the age of 86, In actual destitution,
after years of neglect and dependence up
on charity, says the New York Tribune.
Yet he was the founder of one of the
most Important factors In the trade and
•6
♦ THANKSGIVING THOUGHTS. ♦
The Rapture of the Year.
While the skies glint bright with bluest
„ llffht
Through clouds that race o’er field and
town,
And leaves go dancing left and right,
A™* orchard apples tumble down;
While school girls sweet, in lane or street.
Lean ’gainst the wind and feel and hear
Its glad heart like a lover’s beat—
So reigns the rapture of the year.
Then ho! and hey! and whoop-hooray!
Though winter clouds be looming,
Remember a November day
Is merrier than mildest May
With all her blossoms blooming.
While birds in scattered flight are blown
Aloft and lost In dusky mist,
And truant boys scud home alone
’Neath skies of gold and amethyst:
While twilight falls, and Echo calls
Across the haunted atmosphere,
With low, sweet laughs at intervals—
So reigns the rapture of the year.
Then ho! and hey! and whoop hooray!
Though winter clouds be looming,
Remember a November day
Is merrier than mildest May
With all her blossoms blooming.
-Riley.
Harvest.
And now with autumn’s moonlit eves
Its harvest-time has come;
We pluck away the frosted leaves.
And bear the treasure home.
Then let the good old crop adorn
The hills our fathers trod;
Still let us, for His golden corn,
Send up our thanks to God.
—John Greenleaf Whittier.
industry of the world namely, artificial
refrigeration as applied to transportation,
storage and manufactures. It was nearly
40 years ago that the first cargo of frozen
meat wras shipped across the ocean in a
vessel equipped with cold storage com
partments according to his design. To
day the values of such shipments amount
to hundreds of millions of dollars every
year.
It was also largely from Mr. Tellier’s
initiative that there was developed other
applications of refrigeration, such as cold
storage warehouses, ice making, the arti
ficial cooling of hotels and theaters, the
cooling and storing of beer and milk, cool
ing processes In steel manufacture and in
the sinking of mine shafts, artificial ice
skating rinks and many others. As late
as last year a new desiccating process in
vented by him at the age of 84 was put In
to practice by a large corporation. '
His case provides a striking contrast to
those of some Inventors who so enrich
themselves through close monopolies of
their w'orks as to provoke demands for the
abolition of the patent laws.
♦ TWO STORIES OF X
♦ ROBERT E. LEE ♦
From the New York Evening Post.
Robert E. Lee’s aversion to hero wor
ship was crossed more than once, but
upon one occasion his humor came to his
rescue.
It was in the summer of 1867, which
Lee was spending at White Sulphur
Springs, Va. Two Englishmen and their
families, attracted by the presence of the
ex-confederate general, went to the
springs, made his acquaintance and man
aged to be with him on his walks.
One day he was asked by Mrs. Ransome,
whose husband, one of Lee’s staff, tells
the story In the South Atlantic Quarterly,
if his new friends were not a trouble to
him.
“Yes,” was his reply; “they trouble me
a little, but I think I get even with them.
When they join me in my walks I always
take them down to the springs and make
them drink the water. They are too po
lite to refuse, and I fill them, up with that
nauseous water, and thus have my re
venge.
An incident more in consonance with hi®
reputation for kindliness has to do with a
northerner. A union man from West Vir
ginia came to the springs, bringing hi®
daughter, a handsome, splendidly gowned
young woman. But the other women
would have nothing to do with the child
of one who had fought against the south,
and their example was enough to Isolate
the girl completely. One evening, when
everybody was In the ballroom, Lee
passed through one of the parlors and saw
the ostracized girl reading. He Introduced
himself and Invited her to go to the ball
with him. They entered the room In time
to Join the grand promenade which pre
ceded the dancing.
When this part of the affair was over
and Lee had led the girl to a seat, there
was a general demand for introductions,
and—so runs the veracious chronicle—the
daughter of the despised northerner actu
ally became the belle of the season.
Inconsistency.
From the National Monthly.
"Wimmen certainly ain’t got no
consistency.”
“What’s the matter, John?”
“Me wife chased me out wid a rollin'
pin this morning and then cried be
cause I left home without kissing her
goodby.”
Igl MEANS BAD
=3 LOCK BEWRE
= the end or
=Kj»EL MONTH!
A THANKSGIVING STORY.
(Copyright. 1913, by the McClure News
paper Syndicate.)
Jack was a little yellow dog. His
little muster, Robbie Barnes, found
him when he was a puppy In a lot
where some bad boys were tormenting
him.
These bad boys had poor little Jack
in a box too deep for him to Jump out
of and were throwing sticks and stones
to make him bark.
He was very much frightened when
Robbie rescued him and he nestled
close Inside Robbie’s coat and heard
him say to the boys; “You fellers
ought to be ashamed of yourselves
plaguing a little puppy. I wish he was
big enough to bite you.”
Now Robbie’s mother was very poor,
and his father was dead, so that when
Jack was brought Into the family Rob
bie’s mother saw only one more to
feed.
"You will have to give him away,"
she said. "We do not have enough
for ourselves, and then you will have
to pay the license, too; you cannot
keep him.”
But Robbie overcame all obstacles;
he worked and paid the Mcense, and
In time every one was so fond of Jack
that he seemed like one of the family.
One day, not long before Thanksgiv
ing, Robbie’s mother said: "We will
have to do without turkey this year;
there have been so many ways for the
money to go that we shall be lucky
to have a root over our heads.”
Even the money Robbie earned had
to go for shoes for himself and his
little sister, so there was to be no
Thanksgiving dinner.
Robbie did not care for himself, but
when he saw the tears In his sister’s
eyes and in the still night heard his
mother crying as she prayed that her ,
little family should be cared for, he
felt sure it was going without the
Thanksgiving dinner that made her
cry.
Robbie thought and thought, but
there was no way he could think of
what would get the dinner. Yes, there
was one; it made him feel sick to
think about It.
In the room at school with Robbie
was a boy named Frank Reed. Frank’s
father was a wealthy man and Frank ,
had everything that he wanted. All
but one thing, and that was Jack.
Jack could do all sorts of tricks and
his devotion to Robbie and his will
ingness to obey him made all the boys '
envious. Of course, Frank could have
had a dog worth much more than
Jack, but he wanted Jack because he
could do tricks.
"I’ll give you $5 for him," Frank
said one day after he had watched
Jack perform his tricks.
Five dollars seemed a fortune to 1
Robbie, but he did not hesitate. "No,”
he said, ”1 won’t sell him no matter
how much you otter."
“I don’t blame you,” replied Frank, 1
“but if ever you do want to sell him
let me have him.”
As Robbie lay there in the dark
thinking of a way to get the Thanks
giving dinner, he remember Frank’s
offer. He put it out of his mind, but !
it would come back, and by morning i
he had made up his mind to part with
All traces of tears which he had
shed were wiped away, and he gave
Jack a good breakfast and had him
do all his tricks. Jack seemed to know
something bothered his little master
and after each trick would jump up
and lick Ids face and put his paws
on Robbie’s shoulder, as though to
tell him how much he loved him.
Robbie choked back the tears and
put on his cap. ‘'Come on, Jack." lie
called.
Frank was only too glad to give the
$5, but Jack whined and cried when
he found that he was not to go with
Robbie.
"Keep him in for a day or two,” he
told Frank; “he will run away If you
don’t.” Poor Robbie, he ran as fast
as he could to get out of reach of
Jack’s cries and his eyes were wet
when he reached the market.
“Where did you get this turkey and
vegetables?” asked his mother when
she saw the basket Robbie brought
home.
”1 sold Jack to Frank Reed," said
Robbie, turning away; "he wanted him
and he can give Jack a better home
than we can, so I let him have him.”
"You sold Jack?" she asked. "You
go and get him this minute and take
this dinner hack ”
"I can’t do that," said Robbie. "I sold
Jack and that Is ull there is to It.”
Thanksgiving day, when the steam
ing turkey and fixings were put on the
table, Robbie's sister and mother were
the ones who seemed to enjoy it. Rob
bie did not; every piece of turkey
seemed to choke him; he could only
think of Jack.
“Someone is at the door," said Rob
bie's mother, ”1 heard It rattle."
Robbie opened it and in bounded
Jack. He barked and Jumped up to
Robbie as though to say; "X got here
in time for Thanksgiving dinner,
didn’t I?"
The dinner was forgotten, and Rob
bie's sister and mother gathered around
Jack, as pleased us he was to see them.
When they sat down at the table
sxain Jack v ~« tn his accustomed
♦♦•++++ ♦> ♦♦♦♦♦♦♦
t THANKSGIVING. X
+■++++4+++++ ♦ » »-f 4-f-f 4
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell,
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whoBe humble roof
Is weather proof;
Under the sparres of which I lie
Both soft and drle:
SVhere Thou, my chamber for to ward.
Hast set a guard
Df harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.
Low Is my porch, as Is my fate.
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my doore
Is worne by th‘ poore,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kltchln’s small:
A little butterle, and therein
A little byn,
Which keeps my little loafe of bread
Uncblpt, uriflead;
Some brittle sticks of thome or briar
Make me a fire.
Close by whose living coale I sit.
And glow like It.
Lord, I confess, too, when 1 dine.
The pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits that bee
There placed by Thee;
The worts, the purslaln, and tho messe
Of water cresso
Which of Thy kindnesses Thou has sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet
To be more sweet.
Tls Thou that orownest my glittering
hearth
With gulltlesse mlrthe.
And glvest me wassaile bowls to drink.
Spic'd to tho brink.
Lord, ’tls Thy plenty-dropping hand
That solles my land.
And glv’st me, for my bushell sowne.
Twice ten for one;
rhou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;
3esldes my healthful ewes to hear
Me twins each yeare;
rhe while the conduits of my klne
Run creame for wine:
All these, and better Thou dost send
Me, to this end,
rhat I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart;
Which, fir’d with Incense, I resigns
As wholly Thine;
3ut the acceptance, that must be,
O Lord, by Thee.
—Herrick.
dace beside Robbie’s chair, and from
line to time he ate of the dinner which
le unconsciously had provided.
When the dinner was over Robbie
ook his cap and called to Jack, but
lack seemed to know what was to
mppen, and he crawled under the stove
ind refused to move.
Poor Robbie could not keep the tears
jack this time, but he took Jack in
lia arms and started tor Frank’s.
Robbie’s tears fell fast on Jack's
ittle head as he walked along, fo>
lack kept his face close to Ills little
naster's, as though to plead with him
lot to leave him.
“Here's Jack,” said Robbie as Frank
ipened the door in answer to his ring
"I thought he would go to you,” said
•'rank. “He ran out this morning
vhen the maid wasn’t looking. Hut It
a no use, Rob; he won’* do a thing for
ne, and he won’t eat, either. Father
lays ho will die If I keep him, so I
;uess you had better take him back "
"But 1 can’t,” said Robbie. “I have
ipent tho money; I bought our Thanks
giving dinner with It.”
Robbie's face was very red as he
Inished his confession and he looked
tway from Frank. But Frank put his
land on Robbie’s shoulder. "You’re a
irlck, Rob,” he said. “I want to say
iomething, but I don’t know how you
,vlll take it; that J5 belonged to me
AGNES’ THANKSGIVING DINNER
(Copyright, 1913. by the McClure News
paper Syndicate.)
One day belore Thanksgiving a group
of little girls were talking of the good
things they expected to have for dinner
on that day.
“Oh! I just love Thanksgiving,” said
Nellie Carroll; “we always go to the
home of one grandfather one year and
the next year to the other. They live in
the country and we have dinner In a
long diningroom. A grandfather sits at
each end of the table, and a big turkey
is put in front of each and then they
try to see who can serve his turkey
first. We all laugh and have a jolly
time.”
“1 like Thanksgiving, too,” said
Jennie Smith. "We visit all day. Every
body comes to our house In the morning
for a late breakfast and then we all go
to my aunt's tor lunch, but the dinner
at grandfather’s at night Is the best of
all. In the center of the table there is
a big pumpkin with the center scooped
out. and that Is filled with apples,
oranges, bananas and grapes.”
“Does that stand right on the clean
tablecloth?” asked one little girl.
“Of course, silly,” answered Jennie:
“the pumpkin Is clean. And then.” she
continued, “there are small baskets
with yellow ribbon bows on the handles
and they have lace paper In them and
are filled with broken candy. And there
are little round brown buskets filled
with nuts and a nut pick on each. These
baskets ere scattered over the table
and they do look bo pretty on the white
cloth.”
‘'But where do you put the turkey?”
asked one girl.
“Oh. we have two big ones. They are
brought to the table ao everyone can
see them and then put on the nerving
table, but you can see them all the
time.”
Another little girl said she went to
her grandmother’s In the country and
they had a big turkey on the table and
a big dish of cranberry sauce and such
pumpkin pies you never saw, and then
they had a huge plum pudding and set
It on fire.
Agnes Walton listened to all that was
said. Her mother was a widow and
took In sewing and Agnes did not ex
pect a real Thanksgiving dinner.
“What are you going to have Thanks
giving, Agnes?” asked Nellie Carrol.
“I do not know,” Agnes answered.
“Of course you will have turkey;
everybody does,” said Jennie Smith.
The bell rang Just then and the con
versation ended. After school Neills
Carrol asked Jennie Smith to walk
home with her.
"X have been thinking” she said “that
Agnes will not have a turkey for
Thanksgiving, for her mother is poor.
Do you think your father would give
some money? I will ask mine and then
we can take all the money we have of
our own and buy a dinner for Agnes
and her mother?”
"I will ask.” said Jennie. “Our fa
thers do i.oi have to buy turkey for
Thanksgiving: they ought to help us."
The morning before Thanksgiving
Jennie and Nellie, accompanied by a
colored bov with a basket, went to
market. They bought the turkey first
and then the fixings. Indeed, they add
ed so much that the boy protested.
“'Deed, Miss Nellie.” he said, “I Just
can’t git no mo’ in dls yere basket."
"Take out the turkey and carry it."
commanded Miss Nellie. "We are go
ing to buy as long as the money lasts."
That night, when It was quite dark,
two little figures might have been seen
with caps drawn over their curls and
long coats with collars turned up. fol
lowed by a colored boy carrying a bas
ket and a bundle. “Put the fixings on
the steps.” said Nellie, when they
reached Agnes Walton’s house; “and
now run,” she told him, “for I just think
there are spooks in this street—It Is so
dark." The bo? did not stop to be told
a second time; he ran. As soon as ha
was out of sight Nellie rang Agnes'
bell and both girls hid behind the steps
of the next house.
Agnes opened the door.
‘■Mother.” she called, "here Is a bas
ket of vegetables and fruit, and a tur
key. too.”
Her mother came to the door and the
girls heard her say: "Someone has
made a mistake.”
“But here are our names,” said Ag
nes. reading the card: "For Agnes
and her mother, from two friends who
will nevor tell.’ ”
The door was closed and Jennie and
Nellie came from behind the steps.
“It was Just like hanging a May bas
ket," said Nellie.
“Yes,” answered Jennie, “only mors
fun, because v. e know that Agnes and
her mother will have a nice Thanks
giving dinner.”
“And we will never tell anyone.” said
Nellie, and they never did.
1
Statesmanship and Cookery.
From the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
In this conn try we need rooks more than
we need statesmen, says the president of
an organization for the cultivation of
better household economics. Without
pressing the analysis too far. most peo
ple will agree with the truth of the
observation.
The country needs statesmen certainly:
It has many of them and many more who
pretend they are statesmen and perhaps
think they are. One who argues the need
of more and better cooks need not decry
the, usefulness of public officials of broad
abilities and vision.
A good cook may make a statesman,
but no statesman can return the romDd
ment. More men are ruined by bad cook
ery than is commonly supposed. Soms
have asserted that Inefficient cooking 1*
responsible for much of the hard drinking
that curses the world. At any rate, a
well prepared meal Is an Invitation to a
tired man to stay at home In the evening,
and the mental picture of a good dlnnea
to come Is like a magnet drawing man oi
woman pretty straight home after tha
day’s work is done.
From the beginning cookery has been
esteemed above statesmanship, yet tha
cook is only now coming to possess her
proper estate. In the perhaps not very
distant future when suffrage comes to ba
generally accepted one may imagine that
the woman who stands on a good cookery
platform and can make good on her claim
of being able to bake toothsome pumpkin
plea and roast meat to tempt a laggard
appetite will stand an excellent chance of
sweeping her district. In that day states
manship and cookery Tnay go hand la
hand, a winning combination.
Soma Smoka.
From Popular Magazine.
Jess Carmichael was walking down
town In New York with his friend.
Bob Ginter.
Bob was puffing Industriously on a
fat dark cigar and had succeeded la
consuming about half of It, causing
the covering to curl up with the heat.
"What in thunder are you smoklngT**
asked Carmichael.
"A fine cigar," replied Ginter.
"Oh!” said Carmichael sadly. **l
thought tt was an umbrella.”