mi mi im
if MARY MIDTHORNE 1)
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON.
Author of “Oraustark," “Truxton King,” etc.
Copyright, 1M1, By Dodd, Mead A Co. JJ
' till llll 1111 \^)
CHAPTER XVH.—Continued.
And so they waited until the warmth
eras In them all, until the heart beats
•were strong and free.
At last Mr. Blagden spoke. His voice
was low and full of gentleness.
"Of course, X can’t think of asking
you to leave a cheery, delightful nest
like this for that cold, barren place I
call home,” hfj*-yr.id wistfully. "It's not
to be thought /a'We—your aunt and I
—were selfish as to hope you might
conic back If I were eloquent enough
to-- But. of course, we couldn't have
known how nicely you are situated
here. Thlu^'ttle room Is more eloquent
than I coUid ever hope to be. It l*.«.n
argument that I cannot meet.” His
bony fingers suddenly gripped the arms
of the chair. "But. God help me! I
can't begin to tell i ou how bleak and
cold and dead out rooms are—how
great the contrast. Ah, my children,
you have all the light We have none,
lour Aunt Rena Is—” Again he stop
ped short, visibly moved.
They Instinctively felt that their
aunt wbb In even greater anguish than
the ambassador who found It so dif
ficult to state his mission In plain
terms.
"Is Aunt Rena 111?” asked Eric, with
the desire to make It easy for him to
go on.
"If she Is HI—If she wants us, Uncle
Horace, we will go to her at once," ad
ded Mary, after a quick look Into her
brother’s eyes.
Horace’s face brightened. "You will?”
be cried eagerly. "It is very good of
yot»—very. I can't tell you how much
good It will do her to—to see you again.
Of course—” he hesitated once more—
"of course, her heart is set on having
■you back there to—to stay.”
Another protracted period of silence.
Horace appeared to be reading their
thoughts, for it was he who broke the
blence.
"She Is 111,” he broke out despairing
ly. "Not physically 111, but mentally.
Her soul Is sick. She—she seems worse
tjht than ever before. A dream—a
Id dream this afternoon has upset
terribly. She refuses to go to bed
rht, fearing a repetition. I am un
ed. I couldn't endure It any longer.
tour hearts would be touched If you
♦ould eee her tonight. A11 evening long
fie has beon wondering If you will
sver come back. She knows that Chet
♦ynd Is dead. You see, she—”
Eric started. “She knows? Then—”
"It came to her In the dream. And It
was so very real as she describes It."
Horace arose stiffly. "I do not feel It
is right for me to ask you to come with
«ne now. but—but—”
"We’ll go, Uncle Horace,” said Mary
resolutely. She knew that the decision
rested with her.
Five minutes later, the three of them
went forth Into the night, huddled close
together to fight the wind with Mary
tthe center. The clock In the court
use struck the hour of 10.
"I will tell you of the dream when we
reach the house,” Mr. Blagden had
said as they left the porch of the Ver
ner cottage.
CHAPTER XVIII.
80
still belonged to the blithe, untram
melled Rena Van Dykeman of another
day, and that now said goodby forever
to Its Corinth environment.
"And you, too, Eric,” she went on,
more calmly. She eyed him fondly,
and patted his arm. "You are my son
now. I want a son. I need a son. Your
uncle needs you.”
"I do, Indeed,” spoke up Mr. Blag
den, unsteadily. "Now, my dear, don't
you think you’d better retire? You are
very tired. It has been a hard day for
you.”
"It was very thoughtful of you, Mary,
to take off your hat before I came In,”
said Mrs. Blagden Irrelevantly, even
as she laid her hand on her husband’s
arm. "It made It so easy for me. You
will forgive me If I say good night now.
Good night, Erie. You will find your
rooms Just as you left them. Martha
has put out your things—some that you
forgot to take away with you. I’ve
kept them In my bureau since—Yes,
yes, Horace, I am coming. Good night,
Mary. I am so gjad you have come
back to us, Martna will call you as
usual in the morning.”
In the doorway, Horace turned to
speak to the deeply moved young man
and woman.
"Will you be good enough to wait
here for a little while? I am coming
down to close up the house." There was
something significant In the way he
put It. They were wet and uncom
fortable, yet they would not have
thought of going upstairs before their
uncle laid bare the conditions which
had sent him out Into the night so
bravely.
The change In Horace’s nature was
most strikingly Illustrated by the next
remark that fell from his lips.
"Oh, dear me, I almost forgot that
you are wet and cold. Come upstairs
to your rooms. Martha will get out
dry stockings and slippers for you.
And she shall make mustard baths for
your feet before you go to bed. And
hot lemonades,”
When the Mldthornes came down
stairs later on, after changing a part of
their apparel, they were amazed to find
Horace Blagden on his knees before
the fireplace, clumsily starting a fire
In the grate. His lack of experience
was evident, his embarrassment undis
guised. Eric went to his assistance.
Presently they were seated before
the snapping coals.
“Your aunt’s dream,” said Mr. Blag
den, "was a most distressing one. It
was so real that she can’t get It out
of her mind that we are to hear bad
news of Chetwynd. You see, I mention
Ills name once more. I do so because
I am confident that he Is not In the
land of the living, Adam Carr to the
contrary. Not a day passes that I do
not expect to hear through that excel
lent bloodhound that my son has come
to his death In some far off land and
that the chase has ended.”
"But Aunt Rena’s dream, please.”
said Mary, with a quick glance at
Eric's twitching face.
Horace moistened his dry lips with
his tongue. "She was taking her nap
this afternoon, as usual. A vision came
to her. It was more than a dream.
In this vision there appeared a series
of vast cliffs and precipices, reaching
so high In the sky that all the world
seemed to lie below them. Far be
low, at the base of these dreadful cliffs,
was the sea—miles and miles below,
she declares. The breakers came rush
ing up In the shape of gigantic hands
and arms, all of them reaching upward
In the effort to clamber to the top of
the sheer walls of stone that touched
the sky.
"She came out upon the loftiest of
all these cliffs and sat down to rest,
with her tired feet hanging over the
ledge. The great arms and writhing
fingers redoubled their efforts. They
climber higher and higher, but they
could not reach her feet. A huge,
black-lipped mouth opened and closed,
showing Its teeth, In the sea below'
—a vast maw that craved her us with
an appetite that knew no pity. As she
sat there, looking wearily about, al
most at the gates of heaven, another
figure appeared on the cliff not far
away. It was Chetwynd. He ap
proached to the very edge, and stood
looking out over space, his hands on
a flimsy railing she had not noticed
before. She cried out to him and
would have risen to go to him but for
that strange paralysis that one ex
periences In dreams."
He paused to clear his throat. Eric
drew a long, deep breath and relaxed
his grip on the arm of the chair.
“Then she tried to call out to him,
but no sound above a whisper could
she force from her lips. Another fig
ure came creeping up from behind, the
figure of a man whose face she could
not see. This man stole upon Chet
wynd and struck him a violent blow,
sending him through the rail and over
the—"
Eric leaped to his feet, a cry of hor
ror on his lips. Then, to the utter
amazement of his uncle, he rushed
from the room.
Mr. Blagden turned to Mary In great
distress.
"Dear me,” he said; "dear me I What
have I said? I—where are you going
Mary?"
"To Eric,” she cried In great agita
tion. A moment later, Horace Blak
den sat alone In his library, staring
at the door, vastly perplexed, and with
a great apprehension growing up in
his heart.
He heard the rush of swift footsteps
In the hall upstairs, the slamming of
a door, and then no other sound save
the merry cracale of the coals.
Two days went slowly by. They
brought forth on early apology from
Eric for his rude behavior in the li
brary, but no explanation. He had
decided to watt for the lest word-from
Adam Carr. Not that he lacked the
courage or the will to deliver his secret,
but that newly made conditions rals-d
obstacles that could not be surmount
ed. First of all. the pathetic devo
tion of his uncle and aunt. They called
him their son. Then, the Innate gen
tleness of his own nature, whlcfi shrank
from the desire to rob them of their
new estate—a strange wealth of con
tentment and resignation. To tell them
now would be to destroy the only Joy
left In life for them. Again the cu
rious sense of loyalty to Adam Carr.
He lost no time In looking up John
Payson, to whom an explanation was
due, and a plea for Mary's sake. Pay
son heard him through—a nervous,
disconnected statement It was—and
considerately assured him that he not
only understood the situation, but that
he would not have had Mary do other
wise than she had done.
"Tell her, Eric," he said, "that I lovo
her more than ever. I can wait until
she Is ready to send for me. Brace
up, old fellow. I understand."
But, though he said It fairly enough,
he did not understand. He was sorely
There was a vague, almost shadowy
tight In the parlor windows. A reflect
ed glow from the dim old porch lamp
that hung above the front steps of the
*1gtant's castle" threw the curtained
windows Into dull relief.
As the hurrying trio came up the
gravel walk, their gaze was centered
on one of these windows, held by a
common anxiety. Not one, but all of
them knew that a long used chair stood
close beside this particular window.
They were nearing the steps when
one of the rigid curtains moved ever
mo slightly, and yet distinctly. It
parted from Its mate an Inch or two
and then became motionless once more.
The effect was weird, uncanny, almost
ghostly. Someone sat behind this cur
tain watching their approach; an un
seen hand held the curtains apart; a
pair of wistful eyes peered out of the
loneliness that lay In the room behind.
Horace Blagden sighed audibly.
Once Inside the door, he checked his
companions with a whispered word and
the raising of a finger to his lips. They
stood there for a moment, listening.
"Go Into the library,” said he, In a
lowered voice. "I think your aunt Is In
the parlor."
He crossed the hall and softly opened
the door, pausing an Instant before en
tering. As the door closed behind him.
Brie and Mary turned toward the li
brary, where a light gleamed through
the transom.
"You will not tell them tonight?”
wblapered Mary, clutching his arm.
"No," he replied without hesitation.
"I haven’t the heart. Why, he seems
happy—actually happy."
They waited In the old, familiar room,
curiously awed by Its Blagd.enesque
primness after their own rather uncon
ventional disorder. Mary removed her
hat and laid It on the table with her
gossamer and gloves. It was an ln
eplred act on her part, as subsequent
events proved.
Mr. Blagden came In a few minutes
later, holding open the door that his
wife might pass before him. There was
a contented smile on his thin lips.
“There, my dear," he said gently,
waving his hand in the direction of the
two Mldthornes; “I am sure you can’t
call those fine flesh and blood creatures
dream fancies. They are very real, and
Won’t disappear before morning, as you
aajr." To Eric and Mary: “Your aunt
ta positive she is only dreaming you
an here.”
A wavering, uncertain smile appeared
on Mrs. Blagden’s face. She advanced,
Voiding out her hands, almost shyly.
The young people sprang forward,
tech grasping a slim white hand. Mary
Impulsively threw an arm about her
aunt’s shoulders and drew the thin,
shrinking figure close to her strong,
oager body. Then she kissed the
tremulous lips of the woman who had
done nothing In her life but hurt her.
"Bhe’s come to stay, Aunt Rena," said
Eric.
Mrs. Blagden withdrew her hand
from Eric's and slowly, gently passed
It over the cheek of the girl. Her eyes
« ere soft and Imploring.
"Oh. my dear, dear Mary,” she mur
tnured. "are you quite sure that you
meant to kiss me like that? Do you
really mean to-"
Mary kissed her again. ”1 do mean
It Aunt Rena, I do mean It.”
T have been very unkind, very un
>ust to you,” said Mrs. Blagden, still
•eart hing the girl’s face with wonder
ing eyes.
“I can’t forget. Aunt Rena,” said
I’ary. quite simply. She did not com
fclt the error of trying to appear de
Ctnltely reconciled.
am sorry f«fr all that I may have
done, my dear,” said her aunt humbly.
“I can say no more. But.—but I do
.•re you! I do want you!”
It was a wall from the very bottom
M a hungry, unhappy soul—a soul that
puzzled. :
No word came from Adam Carr. j
Sunday was at hand. Tho Satur
day Courier had announced the pro
gram for the services at the First Con- ;
gregatlonal church. There was to be j
a solo In the morning by the popular
Miss Smith, with flute and ’cello ob
ligato. More wonderful still, a ’cello
solo during the "collection" by the fa
mous Professor Parker, of Boston. In
the evening a song service, with a
short sermon by the minister, the Rev.
Mr. King.
And all this In the First Congrega
tional church of Corinth. Horace Blag
den's church! .
At 10:30 o'clock Mr. Blagdon put on
his tall hat, took up his gold headed
cane and announced to the two Mid
thornes that it was time to be off to
church. Mrs. Biagden was not up to
it, so they were leaving her behind. |
"The bell hasn’t rung yet, Uncle
Horace," observed Eric, who had been
waiting for the resounding peals of
that well known summoner of the
Faithful. ,
"Mr. King’s orders, my dear boy," ;
said Horace as calmly as If the sllenc- i
Ing of that venerable and never fall- '
Ing bell was the most trivial thing In
the world. He pondered a moment and 1
then added, with a queer little shake j
of his head: "Mr. King Is really a hu- :
man sort of a Christian. A sensible
one, I might say. Come along, please. I
We can't afford to be late after what j
He said at the board meeting last week.” I
He seemed nervous and quite an*- >
lous to be oflt.
"You see, my dears, there’s a very 1
sick child across the street from the l
phurch. Abscesses in the ears, I under- I
stand. They’ve got tan bark along the
pntlre block. Bast week i attended to j
Having the heavy teaming stopped on ;
that part of the street. The chlld’e '
mother Informed Mr. King that the 1
Frightful clanging of the church bell |
ilmost set the little girl wild with pain. I
3o”—here he took a long breath—"Mr. •
King promised her that—er, ahem—It
should not ring until the little sufferer
was quite fully recovered. Most un
isual. Most extraordinary. The bell
Hasn’t missed a service, morning or
light, In 60 years.”
"Good for Mr. King,” cried Mary.
'He is the right kind of a Christian. !
[ don’t see why the foolish old thing
las to ring, anyway."
Mr. Biagden looked hurt. "Really,
Mary, that Isn’t Just the proper—” He
paught himself up with one of his rare
smiles, albeit was rather ft shame faced
sffort. "Mr. King did not put It in Just
:hat way, my dear, but he was quite
'onvlnclng and—er, ahem—very posl
;lve. He said that If the members of
:he First Congregational church did
lot know the hours for service. It was
llgh time they were learning them. It
sn’t necessary to ring a bell In order
:o vet the people to the theater on time,
’aid he, so why bring them to church
n that way. Really, he was quite em
phatic about It. Somehow, we agreed
with him. I believe it Is his intention
o make note of the tardy ones today.
For—er, ahem—missionary purposes, as
le put It to the board.”
Mr. Biagden looked at his watch, and
iccelerated his speed quite noticeably.
Eric and Mary could scarcely credit
heir senses. Truly, a wonderful thing
md happened In Corinth. A new gos
pel had supplanted the old. A rock
pound, half-dead spirituality had been
shaken Into life by a process of en
lghtenment that was postlvely be
wildering. An up to date minister,
with an up to date gospel, had com
pletely upset the religious calculations
pf 160 years, and Corinth was sur
viving the shock!
nine couia noi neip wondering how
long It would be before one of the
ireat, progressive and covetous met
ropolitan congregations would extend
a. call to this amazing Mr. King—and
get him at a vastly increased salary,
with perhaps a pension for his wife
when he became too old to preach, or
It got tired of him and wanted a
change.
The new Congregationalism had at
last forced Its way Into Corinth. It
bad taken many years. I venture the
iplnlon that the First Congregational
church did more toward proving the
blindness of faith when It called Mr.
King than anything that has been done
In the name or the history of religion.
iV congregation so settled and stead
fast In Its ways could not have ac
complished a transition so complete as
; his except by accident. Mr. King -was
truly an accident, quite as much of an
iccldent as the stroke of. lightning
which never strikes twice in the same
place. If anyone had told the trustees
;n advance that he was going to tweak
tradition's nose until It slipped entirely
Jut of Joint, those excellent gentlemen,
Horace Blagden Included, would have
preserved the tenets of the church so
rigorously that the name of Mr. Per
clval King would never have been
beard In Corinth. But they took him
jn faith, and they had been taking
blm on faith ever since, without &
murmur of dissent.
He was the modern Congregational -
Ist (God bless him.'), and as strong as
Samson when it came to shattering
pillars. The old church fell down
ibout their heads, without hurting
myone, and a new one went up in its
place so swiftly that before the coft»
grcgatlon knew what It was abeut It
was reformed, rejuvenated, human
ized. He was giving it something to
think about, something to enjoy, some
thing to grasp.
(Continued next week.)
Concerning Cotton.
From the Chicago Journal.
Word comes from Europe that there Is
likely to be a decided rise In the price of j
long-flbered cotton. It Is used for making
wings of aeroplanes and the tires of auto
mobiles—articles which are being built and
worn out at quite unprecedented rate.
The best cotton for these purposes Is
said to be the American sea Island variety,
but the supply of this Is small. Both In
length and strength of liber It stands at
the head, but the available eupply Is
small. Next comes the Egyptian cotton,
but the demand for that tri peaceful ln
Justry Is very great, and the crop Is said
to be unsatisfactory. The only source of
supply remaining Is a variety of upland
American cotton grown In the well wat.
ered bends of the Mississippi river, and
known locally as ''benders.’'
It looks as though our southern plant
ers had better take stock of the cotton
situation. They have had a practical mon
opoly of the world’s main clothing and
Bber material for more than a century,
but there are many signs that the "sure
thing” period of cotton planting la about
over. It le nigh time to see If the qual
ity as well as yield of the American crop
tannot be Improved before other lands or
other materials drive us from our present
position of supremacy.
A Wedding Washed Off.
From Tld Bits.
A short time ago a servant living tn
Yorkshire gave notice to leave her sit
uation, informing her mistress that
she was about to be married.
As the time drew near for leaving,
she addressed her mistress thus:
"Please, mum, have you got a girl
ret?"
"No, Bridget. Why do you ask?"
"Because. If you haven’t, I should
ike to Btay.”
“Why, I thought you were going to
parry the sweep!"
"Oh, yes, mum," replied Bridget,
Hesitatingly. "But when I saw' him
ifter ’Is face was washed I felt I could
lot love ’Ira."
- . ^ --
Queen Mary of England prefers
"hlna tea and nearly always drinks It
w ken she cask obtain It.
THE GIANT CASTLE.
/Copyright, 1916, by the McClure News
paper Syndicate.)
Once upon a time a very poor couple
lived In a tiny cottage on the side of
a big lake. High above tbelr heads
towered a mountain whose top way
capped with clouds.
They had only one child, a hoy named
Hans, who was very simple In his ways,
but had a lot of sense. He was very
observant of all that went on about
him and was not a bit stupid like peo
ple thought.
Times grew very hard. Hens’ cloth
ing was patched so much that It looked
like an old fashioned bed quilt and he
had nothing to eat three times a day
but gruel. The country about was very
rich as far as the soil was concerned,
but on the crest of the mountains lived
a wicked old giant, who'robbed every
one In the surrounding land.
At last one day there was no one
left In the land but Hans, his father,
who was 111, and his mother, for all
the rest had gone to another land.
Things looked so bad that Hans said
he was going up the mountain and see
what he could do to get rid of the
giant.
"Oh, son,” cried the mother, throwing
her arms about the boy, "do not leave
us—we will never see you again. If you
go.”
“If something Is not done soon,” re
plied Hans, “we will all starve. I might
as well get killed trying to better mat
ters as stay here to die for need of
food.”
So Hans looked about for something
to take with him. He could find noth
ing except a bucket of tar and an old
rope on the shelf In a shed.
“I will take these with me,” he told
his mother, "and cut a stout stick on
my way up.”
Bo with the bucket of tar and the
rope Hans climbed up and up and up,
till he looked to his mother watching
below like a fly against the side of the
huge mountain.
By night he was In the yard of a
castle built of huge green stones. Noth
ing of the giant could be seen.
"I will sit in this tree which hangs
right over the porch,” said Hans to
himself. Bo Into the tree he climbed
and fixed himself comfortably In the
branches. Presently he fell the earth
tremble and a huge form came scram
bling up the mountain.
The giant was very tall, but his head
was small and his face terribly ugly.
In he went to supper, and H&ns could
see him devouring meat by the 100
pounds and broad by the dozen loaves.
Then he went out on the porch to take
a nap In the moonlight
It made Hans hungry to see the good
things on the table, for he had eaten
nothing since morning. So he crept
down and went Into the big hall. Here
he ate all he wished, then steppel light
ly out onto the porch.
There was no one around but the
sleeping giant, who snored like a bel
lowing buffalo. Put down underneath
the castle Hans could hear fa'lht sounds
as If of people moving about.
The giant sat In a big chair, his head
hanging forward on his brtfcst and his
arms dropping by hts side. He was so
sound asleep that the boy walking
about did not disturb him at all. Hans
remembered his rope and tar pot, so
he took the rope and made a large
noose, which he slipped over the giant’s
head, tlfen tied the end to a strong
tree.
Climbing up on the railing of the
porch, Hans turned the pot upside
down, and Its black, sticky contents
streamed down over the giant’s face. It
ran down his forehead, over his nose
and into his mouth, even closing his
eyes so he could not open them. Start
ing up from his seat In anger, he vainly
TVS* Gf/UYT-Atr
J
tried to see, but could not do so and
when he struggled to rise It only tight
ened the rope, so that he fell choking
to the floor.
Hans saw a bunch of keys jingling at
the giant’s waist, and took them. Over
the castle he ran, opening doors, till
at last he came to the cellar—here he
saw many noble ladles and knights In
chains, bo It was but a few moments
before all In the castle were free. When
they crowded up on the porch they
found the wicked giant dead. Hans told
the people that they were free to go
home. Then some of them led him to
a big room, which was full of gold
and jewels the giant had stolen. This
they divided Into equal parts, only they
gave Hans three shares for saving
them, and. by the time the moon rose,
all were tramping safely down the
mountain to their homes.
At dawn Hans reached the cottage
with the news that the giant was dead,
and bringing his bucketful of gems,
which made the family rich and com
fortable all the rest of their lives.
In Behalf of a Humble Friend.
From the Dally Oklahomlan.
Our meek and lowly friend, the great
American cheese, blda fair to come Into
its royal own. Of course there are oth
er kinds of cheese, but the others aro
higher priced and, at that, no whit
better than the genus Americanus
cheese.
Eminent authorities of food products
have of late mobilized In favor of
cheese. They are claiming that it not
only Is a most satisfactory substitute
for meat, but that among Its Ingredi
ents are certain bacteriological forma
tions which are of Incalculable benefit
to healthfulness.
Cheese Is good to eat We have all
been aware of that since time Immemo
rial, but few of us have ever taken time
to think anything about Its wholesome
ness. It Is considerably cheaper than
meat and a first aid to a reduced cost
of living.
Among the working classes of other
countries cheese Is a staple diet Habit
uating ourselves to its dally use Is all
that Is necessary.
No "Smoke of Battle.”
From Popular Mechanic*.
One of the marked features of the
European conflict that distinguishes It
from the wars of the past Is the absenoe
of smoke on the Bring linos. Owing to
the use of smokeless powder, no smoke It
made when a rifle Is discharged, while
the heaviest artillery throws off nothing
more than a thin mist that is Invisible
100 yards away and disappears within a
few seconds after the gun la fired. Only
when shrapnel or a shell explodes In the
enemy's lines Is that anything visible
In the way of smoke, the whole purpose
being to conceal the position of the guns
throwing the projectiles while making the
points where the projecttlee explode clear
ly visible. The expression, "the smoke of
battle," so faithfully descriptive of the
wars of the past, has littlk meaning when
applied to a modern war.
STOP MBK PEN
Many Gentle Distractions in
Summer’s Garden.
Some Reasons Why It Is Difficult to
Work Out of Doors—Observation
of the Birds One of the
Greatest.
In summer I write every morning
In a summer house at the extreme
rear of my garden—a house which is,
in reality, a cow shed converted by
Virginia creepers, side trellises, great
openings sawed in all four sides and
a small plaster cast of a section of
the Parthenon frieze, painted with
white enamel paint to resist the rain.
But I find it difficult to work out of
doors, even in the summer. There are
so many distractions. I am disturbed
incessantly by the tiny clamors of lit
tle things, making their sweet, insidi
ous appeal for attention.
There is, for instance—or, rather,
there has been—a chick-a-dee’s nest
on my summer house, in a box tacked
there to attract the wrens. All my
life I have desired to,have a chick-a
dee’s nest under observation, and this
year my wish was granted. Every
morning while Mrs. Chick-a-dee was
sitting on her eggs I saluted her when
I came down to work.
Then, after I had settled down, and
had just got a paragraph well under
way, Mr. Chick-a-dee would appear
with a worm or bug in his mouth to
feed her, and I would have to lay
down my pen to watch him. First he
would perch on a twig twenty or thir
ty feet away and, without dropping
the food from his mouth, say "chick-a
dee’’ two or three times softly—a pret
ty, wiry, tinkling sound. He never
on any occasion added the remaining
“dee-dee-dees” of the familiar call.
After repeating his announcement he
would then fly to a strip of the trellis,
beside the bird box, and sitting there
once more give his wiry little “chick
a-dee.” Then he would suddenly give
a hop to the perch below the hole in
the box, transfer the food to the wait
ing bill of his wife, who would have
her head out ready, and depart.
Another disturber of my labors is
a bluebird whose family Inhabits a
box in my neighbor’s yard, but who
prefers to hunt in mine. I can never
resist watching the flash of his blue
wings over the flower beds. Still an
other disturber is a Baltimore oriole.
Ho feeds in the orchard, swallowing
down a bug or caterpillar and then
fairly dancing on a spray while he
emits a musical grace after meat.
Sometimes a yellow butterfly in
vades my privacy, fluttering across
7t
my vision to attract attention, and
then winging in circles over the potato
field or the flower beds. I watch it in
its flight.
When I look back at my paper an
ant is crawling over it. The ant
makes me think of Jpy young apple
trees set out this spring, for the ants
crawl up young apple trees and .evi
dently devour the green aphis on the
leaves. Have my new trees any
aphis? I must get up and investigate. s
Yes, they have. I must get the hose '
and spray them off.
Back at last at my table I am free
to resume my work, and another para
graph gets completed. Then I hear
a meadow lark or perhaps a wood
thrush and, arrested by the sound,
pause to listen, and my ear catches
clearly the various noises of the sum
mer day, which so often we hear with
out hearing, and would only be aware
of if they stopped altogether. To
sink back and just listen—to feel the
touch of the breeze on your cheek, to
watch the great, lazy, beautiful white
cloud, to smell the warm scents of
the garden—that is better than work
ing!—Walter Prichard Eaton in the
Philadelphia Evening Ledger.
Passing of the Oil Lamp.
The coal oil lamp business has
fallen into the sere and yellow leaf
and with but small chance of ever
coming back, the New York Times re
marks. The comparatively few styles
and kinds that still sell are cheap glass
lamps with corresponding shades and
burners, such as yet find a place in
the lonely, isolated farmhouse. Scarce
a town now so small and unprogres
sive in the West and South that has
not its electric light plant, sometimes
privately owned, more often a public
utility.
So, too, a growing number of farm
houses tap the nearest interurban
trolley wire or draw their illumina
tion from the neighboring town. So
the sale of electric light fixtures has
more than made up the loss in the
coal oil lamp business.
Watts and amperes and volts are
household words to those retail deal
ers who once knew only of wicks,
burners and shades. Lanterns are
sharing the fate of lamps, for flash
lights are spelling the disuse of the
ancient “lanthorn” that goes back to
medieval times.
Tired of Waiting.
"Of course the war can’t last for
ever,” said the optimist.
“Of course not,” asserted the pes
simist, "but, confound it, neither can
we!”
Direct sunlight by its chemical ef
fects disintegrates the backing of mir- ^
rors in a comparatively short time. *
Surnames were not used in England
before the conquest.
h
I ■—
At Less Cost—
There’s more nutritive value that the
system will absorb in Grape-Nuts than
in either meat or bread.
A remarkable fact.
Weight for weight, a package of Grape-Nuts sup
plies one-third more nourishment than a roast of beef
and*at about half the cost. A roast of beef is about
twenty per cent waste and there is a shrinkage in cook
ing. Grape-Nuts comes ready cooked—and not a
crumb need be wasted.
Think it over!
Then there’s bread—white bread lacks certain ele
ments essential to building brain and body. Why?
Because in milling white flour, four-fifths of the precious
mineral content (all important for health and life) is
thrown out with the brancoat of wheat, to make the
flour look white and pretty.
Grape-Nuts
FOOD
not only supplies all the brain- and bone-building, nerve
and muscle-making phosphates of the wheat, but all the
rich nutriment of malted barley.
Besides, Grape-Nuts is easily digested—generally in
about an hour—white bread and beef require about 2\
hours.
Grape-Nuts comes in germ-proof, moisture-proof
packages—-ready to serve with cream or milk—a de
licious ration, economical and highly nourishing.
“There’s a Reason”
Sold by Grocers everywhere.
^ }]
