CHAPTER VIII. (Continued.)
My heart swelled with indignation; I
felt trapped.
"I thought you were ill, or dying, or
something," I answered, too angry to be
civil. "I understood you to say yester
d&v that yon had wrenched your ankle."
"Sc I believed I had at the lime," he
answered, totally unperturbed, and en
joying my confusion; "but it turns out w
be only a matter of a few bruises and a
twinge or two of rheumatism to remind
me that I can't stand a ducking as I
'could twenty years ago."
"Then why did you bring us here? To
make fun of us?" I burst out ..choked.
-iekiisdinatttiV.-.7t!f suddenly I
thought of mother. I went up to my
grandfather, who stood chuckling, with
his handg in his pockets. "Oh, sir," I
said, humbly, and try all 1 would I couid
not keep my voice from breaking, "think
of mother only to what yon are subject
ing her. I know I have been horribly un
civil and wanting in respect to yon, but
it is hard to make her suffer for it. If
this summons is meant as a trick, to give
my insolence a setting-down, I can tak.
it as meant; ouly please don't punish her
don't look on my bad manners as the
result of her teaching but keep ber here
few days to be with Aunt Rosalie, and
let me go buck alone to Shipley." Mor?
I might have added, but at that point my
grandfather's self-possession gave way,
pud he caught me to his heart
"Go back alone to Shipley! Not wui!
doors have locks upon tliem and I arm.-
to bold you, my beauty. What! Don't
you understand it yet, little Spitfire?
D'ye think you can put up for a few
years with the company of a capricious
old scouudrel, who has never hud any
one to thwart him for his good, but who
does know honesty and spirit when he
sees them? No, no. my darling! Heaven
forgive me that I didn't send for you
years ago, and do my duty by you. 1
pave robbed myself of eighteen years of
purest happiness. Hut I have you at
last. nd will keep you. my child. And
J'H hack you against any one for the
greatest beauty and the finest spirit in
the whole country. I say again, bless
you, my dearest child."
-s -
, CHAPTEIi IX.
I was plunged into a new world. The
Olga Damien who woke up next morning
Id her little room in the High street of
ShipIey-le-Marsh was a different being
from the Olga Damien who went to rest
under pale-blue damask curtains in the
luxurious apartment at Gray Ashtead.
As I passed down the hall "my grand
father called to me from his library. 1
entered a little timidly. He was sitting
nt his table in the great formal room,
writing busily.
"Here. Olga," said he, "here is a check
for your first quarter's allowance, in case
you should want to get any things in
Shipley. The habit is to be my affair
order it, and I'll pay for it when it comes
home. But, as a piece of advice, 1 sug
gest that you don't buy much to-day-wait,
and do your shopping iu London
next week."
"In London!" I repeated, almost stupe
fied. "Yes, London. We are going abroad in
a fortnight; I always go to the Uiviera
in November, and I always spend a week
in London on the way."
The day was perfect; the weather had
turned warm and mellow, as it some
time does in the latter days of October.
The warm, soft breeze brought a pink
toue into darling mother's cheeks as we
drove out in the landau that afternoon.
What a drive it was! Uay and 1 were
quite frierds already, and both of us ex
ploding with nonsense. We kept mother
and Aunt Rosalie laughing all the way
to Shipley: and were quite surprised
when the carriage stopped at the little
stationer's in the High street. Marianne
threw open the private door the minute
we appeared.
Aunt Rosalie and mother prepared for
morning of sorting old relics and weep
ing over old letters. Ray and I found
this dull, so we amused ourselves by go
ing round the town and bringing in
things for lunch: after which I escorted
him to the very field where grandfather
nd I had met three days before; over
which remembrance we laughed heartily.
Then we all packed ourselves into the
carriage once more, amid quite a little
concourse of spectators, bidding us fare
well. "Home, Asquith," shouted Ray to the
coachman: (he two bays started, with a
preliminary prance, anil we were off.
Another phase in my life was left be
hind. CHAPTER X.
We were rather silent driving home.
JUyvcnham and 1 bad spent all our
spirits for the time being, and leaned
kack. aide by side, dreamily watching
the hedges and the lung reach of white
road behind us. We returned by a dif
ferent road from that by which we
vest, through wilder and more beautiful
acenery.
The river flows down in that valley,
Otga," Mid Kay, pointing to oar left,
where thick groves of pines teemed to
asecmd to an tmmeaaurable depth.
MAad, Just at the lowest point, the stream
la fordable. There need to be an old
aaonaetery down there, and the monk
da a fine thing by hating a toll for
every one using the valley ford."
"How Interesting r I said, trying to
wn, in the evening light, to catch
of the river thiwurh the thick
lust, "why, there la a hones down
-iVa. I know. That's Why. Annt
r2r cried Eayvenham, breaking of
trlf,"l da betters that Valleyford
f - There la seaoke comiag from the
;j7. Aeafath." he weat e. tum-
r tla faee to t&e aeaehaian.- "la
"1 rf" tahea, de rot kaewf
- ,f -r?v I NS
. Csadaa, tV
v -vT-ss'i. t-r .i
1'
jff
for a year, to a foreign lady, or an Eng
lish lady, I believe she is, sir, who has
lived most of her time in Italy."
"Dear me, I wonder if she knows," said
Ray, reflectively. "What is her name,
Asquith?"
"Lady de Wynter, I believe, sir."
"Humph!" said Aunt Rosalie, "I'm sure
I hope she'll like her quarters."
This conversation savored of mystery
to me. I scanned the fast-receding tur
rets of Valleyford, and asked, "What is
the matter with the place? It looks
rather a nice house."
"There was an awful tragedy Vre',""
s!;J Aunt Ucisnlie. J'Wnsi mused it all
will, I suppose, forever be a mystery. It
was, let uie see, just seven years ago."
"Oh, do tell about it," cried Ray.
Aunt Rosulie, leaning back, surveyed
us both with a smile. Evidently she was
fully aware of her own abilities in the
story-telling line. Without waiting for
further pressing she began:
"Well, nearly all the Egertons who
have owned that property for centuries.
have met with violent deaths. About
thirty years ago it seemed as though the
luck was turned, however, for Gaston
Egerton, he young heir, was one of the
handsomest, brightest young fellows ever
seen. His fattier died when be was a
minor, so the income of the property ac
cumulated to very fair sum; and the
day of his coming of age was about the
brightest ever known at Valleyford. For
two or three years nil went well. He and
his mother kept open house, and every
one visited them. Then down came the
hereditary shadow on his life. Hi
mother died; and, as he had always been
devoted to her, he felt the loss keenly.
and went abroad to try and shake off
his depression He was away for two
years where, no one knows. He re
turned suddenly, a widower, with a little
lwy of a twelvemonth old. He lived the
life of a recluse in that dreary valley,
with his son Paul, to whom, however,
he gave an excellent education."
"An awfully nice fellow is Paul," ob
served Iiayvenham. "You'll see bim,
Olga. w hen we go to London."
"Well, when Paul was twenty-one, he
went on the continent to see a little of
the world; and while there he became en
gaged to a most beautiful woman a Miss
Madalena Carleton. I believe she was
rather older than he, but he was simply
infatuated about her, and, on his return
to England, she came to stay at Valley
ford. Now comes the most extraordinary
part of the story. Everyone thought it
a most peculiar thing that Miss Carleton
should be permitted by her friends to
stay, quite unchaperoned, in the house of
her fiance and his father. But the as
tonishment reached its climax when Paul
suddenly returned abroad. leaving his
lady-love still at Valleyford. What fol
lowed is wrapped in mystery. It was
thought by some that Lord Egerton fell
in love with his son's future wife. We
never, any of us, saw her; bnt I have
heard her described as absolutely be
witching beautiful as morning, and an
intense coquette. One morning the whole
district rang with the news of an awful
tragedy at Valleyford. The gamekeeper,
walking through the valley in the early
morning, found the body of Lord Egerton
Boating in the river. lie was in full
evening dress the featnres rigid and
composed no mark of violence could at
first be detected, bnt under his clothes
was found a small, a very small wound,
apparently inflicted with a long, narrow
weapon of extraordinary sharpness."
"What an awful story! It Is like a
novel," I said, horrified; "is it really all
true, Aunt Rosalie?"
"My dear, yes; it only happened seven
years ago. But that is not all. The
gamekeeper, having dragged the body of
the unfortunate baron on shore, ran up to
alarm the house. The butler, descend
ing to know what was the matter, struck
his foot against something in the hall.
He stooped it was a man's body. He
rushed to unbar the front door and let
in the light of day. The door, which he
had barred securely before going to bed,
was on the latch; outside stood the. terri
fied gamekeeper, white and gasping. On
the marble pavement, livid and ghastly
in the weird red light of morning, lay
Paul Egerton, apparently lifeless. Hi
head and face were horribly disfigured
and mutilated; evidently he had been
beaten violently with some blunt weapon.
But he wan not dead, though for weeks
his life was despaired of. At the inquest
held over the body of the dead baron
wonderfully little transpired. Paul's evi
denced showed that he had been to Calais
on business, and returned just in time to
see his father murdered. The murderer
then attacked him; bat he was either
unable to say more, or determined not to
tell what he knew "
"But Miss Carleton," I gasped.
"Gone, my dear. Not a trace of her
was to be found. 8he has never been
heard of since. Paul hushed op the
whole matter as soon as he possibly
could. The verdict was willful murder
against some person unknown; But you
will hardly wonder that the present Iord
Egerton chooses not to reside on his
property."
"Poor Paul!" said Rayvenham; "he has
been trying to let Valleyford now for
seven years, and only Just succeeded. Are
you not frightened now, Olga?" be asked,
turning his big eyes to me in the twilight,
which now was gathering fast around
OS.
"1 very seldom am frightened at all,"
I retorted. "It is only mysteries which
frighten me. I like things to be ex
plained. And shall we really see this
poor Fanir
"Yes, we will have him to dinner when
we get to the Langham," said Aunt
Rosalie. "Yon will see bim, Olga; bnt
he wlQ not see yon."
"Not see me, auntie? What do on
meaaf I naked.
"He Is Mind," she answered, simply. .
CHAPTER XI.
It ww emltx, IB exanHte evening,
rtl nrtirS H say 'oh mm had
Mtar ttaai KjU,"' 'Rcjfe.hO' '
.... 'ft ' . it. . tt
stood leaning over the balcony of the Ho
tel des Etranecrs at Florence, making
laughing comments on all the passers-by.
At the further end mother lay on a
couch, covered with a rug of many colors;
and Aunt Ros.niie was calmly studying
the passers-by in the hotel garden
through an op ra glass.
They are very beautiful gardens those
of the Hctel des Etrangers and that
night a me odious baud was playing con
cealed somewhere under the branching
trees People were sitting at little tables,
drinking chocolate and eating sweets.
Dreamily I listened to the waltz the band
was playing. I became lost in a reverie
of bygone days. Rayvenham's voice rous
ed me. "What or whom is Aunt Rosalie
staring at so persistently? She has low
ered her lorgnette, and has remained, her
chin resting on her band, her eyes im
movably fixed, for the past ten minutes."
This remark was made aloud, for the
purjMjse of attracting Miss C'arew's atten
tion. She started and laughed.
"I was looking," she said, "at the very
handsomest man, without exception, thnt
I ever saw. There under that tree look.
he is half turning round. I cull him mag
nificent." I looked. I saw a tall, broad man. well.
but not conspicuously well dressed, with
a head of golden hair, a rather pale fare
and a long golden mustache. The pose
of his heHd, as he read his paper, was cer
tainly singularly graceful. My heart gave
one throb anil then seemed to stand still.
At first I only thought it a delusion, but
a second look told me that I could not lie
mistaken the stranger was Victor Burn
side. It was lucky that no one's attention
was centered on me just then, for I look
ed, as I felt, dreadfully agitated. 1 could
not meet him face to face I, who always
prided myself on my courage, experienced
actual terror at the sight of him. He was
in our very hotel. But, oh, joy! we were
to leave to-morrow, and the chances that
we would meet before then were very
small.
"He is a splendid looking man." said
Rayvenham; "and he's English. I think
I'll go down and have a weed, and make
friends with him."
"No, Rayvenham, you're too late, he's
moving," said Aunt Rose, as the English
man slowly ronsed himself from his lean
ing attitude against the tree, and folded
his paper.
He looked round as though half unde
cided what to do. Though the idea that
he would recognise me was preposterous.
I shrank in terror from meeting his eye.
All next morning I was on thorns lest
we should encounter that tall, terrible,
bodily reminder of my childish error and
crime. But we never saw him. We drove
to the railway station and took our seats
in the train. Then, because Ray and I
were such babies, we must needs go and
buy a store of colored sugar plums from
a swarthy Italian casarit who stood at a
little distance on the platform. After
w hich we sauntered back to the carriage.
Suddenly I noticed that, as I walked along
the platform, I hud dropped my little
hand bag, containing my purse and a
good deal more money than a sensible
girl would have carried about with her.
I jumped out. unseen by Rayvenham, and
ran to pick it up. It was gone. Glancing
round in despair, I saw it in the hands of
an official, and, with a glad cry, ran to
claim it At this moment the whistle
sounded.
The train was moving. I ran frantical
ly up the length of the platform, and had
just reached the carriage door when my
foot slipped. At the same moment a pair
of strong arms caught me from behind,
and a deep voice iu my ear said, "Are you
mad?"
"Let me go!" I cried, eagerly; "I must
" But the train was already out ol
the station, and the last glimpse I had was
grandpapa's horror-stricken face, beck
oning frantically.
"Now what am I to do?"
"Telegraph," said my rescuer at once,
and in very giod English. I came to my
senses at sound of that voice. lifting my
eyes for the first time, I saw that I was
addressing no Italian official. The man
who had just saved my life was Victor
Burnside.
I remained staring in his face for one
long minute, and then dropped my eyes
in burning shame. His look of non-recognition
was so evident, so entire. It was
thus I met the man whose life I had at
temptedhis first act was to save mine.
I blushed as I never remembered blush
ing in my life before, and tremulously
faltered:
"I beg your pardon I believe you saved
my life I am much indebted to you."
"Not at all," he answered, courteously,
slightly raising his hat as lie spoke. "I
am only too glad that 1 was in time; I
confess that I experienced a momentary
shock when I saw you slip: I thought you
were down between the train and the plat
form." He was evidently studying me as be
spoke, with interest. I certainly looked
what I was the spoiled darling of
wealthy parents.
"Now, will you dictate a message to
me, or will you come to the office your
self?" be asked, standing before me with
n pencil and note book. .
I was inspired with a sudden resolution.
"I will dictate it to you, please. 'Quite
safe; will come on by next train. Hare
met Mr. Burnside, who kindly promises
to take care of me.' "
He uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"It seems you have the advantage of me,"
he began.
"Ob, Mr. Burnside," I said, while two
tears I could not keep back overran my
eyelids and lay on my cheeks; "do you hot
remember me?"
There was an instant's pause; I looked,
not at him, but the two tears splashed
down on my gloves.
"Can it indeed be Miss Dsmlen?" he
said, gently. "I must apologise for my
dense stupidity. I bare been trying ever
since we met to think of whom your eyes
reminded me. And did yon really recog
nise me? 1 must send off your message,
or It will be too late. I suppose it ia to
Mr. Carewer
I bowed my head I could not answer.
He was gone. I am sure be absented
himself a purposely long time with the
kind intention of giving me time to re
cover myself. When he returned I waa
considerably calmer.
"We have half an hour to wait," he
said, hia voice just as courteous as before
my confession. "This station la so eloae
and hot come this way."
I followed him through a side gate Into
a small, iweet garden, with an oleander
in it, and a cae banging from an acacia
bough, with pretty green parrot thereto.
There was a rasttc seat Joat la the shade,
and Mr. Barnstde alaaaw a ahawl o ft
and made laf a twv
I s4 tia mm tt& r,
since L wemed to nourish no displeasure
against me. Then we were rather silent
until a whistle warned us that the train
was alout to start, and we rose and went
to find pUces. When we were seated, and
already on our way, it first occurred to
me to ask, "Where did you send your tehi
gram?" "To the Hotel Biancha." he answered;
"one of the officials told me that all Mr.
Carewe's luggage was directed there."
"Oh, thank you, that was quite right.
I you are you going to take me all the
way?"
"Such was my intention, if you will
permit."
"Oh. yes you are very good; I should
like to iutruduce you to my grandfather;"
and hereuKn I related how grandpapa
and I met in the hunting field, and how
the reconciliation came about. He lis
tened, apparently much amused, and it:
turn told me all I wanted to know about
Burnside.
I iearned that my grandmother was
very failing and ill, and that I'ncle Reiny
had not been an inmate of Burnside for
the last five years. After Alicia Lyndon
had married Sir (Jeorge Lascelles Hervey,
Remy hud gone to Monte Carlo, where
he had married a rich widow. The union,
however, lasted only two years when,
probably because both had gambled awuy
their money, there was a judicial sepurn-
tiou. Last year Mr. Burnside had receiv
ed word that Remy was in want and had
sent him a remittance. Since then he hud
heard nothing from him.
By this time the train had arrived at
our destination and in an instant a fran
tic onslaught was made upon the carriage
by grandpapa and Rayvenham, and I was
almost smothered in the embrace of the
former.
"Grandpapa," I gasped, disengaging
myself, "I am quite safe, and very sorry
for giving you such a fright. And wasn't
it strange that I should meet such an old
friend? Mr. Burnside! Mr. Carewe!"
Needless to say, we all repaired togeth
er to the Hotel Biancha, where, after
waiting to watch Aunt Rose's expression
when her hero was introduced to her in
the flesh, I was glad to slip away to rest,
and resign myself to Marianne to be
brushed, robed, petted and scolded in a
breath,
(To be continued.)
Curious Hybrids.
Dr. J. C. Gray, of Eugene, Ore., has a
pair of hybrids, the result of a crnss 1m
tm the male Chiiui plte-asant and the
domestic lieu, siiya the Eugene Guard.
It was by mere accident that Dr.
Gray secured the birds lie now li:us iu
his iMKj4e.sKion. The eggs were pro
cured and batched Iu the usual man
ner, and no one knew anything ulniut
the cross until the halfbreecU had
reached sufficient tze to begin to as
sume the proiKirtlons ami character of
their parents, which revealed the cross
beyond a doubt The male ha more of
a rcKeiublnnee to the pheasant, while
the female favors the domestic fowl.
3 udging from its color, the male ie sup
posed to le cn'il with the Domlnick
er bre! of chickens. In form It Is an
exact counterpart of the male pheasant,
excepting the feet and legs, which re
semble those of a chicken, being al
most the name a that of a Dotulnlcker
chicken. In action and habit the bird
l like the pheasant, being wild, aU'rt
and always watchful. Owing to Ita
wild dlsiKHiltion and tendency to run
away, It Is confined In a park with some
tame fowls.
The female hybrid la unmistakably a
crows iH-tweim the Brown Leghorn hen,
except that it l smaller, more supple of
body and has the phcanaut feet ami
legs. In color It la alxut equally di
vided Ix'Iween the Brown Leghorn and
the female phesmont The bronze of
the latter shows quite prominently on
Its breaat and back. In habits It Is
much the same as the domestic hen, not
being so wild as Die male, and la al
lowed Ita fredon) In the yard with
some chickens.
Dr. Gray has lieen offered A neat sum
for the hybrid, but declined tottell. He j
will exhlldt them at the poultry show, 1
which will be held In Eugene during
the holidays, after which he will prob
ably dispose of them.
But He Got In.
Most of the boue In Greenland are
entered through a pasage constructed
below the level of the ground. It is so
long and narrow that one ha to crawl
one's way along It, and an unusually
stout man finds It bard to get in at aJl.
Nanwu mentions the cruse of a 'fat
storekeeper of Godthaab, who stuck
fat ln such a passage, unable, despite
all his struggling and bellowing, to ad
vance or retreat. At last four boys
came to his help, two from the house
dragging him Inward and two from the
putside rushing behind. For a long
time no progress was made, and It was
being proposed to pull down the walls
In order to set him free, when, with a
last despairing effort he managed to
equeeze himself through. A window of
the bouse was removed to let him out, j
C'nt-Rste Stamps.
Cut-rate postage stamps are some
thing of a novelty. So It is no great
wonder that some surprise was excite!
by the recent announcement In a New
York paper of a man who had $20,000
worth of them to sell at the rate of $2
in stamps for f 1.75 ln money. It turns
out that the man la a philatelist. When
the Columbian sumps were first Issued,
be Induced a friend to Invest $123,000.
A large proportion of the purchase was
sold at a profit, but there remains 120,
000 in $2 stamps, the sale of which has
rbecn slow. Tboae are the onea that arc
advertised at the reduced rates, in or-'
der to facilitate the settling of the es
tate. Ia Chlaa.
The Cblneac New Tew besrtna on Jan-'
oary 28, the openlaf of the year being
movable femat In the. Cbincae calen
dar. Like oor own leap year, every
tbfrdyearla OMna ia kmgvr than K I wo
predecaawora; bnt the Chines add a
whole month, tnatead of an eztrn daj. .
Tbua this year Inclodea tnirtMu month !
a aacood Mar belpjf DforUad. ,
1 " 1 1 i '"
When wWDoa'feetloa aathlac n
plrtoas tkay kaat tha mm
THE WIFE'S ALLOWANCE.
PERHAPS men think I aiu exag
gerating the evil. Perhaps they
dou't know that the only advice
uianii-d women give to enaKcd girl:,
which never varies, is, "lie sure you
ak for au allowance from the first.
because If you dou't you may never
Ket !t." We never Imagine that a girl's
lover-husband, this courteous stron
ger whom she has loved and marrWNl,
could ever forget his theater and Amer
ican Beauty days sufficiently to say,
"What did j on do with that dollar I
gave you yesterday?"
It never occurs to unmarried girls
that their honeymoon can ever wear
ofT. We look ti win husbands as only
married sweethearts. We sort of half
way believe them nt least we used to,
before we observed other girls' hus
bands wheu they tell us that they long
for the time when they can pay our
bills and buy clothes for us. We never
thought, until we were told, that any
little generous arrangement which we
expected to last must be fixed during
the first few weeks of marriage. I
dare say most of us had planned to
say, Ln answer to the money question,
"Just ns you like, dear. I'd rather
have you manage such matters for me.
You know so much more about them
than I do." It Is a horrible shock,
from a sentimental point of view to be
told to say,' "I'll take an allowance,
THt VERY LATEST IN
please," and then If two amounts are
mentioned, to grab for the biggest.
Oh, It Is a shame! It Is a ahaine to
be told that we'll be sorry If we don't
aud to know that we shall have no op
portunity to show how uuselfish and
trusting we are.
It ts all your fault, you men, that you
don't think of these things more. You
might stop a moment to consider that
It II -rather a delicate matter for a
woman to ask money of a man. If
your wife Is like ruot wives, she Is
doing as much to help you make your
money as you are. She Is keeping you
well aud happy, and your home beauti
ful. You couldn't keep your mlud oa
business an hour If she dldu't. There
fore, she deserves every dollar which,
after dlseusxlng your future life to
gether, you feel that you can afford to
give her. She ought to be made to
feel that she has earned It, and that
she may spe-iyd It freely and happily,
or Invest It Just as she may choose.
Do you think that you wouldn't get
the whole of It back If you were IU
and needed It? It Is an ungracious
thing to call her to account for every
dollar. Lillian Bell, ln Ladles' Home
Journal.
Paving Imperfect Teeth.
Women and girls who vulue their
personal appearance would doubtless
avoid doing certain things, which, by
slow degrees, Injure the teeth If thoy
only knew wherein Ilea the harm and
danger. There are tlilngj which should
always be avoided, and by doing so
teeth would remain in condition years
longer. The habit of taking beverage
so hot Uiat you can Just sip them, or,
on the other band, Iced drinks, has a
dlstlnctlydeleterlouseffecton the teeth.
The process of drawing a medicine
through a tube Instead of taking It
with a srn Is not alone sufficient to
Insure tl.. ,,,.th being uninjured; they
should be brushed Immediately after
ward and the mouth thoroughly rinsed
with, tepid water.
Women who are addicted to the bon
bon habit would be wise to never In
dulge without brushing their teeth Im
mediately after. In the care of the
teeth merely brushing them la not suf
ficient, for when the teetb are eloae to
gether It la advisable to draw a pleea
of silk thread several timet between
then. An excellent month waah which
oyone can easily prepara fa aa lot
law: Ran de eotogaa, t owwai aow
Cared borax, 1 ,erni. Qme&nl la
little hot water; tincture of myrrh, 1
dram; orange flower water, 3 ouuceif.
When using add a small quantity of
the liquid to half a tumbler of water.
Mnrrin-e I'orti n i 'l Itatv.
Marriage In Italy will always Is- pop
ular, for the Government has a special
fund for providing- marriage portions
for poor young girls. It would be al
most Impossible for a girl to be mar
ried without a dower, so this form of
charity Is said to lie greatly appre
ciated. The annual sum available for
this purpose ami distributed every year
among the marriageable girls Is $2,
,'( i.iii if). It is necessary In order to be
a recipient for the applicant to prove
ber good reputation and character by
several witnesses, to show that she ban
no means available and that the young
man who wishes to marry her has a
trade.
Making a Kicycle Fnit.
You will smile at your own foolish
ness If you ever undertake to make a.
bicycle dreas out of a few yards of old
goods you have In the houe. A sad
dle skirt, which is the kind everybody
makes nowadays, lanes six yams or
goods, a little over a yard wide, and
twelve yards of twenty -seven-Inch
gxsls. The material cuts to waste and
must be patched, and you will And
yourself Iu a queer loat with your
puttent and your goods.
A saddle skirt Is one that la divided
BICYCLE CUSTUMES.
In the back, so as to fall over the sad
dle, but not In the front. That necessi
tate a middle section, making a sort
of divided skirt Iu the back. Nearly
all bicycle dresses are made this way,
and so are gowns for every sport. The
iHiek division does not show. Your
waist you can get out of five yards of
narrow width goods If you do not al
low too long a bodice. Many riders
prefer to use up old Jackets on the
wheel, and content themselves wlUi it
new shirt to fit the saddle. Very little
trimming Is needed. Many wheel wom
en bind their skirts with a broad bajid
of white oilcloth that can ! wnshed
freely and always looks dean. The
skirt is so comfortable that It 1 worn
for golfing and tennis.
Mistaken Works of Charity.
In a recent magazine article Mrs.
Josephine , Shaw Lowell complains
loudly against what she fitly calls the
penny wise and pound fixdish prac
tices of some women. Mrs. Lowell
does not believe In the pauperizing
charity which gives without asking a
return. A rich woman, she says, will
beat down her seamstress to the low
est wages she will take, and then go
out and give freely several hundred
dollars to another woman who Is more
harmed than helped by It The true
charity aud whtdom, she believes, Is Iu
giving the worklngwoman her Just
dues. Hie woman who feels no obliga
tions to iwy her club dues, the woman
who makes arrangements for lunch
eon with the caterer and tlen leaves
bim In the lurch, and the worn, in who
underpays her workwoman and Is
charitable In other directions, all ex
hibit the same love for small econo
mies, which seems to be a part of the
nature of women.
Fllnaa at the Pair "ex.
Brown-Ever tried one of those cures
for the tobacco habit? Jones-Yes.
Here are some cigars my wife bought
for me. Puck.
"My wife Is mad at me almut two
thirds of the time." "Two-thlnta?"
i es. nno sleeps niwnt dlht hours
any. "-Cincinnati Knqulrer.
. "Why do you mslst upon taking y
rougn weacnerr' "The
docti
told her that she must be vei
not to talk when aba la
air." "Eay, wno'a your
Cereta LaaCer.
s
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