JOHN BURTlSJ^SS
Acithor at “The Kidnapped Millionaires.’* “Colonel Monroe s Doctrine,” Etc.
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». _9OPTBIGfTr’1902’ BT All rights Copt right, 1903. bt
-FutdmuIcjk Up ham Adams reserved A. J. Dbiiil Biddle
CHAPTER XV.—Continued.
In an alcove, partially formed by a
bay window, stood an easel, uphold
ing a large frame. The light struck
the canvas in such a way that Blake
did not recognize the subject until
squarely in front of it.
It was a portrait of Jessie Carden—
not the Jessie Carden drawn by the
San Francisco artist from the faded
tintype—but the Jessie Carden of later
years, whose face and figure had tak
en on the perfect grace of woman
hood.
Amazed and lost in thought, Blake
did not hear Arthur Morris as he ap
proached and stood back of him. He
flushed when Morris toucned him on
the shoulder.
“By Jove! that portrait must have
great attraction for you!” laughed j
Morris. “You’ve been staring at it
five minutes! A box at the opera you
cannot tell her name!”
“Done!” said Blake. “That’s a por
trait of Miss Carden—Miss Jessie
Carden, of Boston.”
An expression of dumb surprise
swept across the face of Arthur Mor
ris. With half-opened mouth and star
ing eyes he gazed at James Blake.
“Well, 111 be-. Well, of all
things!” He sank into a chair and
laughed feebly. “I say, old fellow,
you took me cff my feet! How the
devil did you guess that name?”
“Nothing wonderful about It!”
said Blake, who by this time had per
fected his course. “I met Miss Car
den years ago, and I at once recog
nized the portrait.”
“You met her? Where?”
“In the country, near Hingham,
Massachusetts.”
“How? WThen? By Jove, old fel
low, this beats me! What were you
doing in Hingham?”
“I lived on a farm near there.” re
plied Blake. Morris leaned forward.
For an instant fear had possession of
him. Who was this man who lived i
gaged to the dear girl, but the date
of the wedding had not been set
“I’ve told you more’n any man liv
ing,” half sobbed Morris, as he leaned
on James Blake’s shoulder.
Tears stood in his inflamed eyes
and trickled down his red, blotched
cheeks.
“You’ll keep my secret, won’t you,
old chap?” he pleaded maudlinly.
“You're the bes’ frien’ I’ve got in the
world! People don’t like me; they
don’t know me. You knowr me, Blake,
old fel’, don’t you? I’m sen’mental—
that’s what makes me cry. By Jove,
you'll be my bes’ man at weddin'—
bes’ man at my weddin’—won't you?”
He lurched into a ch^ir. The train
ed and alert Rammohun appeared,
deftly undressed him, and solemnly
conveyed him to an inner room.
“Poor John!” sighed Blake, a few
miuutes later, as the Indian servant
showed him his room and softly closed
the door. “Poor John! Love’s a tough
proposition, and I'm afraid John’s on
a dead card! Fe has waited too
long.”
CHAPTER XVI,
Bad News.
When Blake arrived in Hingham
he felt like a stranger in a foreign
land. His parents were dead and his
relatives scattered. The village look
ed smaller than when he was a boy.
He felt himself in a living graveyard.
Securing an open carriage and a
driver from a livery stable, he rode
through the quiet streets and out into
the country. “Drive to Thomas Bish
op's house,” he ordered.
The drawn and dust-covered shut
ters of the old mansion told their own
story. From a passing farmer Blake
learned that the Bishops had moved
to New York months before- Half an
hour later he knocked on Peter Burt's
door.
As a boy, Blake stood in awe and
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on a farm near Hingham, and who i
was once acquainted with Jessie Car
den? Was he John Burt?
“From the time I was thirteen un
til I ran away from home,” Blake con
tinued, with nonchalance .and confi
dent mendacity, “I lived on a farm
about three miles from the old Bish
op mansion. Miss Carden used to
visit there in the summer seasons
and I saw her frequently. The last
time I saw her she cantered past our
house with a friend of mine. That re
minds me—dear old John—I must look
him up when I go to Rocky Woods.”
Blake threw back his head and re
flectively exhaled a wreath of cigar
smoke.
“Does this explain the mystery? I
don’t see anything wonderful about it
except that you have her portrait, and
that is probably easily explained. I’m
not prying into your affairs, old
man?”
“Not at all—not at all! Rammohun;
brandy and two bottles of soda,” or
dered Morris, mopping his forehead.
“By Jove, this is remarkable! You
speak of a friend of yours—John, you
call him—what was his last name?”
“Burt.”
“Where is he now?” Morris leaned
eagerly forward, his face gray and his
lower lip twitching.
“Sure, I don’t know! He was with
his grandfather on the old Burt farm
in Rocky Woods when I left Massa
chusetts. Why? Do you know John
Burt?”
“Confound it, man, he shot me!”
exclaimed Morris, springing to his
feet and pacing up and down the
room. “He shot me, I tell you. and all
but put me out for good! And he d£
it on account of the girl whose por:
trait you’re admiring. The blasted
cad was crazy jealous over Miss Car
den, who had been so toolish as to tol
. erate his company. He picked a quar
rel with me in a tavern and shot me
through the left lung. Laid me up
for three months. That old desperado
of a grandfather of his nearly killed
two officers and aided him to escape.
He has not been heard of since.”
Blake plied Morris with questions.
The latter took large draughts of
brandy and recited the successive
chapters which led to the tragedy.
Except that he made himself the he
ro of the tale, his account agreed with
that told by John Burt. Blake par
took sparingly of the brandy, but Mor
ris fed his aroused hate and recollec
tion with the fiery fluid.
According to Morris he was madly
in love with Jesise Carden from the
moment he saw her. Before he re
covered from his wound she was sent
abroad by Gen. Carden to complete
fear education in Paris and Berlin.
Two years later Gen. Carden failed
in business, his private fortune being
wiped out in the crash. Jessie came
back from Europe and remained a
year with the Bishops. Arthur had
induced his father to place Gen. Car
den in a salaried postion with the
Morris bank in New York, and he
persuaded Gen. Carden vto accept a
loan sufficient to defray Jes
sie’s expenses in a second
trip abroad. She was in Paris, but
had completed her studies, and would
ratnrn in a few weeks. He was an
fear of the strange old man, but the
years had obliterated this feeling. His
knock sounded hollow on the great
oaken door, and he wondered if the
aged recluse yet lived. Mrs. Jasper,
the housekeeper, opened the door, and
Blake at once recognized her.
“How do you do, Mrs. Jasper? My
name is Blake—James Blake. I lived
near here when I was a boy. Don't
you-”
“Little Jimmy Blake! Well, of all
things! I never would have known
ye. Come right in—Mr. Blake.”
“Is Mr. Burt here?”
“Y-e-s, but I don’t know if he’ll see
ye,” she said, hesitatingly, wiping her
hands on her apron. “He don’t see
nobody, ye know.”
“Tell him who I am, and say I’m
from California,” said Blake, who
could think of no other introduction.
They stood in the old-fashioned par
lor where Peter Burt had bound the
officers the night John Burt left
Rocky Woods. As Mrs. Jasper hesi
tated, the door leading to the sitting
room opened and Peter Burt entered.
Blake could not see that he had
changed a whit. Age had not rav
ished the strong face nor robbed the
massive figure of its strength. He ad
vanced to the center of the room, his
eyes fixed searchingly on the face of
his visitor.
“What have you to say to me,
Blake? Be seated, sir,”
Blake took a seat in an antique
rocker and shifted his legs uneasily.
“Wrhere is John?”
“John—John—I don’t-”
“Do not lie to me, Blake. Tell me
what you know of my grandson.”
“He is in California, sir!” exclaim
ed James Blake. W’hen these words
were uttered he felt a sensation of
relief which wras positively exhilarat
ing. “He is alive and well! John is
rich, Mr. Burt! He is a millionaire
many times over!”
A grave smile lighted the features
of Peter Burt. He closed his eyes and
lay back in the chair.
“Go on; tell me about it,” he said,
as Blake paused.
For an hour or more the head of the
firm of James Blake & Company re
cited the history of John Burt’s ca
reer in California, and the result of
the recent speculative campaign in
New York. Once in a while the old
man asked a question, but he made
no comment until the narrative was
ended.
“Your heart dominates your judg
ment, but that is a trait and not a
fault,” he said, as he arose and of
fered his hand to James Blake. “God
gives us emotions and faculties; from
them we must develop character. Do
not charge yourself with a broken
promise to John. He hag kept his
pact. I send him my blessing. Say
to him that'l am strong and well and
happy. Say to him that his future
field of work is in New York city.”
Peter Burt stood in the doorway
and watched until the carriage disap
peared beyond the old graveyard.
“I’m glad that’s ended!” said Blake
to himself. “I wonder what I told the
old man? Everything, I ghess. I’m
nearing a criafs, am I? Well, I’m
used to crises and guess I can stand
one more. Who’s coming? His face
looks familiar. It’s Sam Rounds!
Stop, driver! Hollo, Sam! How are
you?”
Seated in a stylish road cart, behind
a rangy, high-stepping trotter was one
cf the companions of Blake’s boy
hood. Sam checked his horse and,
with a puzzled grin, looked into the
speaker's face.
“Haou de ye dew?” he drawled,
slackening the lines. “Yer face looks
fee-miliar like, on’ yer voice don’t
sound strange like, either. I believe
I know ye! It’s Jim Blake! Haou
air ye, Jim? Well, well, wTell! Who’d
a thunk it—who'd a thunk it?”
Sam reached across and shook
hands with a vigor which nearly
pulled Blake out of his carriage.
“Air ye the James Blake I’ve been
readin’ erbout? The one that’s been
givin’ them New York sharps a whiri
in stocks?” asked Sam.
Blake smiled and nodded his head.
“Is that so? Well., well, w'ell! Say
I'm plumb glad to hear it!” and Sam’s
smiling face showed it. “Ain’t nevei
hearn of John Burt, have ye? No?
Well, he'll turn up on top some day,
an' don’t ye fergit, Sam Rounds al
lers said so. Where be ye goin’ to.
Jiin?”
“I’m going back to New York to
night,” replied Blake. “From there
I return to San Francisco, but expect
to make New York my home.”
“Is that so? I’m livin’ in New
York now.” said Sam, handing Blak6
his card. “Moved there several years
ago. Mother an' I are here on a
visit fer a few days. I’ve been do
in’ fairly middlin’ well in New York,
Jim. When you write me, be shore
an’ put ‘Hon.’ before my name,” and
Sam laughed until the rocks re-echoed
his merriment.
“How is that?” asked Blake, gazing
blankly at the card.
“Read what it says,” insisted Sam.
“I'm alderman of my deestrict, an*
have just been re-elected tew a sec
ond term. Fact!”
“I congratulate you, Sam,” said
Blake, heartily.
“Sorry ye haven’t time tew wait
over an’ go back with us,” Sam said.
“But if ye are goin’ tew locate in
New York, I'll see lots of ye.”
“I certainly will look you up when
I’m in New York,” said Blake. “My
regards to your mother, and say I’m
sorry I didn’t have time to call oa
her. Are you married, Sam?”
“Nop, but I has hopes,” laughed
Sam, gathering up the lines. “Good
bye, Jim, good-bye, an’ more luck tei
ye!”
“Same to you, Sam; good-bye!”
• ••••*
Ten days later James Blake ar
rived in San Francisco. He drove to
John's apartment, and was greeted by
him in the old study room. Blake sat
where he looked at the portrait oi
Jessie Carden. His heart sank with
in him.
(To be continued.)
DISHES WILL NOT BREAK.
Belgian Manufacturers Have Circum
vented the Careless Servant.
James C. McNally, consul of the
United States at Liege. Belgium, has
reported the invention by a manufac
turer there of dinner plates which
servants can idly drop upon the stone
floor without breaking, and dishes
which make excellent hammers with
which to drive nails. Here is the
story in his own words: “The Com
pany Du Val-St. Lambert, of Liege,
is manufacturing a hardened crystal
dish, which in appearance closely re
sembles fine translucent china of uni
form shape and manufacture. The
resisting power of this ware is due to
a special hardening process and to the
quality and nature of the crystal used.
It not only successfully resists the
usual wear and tear, but is almost
proof against breakage.
"A hardened crystal dish can be
substituted for a hammer in driving
nails into wood, while the same ware
can be put into boiling water at a
high degree, then plunged into ice
water repeatedly, without the least
noticeable damage to the dish or
plate. The writer has seen pjates
of the usual form of this hardened
wmre hurled to the stone floor of a
warehouse and go bounding along the
whole length of the building without
suffering the least damage. This same
firm makes glassware of the same
corresponding resistance.”
Luxuries of Russian Peasant.
The Russian peasant, even if the
bread he eats is black, has a bonne
bouche to add to his meal much
sought by epicures in the western
world—the wild mushrooms which
grow thousands upon thousands on
the steppes of Russia. At any time a
full and savory meal is provided with
the addition of sausage and onions;
even a mushroom alone often con
tents them for a meal with their
coarse rye bread. The poorest laborer
has also a luxurious drink always
available from the ever-present sam
ovar, and the tea they drink would be
the envy of any American connoisseur
of that beverage, for the best of
China’s tea is found in Russia, and all
classes enjoy its quality and frag
rance. Never is the water allowed to
stand on the tea over a few moments,
so none of the poisonous tannin is
extracted, and a delightful, mildly
stimulating, straw-colored drink is
the result.
Some Customs of Spain.
Writing of Spanish customs, Israel
Zangwill says: "To call one another
by our surnames in Spain would be
wanting in friendly courtesy; indeed,
for the most part, we are ignorant of
them. A very grave and reverend se
nor might be addressed by his sur
name—and his surname alone—but
even he were better adressed by his
Christian name, preceded by ‘Don.’
‘Senor Don’ is reserved for letters
and then the honor costs you 5 cen
timos. That the Portuguese are not
to be confounded with the Spaniards
is most lucidly learned from their
methods of address, for, so far from
addressing a young lady as Juanita or
Isabella, I should have to say ‘her ex
cellency.’ Here, in our palacio, the
very waiter has been heard to give
the order: ‘Fried eggs for Isabella.’
And Isabella is a very stylish
demoiselle.’’ *
The man who has only flowers in
the garden of his life does not need
to build a wall about 1L
B ESSIE’S F I S H I ft C
One morning when spring was in her
teens.
A morn to a po'-t’e wishfng.
AH tinted in delicate grays and greens.
Miss Bessie and I went Ashing.
I in my rough-and-tumble eleff.os.
With my face at the sunshine's mercy;
She with her hat tipped down to her
nose,
-And her nose tipped vice versa.
I with my rod. my rest, and my books,
And a hamper of luncheon recesses;
Sne with the bait of her comely looks.
And the seine of her golden tresses.
So we sat down in the shade of a dyke,
Where the white pond lilies teeter,
And I went to fishing like quaint old Ike,
And she like Simon Peter.
All day I lay in the light of her eyes.
And dreamily watched and waited:
But the fish were cunning and wouldn’t
rise.
And the baiter alone was baited.
So when the time for departure came.
My bag was as flat as a flounder;
But Bessie had nearly hooked her
game—
A hundred-and-eighty-pounder.
—Unidentified.
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“I can never thank you, Miss Ca
rew,” began Tom Stanton for the
sixth time within half an hour.
He stood in front of the big, open
fireplace in the Carew sitting room,
very wet and disheveled. His over
coat and hat, soaked likewise, hung
on the back of a chair before the fire.
A pair of skates lay on the floor.
“In only one way, you may,” an
swered Diana, at last.
She spoke as if she had suddenly de
termined to say something upon which
she had been pondering. Each time
Stanton had tried to thank her she
had artfully turned the conversation
into foreign channels and ignored bis
expressions of gratitude.
“Give me your solemn oath." she
continued, “that you will never ask me
to marry you, and I am fully thanked
for what I have done. Yes, I know
that sounds presumptuous, Mr. Stan
ton, but nowadays persons labor un
der the delusion that if a girl does
some—O some little thing like I did—
for a man, that he is in honor bound
to ask her to marry him. I won’t
have it, so promise.”
She looked as well as he did in
heavy wet clothing and with his hair
curling recklessly about his broad,
white forehead.
“But you save—” he began, but was
interrupted.
“Don't—don’t dare to say it! T did
cot!” And Miss Carew stamped her
foot emphatically.
“But you did; you saw me flounder
ing about among the chunks of ice and
you ran all the way, at a great risk
to yourself, and pulled me out. I was
foolish to skate on such dangerous
ice. I could never have crawled out
before I was frozen—so there! I
must refute your denial. What do you
call it, Miss Carew?”
Never mind, only give me your
promise. It was mere luck that I hap
pened to be in the window of my room
md saw you go in. I know the air
■-oles In the slough, living so near.
Your promise?” she said interroga
tively.
“Is that quite fair?” he asked. “Sup
pose—”
“No, I won’t! I would never, never
marry a man who thought I had saved
bis life even if it were years and years
afterwards. I should always feel that
he asked me out of gratitude.”
“But I won't feel that way,” said
Stanton, honestly feeling it might be
true, but smiling down at the look of
despair she gave him.
“There you are, this very minute,”
she argued, “before you have known
me an hour, already contemplating it.
O please promise!”
Diana was so earnest that Stanton
stopped smiling and turned his other
side to.the fire before answering.
“I’ll promise on the condition that
you will permit me to continue our ac
quaintance—if I may come to see you
and learn to be friends. I could not
thank you is a lifetime for what you
have done, so we will let that pass.
It was brave and—”
He was going to say sweet, but re
frained wisely. Neither did he tell her
he had the wet belt and tie which she
“Don’t—don’t dare to say it!"
had knotted together. He would keep
that always.
"Very well, now promise,” she said,
extending her hand.
He took it in nis. "I promise. Miss
Carew, never to ask you to marry me
out of gratitude,” he said.
"No, no, no!” she cried, hopelessly,
and taking her hand abruptly from
him. "Promise never, under any cir
cumstances, to ask me to marry you.”
He hesitated while he looked earn
estly into her eyes. And because he
aw a troubled, eager expectancy in
ar expression he took her hand again
’d said, "I promise.” But he was
rry the moment the words had left
is lips.
Now that she had extracted her
promise Diana chatted on merrily with
Stanton, and long before he was dry
enough to go out of doors she had
learned why she had never seen him
before.
He had only the night before come
to Cedar Rapids and, in wandering
about to get his bearings in the town
before taking up his duties with his
firm, had come upon the Little Slough.
He had secured some skates at a near
by shop and—Diana knew the rest.
In due time he came to call. Only
one subject was tabooed when they
were together, and that was the skat
ing accident and the promise.
“Diana,” said Tom one night—he
had called her Diana for some time.
“Is it all figured out?”
“I did not promise to’ refrain from
telling you I love you, and I do! I
love you better than anything in life,
and if you can’t figure out some way
out of my difficulty, I shall be sorry
your were in your window that morn
ing. I shall, Diana!” He tried to
take her hands and to force her to
look at him.
“Tom Stanton, don’t you’dare!”’she
said, laughing at hts seriousness. “You
are dangerously near breaking your
promise, and I won’t pull you out if
you go over the brink as I did on the
ice.”
Almost a year after Diana had ex
. tractea her promise from Stanton she
came into the room where he was
waiting for her and sat down beside
him on the couch.
“Have you a pencil and paper,
Tom?” she asked. “I want you to
figure something for me.” She moved
close to him.
“But first, Tom, are you quite, quite
sure that you love me—that you would
have loved me anyway? No—” she
said, repelling his attempt to take her
hands. “Tell me.”
“Yes, positively sure, Diana,” he
said, earnestly. “Are you going to
release me?”
“Nonsense!” she cried. “I just
wanted to be «ure; I will never re
lease you from that promise.”
Silence fell between them for a mo
ment. He was thinking of how many
times within the year she had raised
his hopes, only to dash them to the
ground again. And yet he loved her. j
"Now put down the figures I tell
you.” she said, aicer a minute, “and
don’t ask questions. One."
He put a figure one on the paper.
Beside It a nine,” said Diana. He
did it.
“Naught! Four!” said Diana, excit
edly.
“Very well,” said Tom.
“Now divide it by four,” she said.
“Foi^~ hundred and seventy-six,” he
read, when he finished. “Well, what
of it?” He was mystified beyond ex- I
pression.
“Is it all figured out?” she asked.
"Yes.”
“And can’t you see that 1904 is de
visible by four and that it’s leap year,
and—O, Tom, I love you so. Won’t
you marry me? Please do,” she cried.'
And if taking her in his arms and
holding her as if he would never let
her go again was giving a positive an
swer, Diana’s leap year-proposal was
accepted.—Ruby Douglas, in Boston
Globe.
A Disguised insect.
A well-known naturalist tells of an
insect in Nicaragua so completely dis
guised as a leaf that a whole host of
the ants who prey upon it actually ran
across it without recognizing it as
their food. Mr. Sclater noted in South
America another insect—one of the
Membraeidae—which not only mim
icked the leaf-cutting ant for its own
protection, but, like its model, carried
in its jaws a fragment of leaf about
the size of a sixpence.
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TALKS T
Black and White Check Suit.
Light gray taffeta silk makes a love
ly afternoon dress for cool days in
summer.
If you cannot buy the embroidered
pattern dress perhaps you can have
one embroidered for you just as hand
somely. There is one advantage
about that—it gives you a chance for
an original design.
The waist has a deep girdle and
; above it a heavy padded design of the
| embroidery, which is studded with
I palest pink corals. A chain of these
, beads is worn around the neck.
J A large black chip hat with pink
roses and a handsome lace veil worn
j with It make a very stunning cos
tume.
i
Flowered silks, muslins and nets are
very popular, and what material could
be prettier for a dainty evening gown?
This particular dress is of soft white
silk spotted with tiny rosebuds. The
soft lace and folds around the neck
are held in front by one large silk
rose. Simplicity is the feature of this
gown.
Gray Taffeta Gown.
A pretty summer suit is of yellow
and green changeable silk. It has no
trimming but a small V of lace at the
neck. The waist and sleeves are
full. A fichu collar is tied in front
with bows of ribbon the same shade
as the gown. The skirt is simply full
and ruffled.
A large shepherdess shaped hat
with a cluster of shaded green plumes
\ completes the costume in the prevail
ing fashion.
Again there is the black and white
check, and is it not just as pretty and
suitable as any material could be for a
useful summer suit? The jacket, with
its long scalloped shoulder yoke and
full short sleeves, is very smart.
White broadcloth and little biack
velvet straps and gold buttons trim it
in a wide band around the edge.
French “Powder Rag,”
French women apply powder to
their faces in such a way that it is
never noticeable or blotchy-looking.
They abhor the powder puff, and use
instead a piece of chamois leather.
This is dipped in the powder and
passed over the forehead and temples
(avoiding the eyebrows), then over
the nose and upper lip and next over
the chin and about the mouth, leaving
the cheeks and parts under the eyes
untouched. After the powder has
thus been applied, a clean piece of
wash-leather is passed over the face
to smooth down the powder and rub
it in. Attention must then be paid
to the eyebrows, and if any powder
has fallen on them it must be removed
with a small brush.
About Salads.
Nothing is more decorative on the
table than a bit of salad served in the
heart of some lettuce leaves, in lem
on or orange cups, cabbage leaves or
scooped out onions, cucumbers, to
matoes, beets, turnips or peppers. Cel
ery salad, plain or mixed with apples
or nuts or a plain lettuce salad, is
served always with game.
Potato salad is perhaps the most
popular for the home table, and noth
ing seems to take the place of a nice
chicken salad for social affairs.
Every housewife who wants the fac
tor of a satisfactory life to abide in
her family will seek to include a salad
in at least one menu each day. A
leaf salad, cress or lettuce, should be
served with a heavy dinner.
Misses' Blouse Waist.
BlouSe waists with deep yokes that
are cut well over the shoulders are
among the latest and smartest shown
and are peculiarly well suited to young
girls. This one is made of white mer
cerized madras trimmed with bands
of embroidery and is unlined, but pret
ty, simple silks and thin wools are
correct as well as cotton and linen
materials anu the fitted lining can be
used whenever desirable. The wide
tucks are both fashionable and be
coming, and the shoulder straps serve
to emphasize the broad drooping line
I
in a most satisfactory manner, while
the box plait at the center can be left
plain or covered with banding as pre
ferred. The sleeves are tucked to be
snug above the elbows, but are full
below and are finished with novel
cuffs.
The waist consists of the lining,
fronts, back and the yoke, which is
cut in two portions and shaped by
means of shoulder seams. At the front
edge is an applied box plait and the
turn-over collar is made in two por
tions and Joined to the band by means
of studs. The sleeves are in one
piece each and are either arranged
over the lining or joined to straight
bands beneath the cuffs.
The quantity of material required
for the medium size (14 years) is 4
yards 21 inches wide , 4 yards 27
inches wide or 2»4 yards 44 inches
J
wide with 2 yards of banding to trim
as illustrated.
Elegance in Mantles.
Very elegant fichu mantles are
made of silk, trimmed with ruches
and frills of lace or kilted chiffon.
Some are trimmed with feathers
They have„ stole ends in front and are
fastened with jeweled clasps. Young
girls will affect Spencers and Marie
Antoinette fichus of embroidered
white muslin. The Rejane mantle is
of gathered silk, trimmed with dou
ble ruches and bias folds of silk. If
opens V-shaped at the neck and has
long rounded stole ends in front
There are endless varieties of cape
lets and tiny shawl capes, empire
fichus and such like frivolities, but
the fact remains that the best coat9
are the tight-fitting and the Carrick.
Girl’s Coat. '<
Loose coats are the smartest of all
smart things for little girls and are
shown in a variety of attractive ma
terials and colors. This one includes
an inverted plait at the back, which
always is becoming, and allows a
choice of round or square collar
Cloth, cheviot, silk, linen and pique
all are worn, with collars of the ma
terial or contrasting with it as pre
Design by May Man ton.
ferred, but the model, from which tha
drawing was made, is of brown cloth
with the collar and cuffs of tan color
' finished with handsome banding.
The coat consists of fronts and back
! and is fitted by means of shoulder and
j under-arm seams. At the aeck is the
I big collar and the sleeves are simple,
full ones, gathered into straight cuffs.
| The back is laid in an inverted plait
that provides additional fulness and
the fronts are lapped one over the
! other and closed in double-breasted
j style.
'The quantity of material required
for the medium size (8 years) is 4^4
yards 21 inches wide, 2*4 yards 44
inches wide or 2*4 yards 52 inches
wide, with % yards of any width for
collar and 1% yards of banding to
trim as illustrated.
A Dainty Dessert.
Slice a thin round from the stalk
ends of oranges and remove the con
tents. Place the skins in cold water
for an hour to let them harden; then
drain and when they are quite dry in
side fill them half way with pink
jelly. Put them on ice and when the
jelly seems firm fill them up with
blanc mange or cream. Again lay
them on ice and cut into quarters be
fore serving. Place little sprigs of
myrtle between the quarters. Lemon*
may be used instead of oranges if
preferred.
Pretty Parasol.
An extremely pretty idea introduced
in parasols is a small shepherd s
check in taffetas, the favorite colors
being blue or black or brown and
white; silver or gold tips finish the
ribs, and the handles are similar to
umbrella handles. Lace medallion
decorations are still in evidence, al
though they are certainly not so smart
as those which are woven into the
material and which are about the
size of a silver dollar. Shaded ruch
ings are very effective feature of the
season.
Stylish Taffetas.
For the gay and social affairs of
afternoon and evening the supple
satins and taffetas are pronouncedly
high style. They are well called
mousseline satin and taffetas, for they
are so fine, light and pliable. The
new satins are much used for evening
gowns, while the taffetas are em
ployed for both day and evening
gowns, according to the color and
the pattern.
Pretty Pincushion.
A pretty pincushion that a girl can
make for herself, or for a gift, is a
circular affair of violet colored silk or
satin, heavily sacheted with orris pow
der. Around this are sewed millinery
violets, arranged in such a way tha<
the cushion is almost hidden away ir
the blossoms. The stems are tied as
if in a bouquet at the back.
Newspapers for Cleaning.
Washing and dusting can be avoid*
ed by using old newspapers for cledb*
ing. They are excellent for window
polishers, first rate for scouring tin*
ware with, and are as good as a brash
for polishing a stove. A good pad 01
newspapers should be kept at band foi
wiping up grease or water spilt on the
gas or coal cooking stove.
GHt Galloon for Hats.
Gilt Galloon will be among the most
widely used trimming for this spring’s
walking hats. The galloon is such as
is frequently used for belts, and is
quite wide, usually from three to six
inches. It is figured and very elab
orate in design. Green or silver gilt
Is one of the prettiest combinations.
