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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (June 26, 1913)
SYNOPSIS. Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory’s homo in Littleburg. but finds him absent conducting the choir at a camp meeting. She repairs thither in search of him. laughs during the service and Is asked to leave. Abbott Ashton, superintendent of < schools, escorts Fran from the tent. He tells her Gregory is a wealthy man. deeply interested in charity work, and a pillar of tlie church. Ashton becomes , greatly Interested in Fran and while tak ing leave of her. holds her hand and is seen by Sapphlra Clinton, sister of Rob ert Clinton, chairman of the school board. Fran tells Gregory she wants a home with him. Grace Noir. Gregory's private , •Beretary. takes a violent dislike to Fran and advises her to go away at once. ' Fran hints at a twenty-year-old secret, ami Gregory in agitation asks Grace to leave the room. Fran relates the story of h«\t Gregorv married a young girl at Springfield while attending college and then deserted her. Fran is the child of that marriage. Gregory had married his present wife three years before the death of Fran's mother. Fran takes a liking to Mrs. Gregory'- Gregory explains that Fran is the daughter of a very dear friend who Is dead. Fran agrees to tlie story. Mrs. Gergorv insists on her making her home with them and takes her to her arms. - i CHAPTER VII.—Continued. In the meantime old Mrs. Jefferson , had been looking on with absorbed attention, desperately seeking to tri umph over her enemy, a deaf demon that for vears had taken possession of her. Now, with an impatient hand, she bent her wheel-chair to her daugh ter's side and proffered her ear trum pet. ‘‘Mother,” Mrs. Gregory called through this ebony connector of souls. “This is Fran Derry, the daughter of Mr. Gregory’s dear friend, one he used to know in New York, many years be- c fore he came to Littleburg. Fran Is an orphan, and needs a home. We i have asked her to live with us." Mrs. Jefferson did not always hear i aright, but she always responded with i as much spirit as If her hearing were i never in doubt. “And what I'd like to know,” she cried, “is what you are asking her to give us.” ; Grace Noir came forward with quiet i resolution. “Let me speak to your , mother," she said to Mrs. Gregory. Mrs. Gregory handed her the tube, somewhat surprised, since Grace made it a point of conscience seldom to talk to the old lady. When Grace Noir disapproved of any one, she did not think it right to conceal that fact. Since Mrs. Jefferson absolutely re fused to attend religious services, al leging as excuse that she could not near the sermon, refusing to offer up the sacrifice of her fleshly presence as an example to others—Grace disap proved most heartily. Mrs. Jefferson held her head to the trumpet shrinkingly, as if afraid of getting her ear tickled. Grace spoke quietly, but distinctly, as she indicated Fran—“You know how hard it is to get a good servant in Littleburg.” Then she returned the ear trumpet. That was all she had to say. Fran looked at Mr. Gregory. He bit his lip, hoping it might go at that. The old lady was greatly at sea. Much as she disliked the secretary, her news was grateful. ‘‘Be sure to stipulate,” she said briskly, “about wheeling me around in the garden. The last one wasn’t told in the begin ning, and had to be paid extra, every time I took the air. There's nothing like an understanding at the begin uing.” Fran walked up to Grace Noir and shook back her hair in the way that Grace particularly disliked. She said: “Nothing like an understanding at the beginning; yes, the old lady's right. Good thing to know what the trouble is, so we’li know how it’ll hit U3. 1 guess I’m the trouble for this house, but I’m going to hit it as the daugh ,ter of an old friend, and not as a serv ant. I’m just about as independent as Patrick Henry, Miss Noir. I’m not re sponsible for being born, but it’s my outlook to hold on to my equality.” “Fran!” exclaimed Mrs. Gregory, in mild reproof. Grace looked at Mrs. Gregory and aothtng could have exceeded the saint liness of hpr expression Insulted, she was enjoying to the lull her pious sat isfaction of martyrdom. “Dear Mrs. Gregory,” said Fran kindly, “I’m sorry to have to do this, but It isn’t as if you were adopting a penniless orphan. I’m adopting a home. I want to belong to somebody. »nd I want people to feel that they have something when they have rne.” "I reckon they’ll know they’ve got something,” remarked Simon Jeffer BY JOHN BEECK0MDGE ELLIS S I'f'l't ILLUSTRATIONS BV > vwkl o • H2W1N • Mm>S (COPYRIGHT 1912 BOBBS-MEPeiLLCO.) son, shooting a dissatisfied glance a< I Fran from under bushy brows. Fran laughed outright “I'm going to like you, all right,” she declared. “You are so human.” It is exceedingly difficult to main tain satisfaction in silent martyrdom. Grace was obliged to speak, lest any one think that she acquiesced in evil. “Is it customary for little girls to roam the streets at night, wandering about the world alone, adopting homes ac cording to their whims?” “I really don’t think it is custom ary,” Fran replied politely, “but I’m not a customary girl.” At that mo ment she caught the old lady’s eye. It was sparkling with eloquent satisfac tion; Mrs. Jefferson supposed terms of service were under discussion. Fran laughed, grabbed the ear-trumpet and called. "Hello. How are you?” When an unknown voice entered the large end of the tube, half its mean ing was usually strained away before the rest reached the yearning ear. Mrs. Jefferson responded eagerly. "And will you wheel me around the garden at least twice a day?” Fran patted the thin old arm with her thin young hand, as she shouted, 'TU wheel you twenty times a day, if you say so!" “But I do not see-saw,” retorted the old lady with spirit. Gregory, finding Grace’s eyes fixed on him searchingly, felt himself pushed to the wall. “Of course," he said coldly, “it is understood that the daughter of—er—my friend, comes here as a—as an equal.” As he found himself forced into definite op position to his secretary, his manner grew more assured. Suddenly it oc curred to him that he was, in a way, atoning for the past. "As an equal, yes!” exclaimed his wife, again embracing Fran. “How else could it be?” “This is going to be a good thing for you, if you only knew it,” Fran said, looking into her face with loving eyes. Hamilton Gregory was almost able to persuade himself that he had re ceived the orphan of his own free choice, thus to make reparation. “It is my duty,” he said; "and I always try to do my. duty, as I see it.” “Would you like to know more about i "Would You Like to Know More About Me?” me?” Fran asked confidentially of Mrs. Gregory. Gregory turned pale. "I don’t think it is neces—” “Do tell me!” exclaimed his wife. “Father and mother married secret ly,” Fran said, solely addressing Mrs. Gregory, but occasionally sending a furtive glance at her husband. “He was a college-student, boarding with his-xousin. who was one of the profes sors. Mother was an orphan and lived with her half-uncle—a mighty crusty old man, Uncle Ephraim , was, who didn’t have one bit of use for people’s getting married in secret-. Father and mother agreed not to mention their marriage till after his graduation; then he’d go to his father and make everything easy, and come for mother So he went and told him—father s fa ther was a millionaire on Wall street. Mother's uncle was pretty well fixed. too, but he didn’t enjoy anything ex •ept religion. When he wasn’t at church—he went 'most all the time— he was reading about it. Mother said he was most religious in Hebrew, but he enjoyed his Greek verbs awfully.” Grace Noir asked remotely, "Did you say that your parents eloped?” “They didn’t run far,” Fran ex plained; "they were married in the county, not far from Springfield*—” “I thought you said,” Grace inter rupted, “that they were in New York.” "Did you?” said Fran politely. “So father graduated, and went away to tell his father all about being mar ried to Josephine Derry. I don’t know what happened then, as he didn’t come back to tell. My mother waited and waited—and I was born—and then Uncle Ephraim drove mother oat of his house with her tiny baby—that’s me—and I grew to be—as old as you see me now. We were always hunt ing father. We went all over the United States, first and last—it looked like the son of a millionaire ought to be easy to find. But he kept himself close, and there was never a clew. Then mother died. Sometimes she used to tell me that she believed him dead, that if he’d been alive he'd have come for her, because she loved him with all her soul, and wrecked 4ier whole life because of him. She was happiest when she thought he was dead, so I wouldn’t say anything, but I was sure he was alive, all right, as big and strong as you please. Oh, I know his kind. I’ve had lots of expe rience." ‘‘So I’d suppose," said Grace Noir quietly. “May I ask—If you don't mind—if this traveling about the Unit ed States didn’t take a great deal of money?” “Oh, we had all the money we want ed,” Fran returned easily. “Indeed? And did you become rec onciled to your mother’s uncle?” "Yes—after he was dead. He didn’t leave a will, and there wasn’t anybody else, and as mother had just been taken from me, the money just natu rally came In my hands. But I didn’t need it, particularly." “But before that.” Grace persisted; “before, when your mother was first disinherited, how could she make her living?” '“Mother was like me. She didn’t stand around folding her hands and crossing her feet—she used ’em. Bless you, I could get along wherever you’d drop me. Success isn’t in the world, it’s in me, and that’s a good thing to know—it saves hunting.” “Do you consider yourself a ’suc cess’?’’ inquired the secretary with a chilly smile. "I had everything I wanted except a home," Fran responded with charm ing good-humor, “and now I’ve got that. In a New York paper, I found a picture of Hamilton Gregory, and it told about all his charities. It said he had millions, and was giving away everything. I said to myself, ‘I’ll go there and have him give me a home’— you see. I’d often heard mother speak of him—and I said other things to myself—and then, as I generally do what I tell myself to do—it keeps up confidence in the general manager—I came.” “Dear child,” said Mrs. Gregory, stroking her hair, “your mother dead, your father—that kind of a man—you shall indeed find a home with us, for life. And so your father was Mr. Gregory’s Iriend. It seems—strange.” “My father,” said Fran, looking at Mr. Gregory inscrutably, “was the best friend you ever had, wasn't he? You loved him better than anybody else in the world, didn’t you?” “I—I—yes,” the other stammered, looking at. her wildly, and passing his agitated hand across his eyes, as if to shut out some terrible vision, “yes, I—I was—er—fond of—him.” “I guess you were,” Fran cried em phatically “You'd have done any thing for him.” “I have this to say,” remarked Si mon Jefferson, “that I may not come up to the mark in all particulars, and I reckon I have my weaknesses; but I wouldn't own a friend that proved himself the j miserable scoundrel, the weak cur, that this child’s father proved himself!” “And I agree with you, declared Grace, who seldom agreed with him in anything. How Mr. Gregory, the best man she had ever known, could be fond of Fran's father, was Incom prehensible. Ever since Fran had come knocking at the door, Grace’s exalted faith in Mr. Gregory had been per plexed by the foreboding that he was not altogether what %he had imagined. Hamilton Gregory felt the change in her attitude. “That friend,” he said quickly, “was not altogether to be cen sured. At least, he meant to do nght. He wanted to do right. With all the strength of his nature, he strove to do right.” “Then why didn't he do right?” snapped Simon Jefferson. “Why didn’t he go back after that young woman, and take care of her? Huh? What was holding him?” “He did go back,” exclaimed Greg ory. “Well—not at first, but after ward. He went to tell his father, and his father showed him that It would never do, that the girl—his wife— wasn’t of their sphere, their life, that he couldn’t have made her happy— that it wouldn’t—that it just wouldn’t do. For three years he stayed in the mountains of Germany, the most mis erable man in the world. But his conscience wouldn’t let him rest It told him he should acknowledge his wife. So he went back—but she’d dis appeared—he couldn’t find her—and he’d never heard—he’d never dreamed of the birth of a—of the—of this girl. He never knew that he had a daugh ter. Never! ” “Well,” said Simon Jefferson, “he’s dead now, and that's one comfort. Good thing he's not alive; I’d always be afraid I might come up with him and then, afterward, that I might not get my sentence commuted to life-im prisonment." “Who is exciting my son?” demand ed the old lady from her wheel-chair. Simon JefTerson's red face and staring eyes told plainly that his spirit was up. “After all,” said Fran cheerfully, “we are here, and needn't bother about what’s past. My mother wasn’t given her chance, but she’s dead now, blessed soul—and my father had his chance, but it wasn’t in him to be a man. Let’s forget him as much as we can, and let's have nothing but sweet and peaceful thoughts about “It Pleases Others, and It Doesn’t Hurt Me.” mother. That’s ali over, and I’m here to take my chance with the rest of you. We’re the world, while our day lasts." “What a remarkable child!” mur mured Gitace Noir, as they prepared to separate. “Quite a philosopher in short dresses.” “They used to call me a prodigy,” murmured Fran, as she obeyed Mrs. Gregory’s gesture inviting her to fol low up-stairs. "Now it’s stopped raining,” Simon Jefferson complained, as he wheeled his mother toward the back hall “That’s a good omen,” said Fran, pressing Mrs. Gregory’s hand. "The moonlight was beautiful when i was on the bridge—when I first came here.” “But we need rain.” said Grace Noir reprovingly. Her voice was that of one familiar with the designs of Prov idence. As usual, she and Hamilton Gregory were about to be left alone “Who needs it?” called the un abashed Fran, looking over the banis ters. “The frogs?” ■ “Life,” responded the secretary som berly. CHAPTER VIII. War Declared. The April morning was brimming with golden sunshine when Fran looked from the window of her second story room. Eager for the first morn ing’s view of her new home, she stared at the half-dozen cottages across the street, standing back in picket-fenced yards with screens of trees before their window-eyes. They showed only as bits of weather-boarding, or gleam ing fragments of glass, peeping through the boughs. She thought ev erything homelike, neighborly. These houses seemed to her closer to the earth than those of New York, or. at any rate, closer in the sense of broth erhood. She drew a deep breath of pungent April essence and murmured: “What a world to live in!” Fran had spoken in all sincerity in declaring that she wanted nothing but a home; and when she went down to breakfast it was with the expecta tion that every member of the family would pursue his accustomed routine, undeflected by her presence. She was willing tbat tbey should remain what they were, just as she expected to continue without change; however, not many days passed before she found herself seeking to modify her sur roundings. If a strange mouse be im prisoned in a cage of mice, those al ready inured to captivity will seek to destroy the new-comer. Fran, sudden ly thrust into the bosom of a family already fixed in their modes of thought and action, found adjustment exceed ingly difficult. She did not care to mingle with the people of the village—which was for tunate, since her laughing in the tent had scandalized the neighborhood; she would have been content never to cross the boundaries of the homestead, had it not been for Abbott Ashton. It was because of him that she acqui esced in the general plan to send her to school. It was on the fifth day of her stay, following her startling admis sion that she had never been to school a day in her life, that unanimous opin ion was fused into expressed com mand— “You must go to school!” Fran thought of the young superin tendent, and said she was willing. When Mr. Gregory and the secretary had retired to the library for the day's work, Mrs. Gregory told Fran, "I real ly think, dear, that your dresses are much too short. You are small, but your face and manners and even your voice, sometimes, seem old—quite old.” Fran showed the gentle lady a soft docility. “Well,” she said, “my legs are there, all the time, you know, and I'll show just as much of them, or just as little, as you please.” Simon Jefferson spoke up—“I like to see children wear short dresses—” and he looked at thjs particular child with approval. That day, she was really pretty. The triangle had been broadened to an oval brow, the chin was held slightly lowered, and there was something in her general aspect, possibly due to the arrangement ' of folds or colors—heaven knows what, for Simon Jefferson was but a poor male observer—that made a merit of her very thinness. The weak heart of the burly bachelor tingled with pleas ure in nice proportions, while his mind attained the esthetic outlook of a clas sic age. To be sure, the skirts did show a good deal of Fran; very good— they could not show too much. “I like,” Simon persisted, “to sea young girls of fourteen or fifteen, dressed, Vo to say, in low necks and high stockings in—er—in the airy way such as» they are by nature . . it was hard to express. “Yes,” Fran said impartially, “it pleases others, and It doesn’t hurt me.” “Fran!” Mrs. Gregory exclaimed, gazing helplessly at the girl with something of a child’s awe inspired by venerable years. It was a pathetic ap peal to a spirit altogether beyond her comprehension. (TO BE CONTINUED.) DANGERS TO THE EYESIGHT Accidents to Machinists and Stone cutters Might Be Avoided by Use of Glasses. "I believe,” said Dr. Myles Standi&h in his lecture at the Harvard Medical school, according to the Boston Tran script, “that it is a crime to have pointed scissors about in any house hold in which there are children under six years of age. Children will inva riably play with scissors; they fre quently fall on the points and puncture the eye, and often the wound, while ». It will cause blindness, is too small to be noticed by the mother. "Next in point of danger to the eye sight is the pounding of steel on steel, which throwing out slivers, eventually destroys the sight. Machinists and stonecutters meet with similar acci dents, and now that the public ia pay ing for these injuries through insur ance, workmen who are subjected to cich dangers should be compelled to wear glasses of some sort to protect their eyes. “I have fcoQWP of auarrymen going on strike because their employer tried to force them to wear glasses, and I have seen a quarryman who has lost an eye through a premature explosion of dynamite go back to the same work' and lose the other eye. Glaucoma,' whiGh occurs only in people over forty years of age, may be ranked as an accident, since it is in a moment of excitement or deep emo tion that a person begins to go blind. There comes an instantaneous, agoniz ing pain in the eyes, which, if not at tended to at once, will cause total blindness within a few days. "The danger signal, which warns people that their eyes are becoming seriously affected by overwork, diges tive or circulatory disturbances, is see ing a rainbow halo. This halo is vis ible often when the person affected strikes a match at night or looks at a street light.” Danger for Him. It was on a crowded car one day last summer that a middle-aged wo man, carrying a fretful baby, was forced to squeeze herself Into a small Bpace .left vacant beside a dapper youth of possibly twenty years. His countenance had all the expression of his immaculate white suit, except for a look of disgust which he assumed as the baby, in its restlessness, would touch him with foot or hand. • Finally he turned toward the woman and in quired. in a tone audible to those near him: "Ah, beg pawdon. madam, but has this child anything—ah—contagious?" The nurse was a motherly looking woman. Glancing compassionately at him through her gold rimmed specta cles. slje remarked, meditatively: “Well, now, I don’t know, young man, but—ah—it might be to you. She’B teething!” Has Polar Trip in View. Luther E. Widen, M. A., who recent ly obtained his doctor's degree at the University of Iowa, will be the first psychologist to make a polar trip. He will accompany the Stefansson party north to study the white Eskimo In particular. In preparation for the ex pedition the young scientist is assem bling his psychological paraphernalia. He la of Swedish parentage. ONE IDEA OF PHILANTHROPY Carmen Sylva Saya If She Had a Million She Would Build Vast Cathedral. What curious ideas some people have on the subject of philanthropy. Carmen Sylva, queen of Roumania. is the latest to answer that ancient question. “What would you do if you were a millionaire?” She would build a vast cathedral with chapels in ^ for every religion, and she would also build an art school. As it is only a very small minority of people who ever go to church or chapel, and those that do go are usually of the more comfortable classes, it is to be feared that Carmen Sylva's million would not go very far to lessen human misery. Most people have asked themselves what they would do if they were mil lionaires, but the wiser among them have contented themselves with say ing what they would not do. A reso lution to give nothing to any religious or charitable organizations, with a very few exceptions, is a fairly safe one, since both religion and charity are incompatible with organization. The greatest delight of wealth is in its opportunities for individual and beneficent contact with one's fellow men, for there can be little true char ity without individual contact between giver and receiver. Among the schemes for spending a million we should be disposed to place that of Carmen Sylva at the bottom of the list—and then some. Lace Designs From Spider Webs. . Missionaries in Paraguay more than 200 years ago taught the native In dians to make lace by hand. Since that day the art has greatly develop ed. and in certain of the towns lace making is the chief occupation. Al most all the women, many children, and not a few men are engaged ip this industry. A curious fact with reference to the Paraguayan laces is that the de signs were borrowed from the strange webs woven by the semi-tropical spi ders that abound In that country. Ac cordingly this lace is by the natives called nanduti, which means "slider web."—Harper’s Weekly. Dainty • Designs for the Young “Smart Set” of Paris Society Two fashionable members of the younger Parisian “Smart Set” wear ing elegant lingerie and lace dresses with ribbon bows and parasols to match. PROPER COLORS FOR WALLS Always a Few Rules That Are Well to Keep in Mind When Dec orating. If we redecorate In a thorough way our first puzzle is the choice of a col or. A few rules are useful. Blue, green, brown, and gray are excellent colors for sunny, welL-lighted rooms. If the room is on the north side of the house or is Ill-lighted we may need to use yellow or yellow tan on the walls in order to produce the sunny appearance the room otherwise lacks. Tan is a good all-around color and is usable in well-lighted or poorly light ed rooms. All these colors are best If soft. For example, a sage green wall is much more pleasing than a bright green or a leaf green wall; a Copen hagen blue is better than a vivid blue; the most agreeable gray for walls is brownish gray in tone. Tan in a great variety of shades is always a favorite. Bright red should never be chosen. It is crude in color and tiresome to live with. A soft mulberry red is sometimes a desirable color, and a brownish or Indian red is also in good taste. As a wallpaper always looks dark j er when hung on the wall than it does in the sample, we must take care to select medium or light shades, if we want cheerful rooms. EXQUISITE BRIDAL COSTUME Model of white lioerty satin with draped and slashed skirt and pointed train. Deep square decollete corsage with drapery of rhinestones. Favored Colors. The prominent color of the season Is unquestionably yellow in all shades. Sand color Is very highly spoken of, and commencing with this delicate tan the full gamut of yellows is run, to the deepest russet orange. Yellow reds are also very much* the fashion, also shades of terra cotta and mahogany, together with Persian reds. Generally speaking, there is a ten- j dericy to get away from navy blue and black, In favor of novelties. As a matter of fact, the showings' have included almost all colors, but there Is a feeling that shades of tan. both medium and strong, and shades of gray will be popular. Moires, Brocades and Chiffons. Moire silks are one of the accepted novelties for wraps, combination pur poses and for garnitures. Brocades and matelasses, in variety, are being largely used for outer garments, com binations, trimmings, and confidence Is expressed in an increased distribu tion during the forthcoming fall sea son. Plain and printed chiffons are staples. SAVES TIME AND TROUBLE Case for Delicate Centerpiece Not Hard to Make, and Is Especial ly Valuable. It Is sometimes a difficult matter to keep centerpieces from becoming crushed after laundering, so many women make a case in which to roll them. Purchase a piece of cretonne one and a quarter yards long and at one end turn up a hem wide enough to cover a pole an inch in diameter and in length a trifle shorter than the width of the cretonne. When choos ing the material select a dainty de sign showing alternate stripes of flow ers and a delicate color. Bind the three sides with half-inch washable ribbon, stitching it neatly either by hand or on the machine. Attach three pieces of ribbon to the end. These are used to tie the c«se when the centerpieces are rolled in place. This is an especially useful article, and should be added to the linen chest, and there will never be any need of pressing a centerpiece before it is fit to place on the dining table. It requires only a short time to make an attractive case of this variety, and you will never cease to sing its praises when it has sared you njuc.. inconvenience. Now that you have supplied a case for the centerpieces, provide like ar ticles for the doilies of your luncheon set. From cardboard cut two circular pieces an inch wrider than the plate doilies and two others an inch wider than the diameter of the tumbler doilies. Cover these with cotton waa ding and sprinkle with lavender. I sing Cretonne to match the cen terpiece case, cut circular pieces enough to cover the top and bottom of the disks. Aile-w a half inch for turning in all around, and neatly whip stitch the two together or baste rough ly and bind withilhe half-inch ribhci At three places attach pieces of rib bon with which to tie the cases shut when the doilies are placed between the two sections. A set of cases for a luncheon set would make a most acceptable gift to a prospective brid or to the systematic nousewife who likes a place for everything. Dainty Garments for the Newcomer All the best layettes consist of sim pie garments made entirely by hand The expectant mother who knows how to do neat sew’ing may prepare for her baby a layette good enough for a prince, and of the same materi als aB would be used for any little royal highness. The fabrics chosen for little slips and dresses are fine, sheer lii^en or cotton weave. Where considerable dainty hand embroidery is to be used, linen would best be chosen, as it is durable enough to make the work worth while. It has the advantage afso of keeping perfect ly white after much laundering and trons smooth without starch. Lawn, either linen or cotton, in fine qualities, sheer nainsook and French batiste are preferred for making the baby's dreces and petticoats. Japanese Crepe for Children. Among the newest dresses for chil dren are those made of Japanese crepe. The use of Japanese crepe Is directly in accord with the current fashion for materials of a crepy char acter. Moreover, the Japanese variety is decidedly superior, both in durabil ity of effect and In quality, to any other crepe, because It is woven by hand and the crepe feature Is pro duced in the weaving, while in some other instances it is brought about by a process of shrinkage. From an Old Raincoat. An apron with a bib can be made for wash day, or when you give the baby a bath. A bathing cap, and has to carry your bathing suit, and little utility cases dear to the suitcase of travelers, may be made from a dis carded raincoat. Starch for Laces and Muslins. Mix a small quantity of corn flour smoothly with cold water. This will be found excellent for lightly stiffen ing all delicate and lacey fabrics. In cluding veils and neckwear of sheer materials.