8 SYNOPSIS.
Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory’s
home 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 the church. Ashton becomes
greatly interested in Fran and while tak
ing leave of her, holds her hand and is
seen by Sapphira 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
«e< ret ary. takes a violent dislike to Fran
And advises her to go away at once.
Fran hints at a twenty-year-old secret,
and Gregory in agitation asks Grace to
leave the room. Fran relates the story
of how Gregory 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
pFran is the daughter of a very dear friend
who is dead. Fran agrees to the story.
Mrs. Gergory insists on her making her
home with them and takes her to her
Arms. The breach between Fran and
Grace widens. It is decided that Fran
must go to school.
CHAPTER VIII.—Continued.
Fran’s quick eye caught the expres
sion of baffled reaching-forth, of un
certain striving after sympathetic un
derstanding. "You darling lady!" she
cried, clasping her hands to keep her
arms from flying about the other’s
neck, "don’t you be troubled about me.
Bless your heart, I can take care of
myself—and you, too! Do you think
I’d add a straw to your . . «. Now
you hear me: if you want to do it, just
put me in long trains with Pullman
sleepers, for I'll do whatever you say.
If you want to show people how tame
I am, just hold up your hand, and I’ll
crawl into my cage.”
The laughter of Mrs. Gregory sound
ed wholesome and deep-throated—the
child was so deliciously ridiculous.
‘‘Come, then,” she cried, with a light
ness she had not felt for months,
“come, crawl into your cage!” And
she opened her arms.
With a flash of her lithe body, Fran
was in her cage, and, for a time, rest
ed there, while the fire in her dark
eyes burned tears to all sorts of rain
bow colors. It seemed to her that of
all the people in the world, Mrs. Greg
ory was the last to hold her in affec
tionate embrace. She cried out with a
sob, as if in answer to her dark mis
givings—"Oh, but I want to belong to
somebody!”
“You shall belong to me!” ex
claimed . Mrs. Gregory, folding her
closer.
"To you?” Fran sobbed, overcome
by the wonder of it. “To you, dear
heart?” With a desperate effort she
crowded back intruding thoughts, and
grew calm. Looking over her shoul
der at Simon Jefferson—“No more
III .
"Love Him? This Is Merely a Ques
tion of Doing the Most Good.”
short dresses. Mr. Simon,” she called,
“you know your heart mustn’t be ex
cited.”
“Fran!” gasped Mrs. Gregory in dis
may, "hush!”
But Simon Jefferson beamed with
pleasure at the girl's artless way3. He
knew what was bad for his heart, and
Fran wasn’t. Her smiles made him
feel himself a monopolist in sunshine.
Simon Jefferson might be fifty, but he
still had a nose for roses.
Old Mr3. Jefferson was present, and
from her wheel-chair bright eyes read
much that dull ears missed. "How
,gay Simofl is!” smiled the mother—he
was always her spoiled boy.
Mr«. Gregory called -through the
ICHARACTER SHOWS IN FACE i
•Good Thoughts Look Out Through
Kindly Eyes and Fair Pleas
ant Features.
Our faces are open diaries. In
Which any one may read the record
of how we speed our days, what we
think, the sort of people we are.
When we say of a man that “he has
a fine face,” or of a woman that "she
has a beautiful face," we speak of the
life back of the face. What is a
surer Indication of this than when
we see a child draw away from a first
glimpse of a person? What Is often
so truly condemnatory as the in
stinctive, remark of a child: “I don’t
like her face, mamma?”
Not, always true, perhaps, not In
every instance is the child right, but
how often is it uneering!
If we waste the precious passing
'years in chasing butterflies and flit
ting pleasure; If we grow hard and
marrow because of disappointments,
•or through self-indulgence, It Is reg
istered where even the child who
draws «away from us reads it
The mind that generally thinks
"good thoughts, true thoughts,
thoughts fit to treasure up,' looks out
jjpon the world through kindly eyes
and fair and pleasant features The
face of an evil man or woman wears
a malignant saturnine aspect, that
gives the world a warning of the
inner nature.
The eyes are more eloquent than
the tongue in telling others what we
are.
We never hide from discerning
eyes as much as we sometimes think
we do. Our faces invariably tell our
stories.
Immunue From Whipping.
Doc Shaw, officially known as Capt
C. A. Shaw, was in a reminiscent mood
down town the other day, and his
mind reverted to his equestrian trou
bles when he saw a fancy saddle horse
go by.
“I had a funny experience with sad
dles some years ago,” he re
marked to a friend. “I was rearing
a nephew, Walter WatklnB, in addition
tp my own family. He was full of
life and action—too full, I fear, for
his teachers at school. At, any rate,
I kept missing the skirts off my sad
dle. It was an awful vexation to start
out in the country from Somerville
and find my saddle stripped to a
naked tree. My hostler convinced me
after some difficulty that he was not
stealing the leather.
“Finally I found that the youngster,
Walter, stripped the saddle to keep
his trousers' seat lined with a saddle
skirt against a whipping at school—
Memphis Commercial Appeal
Repartee.
"My only fear in respect to woman
suffrage.’’ said Mr. Baldlbrow, "is its
possible effect upon the public life
of the future. Woman’s love of a
bargain would cause her to go in for
cheap statesmen.”
“Yes?” said Mrs. Baldlbrow, with
an Indulgent smile. “Well—look at
the pile of illustrious remnants you
men ate still sticking to!”
Whereupon Mr. Baldlbrow began to
hem like a stump-speaker, but noth
ing came of it. 1 His eloquence was
not equal to the occasion.—Harper’s
Weekly. „
LESSON FOR ARDENT SWAIN
Startling Experience Cures Him of
Making Love to Maidens
at Balls.
It happened at a public ball. He
was a man of serious intentions and
numerous attentions, and she was
rich and weddable. They sat in the
hall under the stairway. It was a
nook for lovers. There was not a
soul in sight and, and he thought his
golden opportunity had arrived. Down
he flopped on his knees, and clasped
her hand.
"Dear one,” he whispered, not very
loud, but loud enough, “I have loved
you with the whole strength and
ardour of a man’s nature when it is
roused by all that is pure and good
and lovely in woman, and I can no
longer restrain my pent-up feelings.
I must tell you what is in my heart
and assure yon that never yet has
woman heard from my lips the se
crets that are throbbing and—”
Just then a rustle was heard on
the stairs above them, and a card
fastened to a thread swung down and
dangled not tw«% Inches from the lov
er's nose. On It were these porten
tous words:
“I'm a bit of t. liar myBelf.”
Then the awful truth flashed upon
him, and h? fled. As he went out of
the door, sixteen girls from the head
of the stairs sent sixteen laughs out
into the damp night after him. He
makes no love at balls now.
Anesthetized Rejection Slip.
Elizabeth Jordan said that with at
the manuscripts the late Margaret E.
Sangster had occasion to return, not
one ever carried a heartache with It
She saw everyone who wanted to see
her, receiving all callers. She was
greatly interested in young writers.
And when they bad no writing gift,
tactfully she would Bet them going on
in some other direction. Perhaps some
woman who had brought her poor lit
tle efforts to Mrs. Sangster could bake
sweetmeats, though she couldn’t
write. Then would Mrs. Sangster
work around among the club women
she knew until she got sufficient or
ders for sweetmeats to give that wo
man employment—Christian Herald.
BY
JOHN BHECKENMDGE ELLIS
ILLUSTRATIONS BY'
„ O' IRWIN-MYERS
(COPYRIGHT 1912
B0BB5-MEPPILLC0.)
trumpet, “I believe Fran has given
brother a fresh interest in life."
Old Mrs. Jefferson beamed upon
Fran anti added her commendation:
‘‘She pushes me wh§n I want to be
pushed, and pulls me when 1 want to
be pulled.”
Fran clapped her hands like a child,
indeed. "Oh, what a gay old world!"
she cried. “There are so many people
in it that like me.” She danced before
the old lady, then wheeled about with
such energy that her skirts threat
ened to level to the breeze
"Don't, don't!" cried Mrs. Gregory
precipitately. ‘‘Fran!”
"Bravo!” shouted Simon Jeffeison.
“Encore!”
Fran widened her fingers to push
down the rebellious dress. “If I don’t
put leads on me,” she said with con
trition, “I'll be floating away. When
I feel good. I always want to do some
thing wrong—it’s awfully dangerous
for a person to feel good, I guess. Mrs.
Gregory, you say I can belong to you
—when I think about that, I want to
dance. ... I guess you hardly
know what it means for Fran to be
long to a person. You're going to find
out. Come on.” she shouted to Mrs.
JefTerson, without using the trumpet—
always a subtle compliment to those
nearly stone-deaf, “I mustn't wheel
myself about, so I’m going to w'heel
you.”
As she passed with her charge into
the garden, her mind was busy with
thoughts of Grace Noir. Belonging to
Mrs. Gregory naturally suggested get
ting rid of the secretary. It would
be exceedingly difficult. "But two
months ought to settle her," Fran
mused.
In the meantime, Grace Notr and
Gregory sat in the library, silently
turning out an immense amount of
work, feeding the hungry and consol
ing the weak with stroke of pen and
click of typewriter.
"About this case, number one hun
dred forty-three,” Grace said, looking
up from her work as copyist, "the
girl whose father wouldn't acknowl
edge her . . .”
"Write to the matron to give her
good clothing and good schooling." He
spoke softly. There prevailed an at
mosphere of subtle tenderness; on
this island—the library—blossomed
love of mankind and devotion to lofty
ideals. These two mariners found
themselves ever surrounded by a sea
of indifference; there was not a sail
in sight. “It is a sad case,” he mur
mured.
“You think number one hundred
forty-three a sad case?” she repeated,
always, when possible, building her
next step out of the material furnished
by her companion. “But suppose she
is an impostor. He says she’s not his
daughter, this number one huudred
forty-three. Maybe she isn’t Would
you call her conduct sad?”
Gregory took exquisite pleasure in
arguing with Grace, because her se
rene assumption of being in the right
gave to her beautiful face a touch of
the angelic. “I should call it impos
sible.”
‘‘Impossible? Do you think it's im
possible that Fran’s deceiving you?
How can ycu know that she is the
daughter of your friend?”
He grew pale. Oh, if he could have
denied Fran—if he could have Joined
Grace in declaring her an impostor!
But she possessed proofs so irrefutable
that safety lay in admitting her claim,
lest she prove more than he had al
■ ready admitted. “I know it. absolute
ly. She is the daughter of one who
was my most—my most intimate
' friend.”
Grace repeated with delicate re
proof—"Your intimate friend!"
"I know it was wrong for him to de
sert his wife.”
1 "Wrong!” How inadequate seemed
* that word from her pure lips!
1 | "But,” he faltered, “we must make
1 I allowances. My friend married Fran’s
mother in secret because she was ut
5 terly worldly—frivolous—a butterfly.
Her own uncle was unable to control
1 her—to make her go to church. Soon
1 after the marriage he found out his
t mistake—it broke his heart, the trag
3 edy of it I don’t excuse him for go
ing away to Europe—”
3 “I am glad you don’t. He waB no
true man, but a weakling. I am glad
I have never been thrown writh such
a—a degenerate."
“But, Miss Grace,” he urged plead
ingly, “do you think my friend, when
he went back to find her and she was
gone—do you think he should have
kept on hunting? Do you think, Grace,
that he should have remained yoked
to an unbeliever, after he realized his
folly?”
There was heavenly compassion in
her eyes, for suddenly she had di
vined his purpose in defending Fran's
father. He was thinking of his own
wife, and of his wife's mother and
brother—how they had ceased to show
sympathy in what he regarded as the
essentials of life. Her silence suggest
ed that as she could not speak without
casting reflection upon Mrs. Gregory,
she would say nothing, and this tact
was grateful to his grieved heart.
"I have been thinking of something
very strange,” Grace said, with a
marked effort to avoid the issue lest
she commit the Indiscretion of blam
ing her employer’s wife. "I remem
ber having heard you say that when
you were a young man, you left your
father’s home to live with a cousin in
a distant town who happened to be a
teacher in a college, and that you were
graduated from his college. Don't you
think it marvelous, this claim of Fran,
who says that her father, when a
young man, went to live with a cousin
who was a college professor, and that
he was graduated from that college?
And she says that her father’s father
was a rich man—just as yours was—
and that the cousin is dead—just as
yours is.”
At these pierctng words, Gregory
bowed his head to conceal his agita
tion. Could it be possible that she
had guessed all and yet, in spite of all,
could use that tone of kindness? It
burst upon him that if he and she
could hold this fatal secret in common,
they might, in sweetest comradeship,
form an alliance against fate itself.
She persisted: “The account that
Fran gives of her father is really your
own history. What does that show?”
He spoke almost in a whisper. “My
friend and I were much alike.” Then
he looked up swiftly to cateh a look
of comprehension by surprise, if such
a look were there.
Grace smiled coolly. “But hardly
identical, I presume. Don’t you r-.ee
that Fran has invented her wh^le
story, and that she didn’t have enough
imagination to keep from copying
after your biographical sketch in the
newspaper? I don’t believe she is
your friend’s daughter. I don’t be
lieve you could ever have liked the
father of a girl like Fran—that he
could have been your intimate friend.”
“Well—” faltered Gregory. But why
should he defend Fran?
“Mr. Gregory,” she asked, as if what
she was about to say belonged to what
had gone before, “would it greatly in
convenience you for me to leave your
employment?” I
He was electrified. “Grace! Incon
venience me!—would you—could . . .”
“I have not decided—not yet.
Speaking of being yoked with unbe
lievers—I have never told you that Mr.
Robert Clinton has wanted me to mar
ry him. As long as he was outside of
the church, of course it was impos
sible.' But now that he is converted—’’
“Grace!” groaned the pallid listener.
“He would like me to go with him
to Chicago."
“But you couldn't love Bob Clinton
—he isn’t worthy of you, Grace. It’s
impossible. Heaven knows I’ve had
disappointments enough—” He start
ed up and came toward her, his eyes
glowing. “Will you make my life a
complete failure, after all?”
“Love him?" Grace repeated calmly.
“This is merely a question of doing
the most good. I know nothing about
love.”
“Then let me teach you, Grace,
let—”
“Shall we not discuss it?” she said
gently. “That is best, I think. If I de
cide to marry Mr. Clinton, I will tell
you even before I tell him. I don’t
know what I shall choose as my best
course.”
“But, Grace! What could I do—
without—” ®
“Shall we just agree to say no more
about it?” she softly interposed. “That
is wisest until my decision is made.
We were talking about Fran—do you
think this a good opportunity for Mrs.
Gregory to attend services? Fran can
stay with Mrs. JefTerson.”
“I have no doubt,” he said, still agi
tated, “that my wife would find it easy
enough to go to church, if she really
wanted to go.”
“Mr. Gregory!” she reproved him.
“Well,” he cried, somewhat defiant
ly, "don't you thick she could go. if
she wanted to?”
"Well," Grace answered slowly,
“this girl will leave her without any
—any excuse.”
“Oh, Miss Grace, if my wife were
only—like you—I mean, about going
to church!”
“I consider it,” she responded, "the
most- important thing in the world.”
Her emphatic tone proved her sin
cerity. The church on Walnut street
stood, for her, as the ark; those who
remained outside, at the call of the
bell, were in danger of engulf men t.
After a long silence, Grace looked
up from her typewriter. “Mr. Greg
ory,” she said pausingly, “you are un
happy.”
Nothing could have been sweeter to
him than her sympathy, except happi
ness Itself. “Yes,” he admitted, with
a great sigh, "I am very unhappy, but
you understand me, and that is a little
comfort. If you should marry Bob
Clinton—Grace, tell me you’U not
think of it again.”
“And you are unhappy,” said Grace,
steadfastly ruling Bob Clinton out of
the discussion, “on account of Fran.”
He burst forth Impulsively—“Ever
since she came to town!” He checked
himself. "But I owe it to my friend
to shelter her. She wants to stay and
—and she’ll have to, if she demands
it."
“Do you owe more to your dead
friend,” Grace asked, with passionate
solemnity, “than to the living God?”
He shrank back. “But I can’t send
her away,” he persisted in nervous
haste. “I can't. But heaven bless you.
Grace, for your dear thought of me.”
“You -will bless me with more rea
son,” said Grace softly, “when Fran
decides to go away. She’ll tire of this
house—I promise it. She’ll go—just
wait!—she’ll go, as unceremoniously
as she came. Leave it to me, Mr. Greg
ory.” In her earnestness she started
up, and then, as if to conceal her
growing resolution, she walked swiftly
to the window as if to hold her manu
script to the light. Gregory followed
her.
"If she would only go!” he groaned.
“Grace! Do you think you could?—
Yes, 1 will leave everything to you.”
“She’ll go,” Grace repeated fixedly.
The window at which they stood
overlooked the garden into which Fran
had wheeled old Mrs. Jefferson.
Fran, speaking through the ear
trumpet with as much caution as deaf
ness would tolerate, said, “Dear old
iady, look up at the library window,
if you please, for the muezzin has
climbed his minaret to call to prayers.”
Very little of this reached its desti
nation—muezzin was in great danger
of complicating matters, but the old
lady caught “library window,” and held
it securely. Shq, looked up. Ham
ilton Gregory and Grace Noir were
standing at the tower window, to
catch the last rays of the sun. The
flag of truce between them was only
a typewritten sheet of manuscript.
Grace held the paper obliquely toward
the west; Hamilton leaned nearer and,
with his delicate white finger, pointed
out a word. Grace nodded her head
in gentle acquiescence.
"Amen,” muttered Fran. "Now let
everybody sing!”
The choir leader and his secretary
vanished from sight.
“Just like the play in Hamlet,” Fran
said half-aloud. "And now that the
inside play Is over, I guess it's time
for old Ham to be doing something.”
Mrs. Jefferson gripped the arms of
her wheel-chair and resumed her tale,
as if she had not been interrupted. It
was of no interest as a story, yet pos
sessed a sentimental value from the
fact that all the characters save the
raconteur were dead, and possibly all
but her forgotten. Fran loved to hear
the old lady evoke the shades of long
ago, shades who would never again
assume even the palest manifestation
to mortals, when this old lady had
gone to join them.
Usually Fran brought her back,
with gentle hand, but today she di
vined subterfuge; the tale was meant
to hide Mrs. Jefferson’s real feelings.
Fran ventured through the trumpet:
“I wish there was a man-secretary
on this place, instead of a woman.
And let me tell you one thing, dear
old soldier—there's going to be a fight
put up on these grounds. 1 guess you
ought to stay out of it. But either
I or the secretary has got to git.”
Fran was not unmindful of gram
mar, even of rhetoric, on occasion.
She knew there was no such word as
“git,” but she was seeking to symbol
ize her idea in sound. As she closed
her teeth, each little pearl meeting a
pearly rival, her "git” had something
of the force of physical ejectment.
Behind large spectacle lenses,
sparks flashed from Mrs. Jefferson’s
eyes. She sniffed battle. But her
tightly compressed lips showed that
she lacked both Fran’s teeth and
Fran’s intrepidity. One steps cau
tiously at seventy-odd.
Fra£ comprehended. The old lady
must not let it be suspected that she
was aware of Gregory’s need of cotton
in straining ears, such as had saved
Ulysses from siren voices. The pre
tense of observing no danger kept the
fine old face uncommonly grim.
"Little girls shouldn’t fight,” was
her discredt rejoinder. Then leaning
over the wheel, she advanced her
snow-white head to the head of coal
black. "Better not stir up dragons.”
Fran threw back her head and
laughed defiantly. “Bring on your
dragons,” she cried boastfully. “There’s
not one of ’em I’m afraid of.” She
extended one leg and stretched forth
her arm. “I’ll say to the Dragon,
‘Stand up’—and she'll stand; I’ll say
‘Lie down’—and down she’ll lie. I’ll
say ‘Git’—and she’ll—’’ Fran waved
her dragon to annihilation.
“Goodness,” the old lady exclaimed,
getting nothing of this except the pan
tomime; that, however, was eloquent.
She recalled the picture of David in
her girlhood’s Sunday-school book.
“Are you defying the Man of Gath?”
She broke into a delicious smile which
seemed to flood the wrinkles of her
face with the sunshine of many dear
old easy-going years.
Fran smote her forehead. “I have
a few pebbles here,” she called
through the trumpet.
Mrs. Jefferson grasped the other’s
"Bring on Your Dragons,” She Said
Boastfully.
thin arm, and said, with zestful ener
gy, “Let her have ’em. David, let her
have ’em!”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Marine Telescope.
Make an oblong narrow box out of
four pieces of quarter-inch board about
two feet long by sixteen inches wide,
and fit a piece of clear, clean glass
across one end, held In place by brass
headed tacks, driven into the wood
and overlapping the glass. Fill all the
cracks with sealing wax to keep out
the light Then plunge the glass end
two or three inches into the water and
look through the open end. This sim
ple marine telescope is made on the
principle of the more elaborate glasses
through which to look at the famous
gardens under the sea near the Cata
lina Islands.—Christian Herald.
1
Latest Fashions Seen on the
Aristocratic Boise de Bologne
Two Samples of the most recent productions of the Parisian Dressmak
ing geniuses.
SOAP TABLETS FOR TOURISTS
New Preparation That Is Likely to
Appeal to Traveler of Fastidious
Tastes.
Somehow soap powder has never
taken the fancy of fastidous folk.
It is not especially pleasant to use
and it never smells like anything but
the washroom of a railway station or
department store. It, moreover, has a
way of sprinkling itself around every
where except on the hands in a messy
and disagreeable way, and dainty wo
men who travel will have none of
it, preferring to carry the wet cake
of personally preferred toilet soap
in a rubber lined receptacle in the
traveling bag. A new scap tablet,
however, will be likely to appeal to
the fastidious traveler, because of its
convenience and the attractive way it
is put up. Fifty of these tablets are
packed like bonbons in a pretty little
box less than three inches square. A
pair of nickel tweezers are-tucked in
the box for extracting the tablets—
again like bonbons—and the tablets
themselves, though firm in composi
tion, dissolve easily in the water. And
the entire package costs no more than
the ordinary cake of good toilet
soap.
NEW PARIS MODEL
A gown of blue and silver brocade
trimmed with lace and pink maline,
the latter forming the short corsage.
Bridesmaid Dresses.
Bridesmaids should be dressed in
harmony with the bridal frock, yet
nothing more elaborate or expensive.
All gowns should form a setting for
the one gown of Importance. A bride
should always wear gloves, as well as
her bridesmaids, and this may occur
when there is a heme wedding with
out hats being worn. The brides
maids may wear hats if they choose,
but not unless the bride is veiled.
CLOTHES FOR RAINY DAYS
Fashions and Customs Have Under
gone Remarkable Change In the
Past Ten Years.
Fashions and customs have changed
overwhelmingly in the past ten years,
but In no other respect more than in
the rainy day garb. Everyone remem
bers with many a hearty laugh the
way people used to look out of the
window and say, in a resigned way:
“Well, it’s raining.” That meant very
positively that good looking clothes
were not in decent taste in such
weather, and one must wear a mack
intosh—was there ever a more hide
ous garment made?—heelless rubbers,
dark clothes, shabby shoes and one's
oldest hat. And who ever did enjoy
anything in her oldest hat! Nowadays
the girl who looks on the cheerful side
of things and rather enjoys the rainy
day for a change has a bright red or
purple hat that, of course, has no
feathers, but is plain and serviceable,
but which she knows is most becom
ing. She wears her tailored suit but
it has a short skirt and is protected by
a good looking raincoat. Her shoes
are high and thick, but they are Just
as good looking as those she keeps for
sunny days, and often, to add another
bit of color, she carries a red or pur
ple silk umbrella. It keeps tho rain
off just as well as a black one and it
just makes you feel better. It is won
derful what a becoming hat and gay
umbrella can do toward chasing away
the blues on a stormy day.
HAIR A LA POMPADOUR AGAIN
French Expert Says Style of Hair
dressing for This Season Will
Be Simple.
An indication of the fashions in
hairdressing for the forthcoming sea
son was given at a meeting of more
than 400 hairdressers from London.
Brussels and Berlin in London re
cently.
“The tendency is,” said a famous
Paris hairdresser, "for the hair to be
dressed upwards, and, in fact, to show
a return to the pompadour style. The
keynote of the new fashion Is sim
plicity. There will be practically no
chignon, and the hair will not, as for
merly, be brushed flat over the ears.
The new style should be especially
suitable for the Englishwoman.”
Blue and White China.
Blue and white German china, dec
orated with Delft designs, is good
china for the blue breakfast table.
It is made on good lines, is thin
enough to be dainty and thick enough
to be durable. A coSee cup and sau
cer in this china is priced 50 cents.
An interesting piece of blue and
white fluted Copenhagen tableware is
a square egg dish with scalloped top
with a dainty egg cup held by the
stem in each of the eight scallops.
New Collar and Cuff Sets.
One set is in softest, finest black
net, with a straight hem embroidered
in many colored silks in tiny cross
stitch. Another set ie of very finely
tucked lawn, the tucks running
across and across, the edge being
finished with an almost invisible ruche
of the lawn.
A Flexible Bracelet.
A flexible bracelet watch of dainty
workmanship is composed of sterling
silver, decorated with French enamel
in turquoise blue and white, and can
be adjusted to fit the . wearer’s arm.
These watches are chiefly to be recom
mended for their lightness, durability
and general attractiveness.
New Tailored Waist.
A new washable shirtwaist is made
up on the lines of a man’s shirt, with
plaited bosom front, dickey collar and
black cravat. It may also be had In
white crepe de chine.