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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 23, 1913)
-« BY JOHNBRECKENEIDGE ELLIS SYNOPSIS. Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory’s home in Ljttleburg, 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 plilar 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 secretary, 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 Fran is the daughter of a very dear friend who is dead. Fran agrees to the story. Mrs. Gregory insists on her making her home with them and takes her to her arms. Fran declares the secretary must go. Grace begins nagging tactics in an effort to drive Fran from the Gregory home. Abbott, while taking a walk alone at midnight, finds Fran on a bridge tell ing her fortune by cards. She tells Ab bott that she is the famous lion tamer. Fran Nonpareil. She tired of circus life and sought a home. Grace decides to ask Bob Clinton to go to Springfield to inves tigate Fran’s story. Fran offers her •ervlces to Gregory as secretary during •he temporary absence of Grace. The lat ter. hearing of Fran’s purpose, returns and interrupts a touching scene between father and daughter. Grace tells Gregory she intends to marry Clinton and quit his service. He declares that he cannot con tinue his work without her. Carried away by passion, he takes her in his arms. Fran walks in on them, and declares that Grace must leave the house at once. To Gregory’s consternation he learns of Clinton’s mission to Springfield. Clinton returns from Springfield and, at Fran’s request. Abbott urges him not to discuss what h*> has learned. On Abbott’s assur ance that Grace w'ill leave Gregory at once. Clinton agrees to keep silent. Driv en into a corner by the threat of ex posure, Gregory is forced to dismiss Grace. Grace is offered the job of book keeper in Clinton’s grocery store. Greg ory’s infatuation leads him to seek Grace at the grocery. He finds her alone and tells her the story of his past. Grace points out that as he married the pres ent Mrs.* Gregory before the death of Fran’s mother, he is not now legally mar ried. They decide to flee at once. They attempt to escape during the excitement of a street fair and are forced to enter the lion tent to avoid Clinton. Abbott wanders into the lion tent to pass the time A young woman wearing a mask Ik taking the place of the regular trainer. One of the lions rebels and the trainer re moves her mask revealing the features of Fran. She finally overcomes the brute. Gregory’s eyes are opened to the real na ture of Grace as he sees murder in her eves during Fran’s contest with the lion. He tells her all is over between them. CHAPTER XXIII.—Continued. He met her eyes unfalteringly. "It’s already nine o'clock,” he said with sin gular composure. "Don’t forget nine thirty.” Then he disappeared in the crowd. Then, to her amazement, she beheld Hamilton Gregory stumbling toward her, looking neither to right nor left, ■eelng none but her—Hamilton Greg ory at a show! Hamilton Gregory here, of all places, his eyes wide, his head thrown back as If to bare his face to her startled gaze. “Fran!” cried Gregory, thrusting forth his arms to take her hands. "Fran! Even now, the bars divide us. But oh, 1 am so glad, so glad—and God answered my prayer and saved you. Fran—my daughter!” CHAPTER XXIV. _ v I Near the Sky. It was half-past nine when Abbott met Fran, according to appointment, before the Snake Den. From her hands she had removed the color of Italy, and from her body, the glittering rai ment of La Gonizetti. Fran came up to the young man from out the crowded street, all quiv ering excitement. In contrast with the pulsing life that ceaselessly changed her face, as from reflections of dancing light-points, his composure showed almost grotesque. “Here I am.” she panted, shooting a quizzical glance at his face, "are you ready for me? Come on, then, and I’ll show you the very place for us.” Abbott inquired serenely: "Down there in the Den ?” "No,” she returned, "not in the Den. You’re no Daniel, if I am a Charmer. No dens for lfs.” "Nor lion cages?” inquired Abbott, still inscrutable; "never again?” ■ "Never again,” came her response. * Fran stopped before the Ferris Wheel. "Let’s take a ride,” she said, a little tremulously. “Won’t need tickets. Bill, •top the wheel; I want to go rig'aMip. This is a friend of mine—Mr. Ashton. And Abbott, this is an older friend than you—Mr. Bill Smookins.” Mr. Bill Smookins was an exceed ingly hard-fea'ured man. of no recog nizable age. Externally, he was blue overalls and greasy tar. Abbott grasped Bill's hand, and in quired about business. “Awful pore, sense Fran lef the show,” was the ans#er, accompanied by a grin that 'threatened to cut the weather-beaten face wide open. Fran beamed. “Mr. Smookins knew my mother—didn’t you, Bill? He was awful good to me when I was a kid. Mr. Smookins was a Human Nymph in those days, and he smoked and talked, he did, right down under the water— remember. Bill? That was sure-enough water—oh. he’s a sure-enough Bill, let me tell you!” Bill intimated, as he slowed down the engine, that the rheumatism he had acquired under the water, was sure-enough rheumatism—hence his change of occupation. "I was strong enough to be a Human Nymph,” he explained, “but not endurable. Nobody can’t last many years as a Human Nymph.” Abbott indicated his companion— "Here’s one that’ll last my time.” The wheel stopped. He and Fran were barred into#a seat. “And now,” Fran exclaimed, “it’s all ups and downs, just like a moving pic ture of life. Why don’t you say some thing, Mr. Ashton? But no, you can keep still—I'm excited to death, and wouldn’t hear you anyway. I want to do all the talking—I always do, after I've been in the cage. My brain is filled with air—so this is the time to be soaring up into the sky, isn't it! What is your brain filled with?—but never mind. We’ll be just two bal loons—my! aren’t you glad we haven’t any strings on us—suppose some peo ple had hold!—I, for one, would be willing never to go down again. Where are the clouds?—Wish we could meet a few. See how I’m trembling—al ways do, after the lions. Now, Abbott, I’ll leave a small opening for just one word—” “I'll steady you,” said Abbott, brief ly. and he took her hand. She did not appear conscious of his protecting clasp. "I never see the moon so big.” she went on, breathlessly, "without think ing of that night when it rolled along the pasture as if it wanted to knock us off the foot-bridge for being where we oughtn’t. I never could understand why you should stay on that bridge with a perfect stranger, when your duty was to be usher at the camp-ineet ln^! You weren’t ushering me, you know, you were holding my hand—I mean, I was holding your hand, as Miss Sapphira says I shouldn't. What a poor helpless man—as I’m holding you now, I presume! But I laughed in meeting. People ought to go outdoors to smile, and keep their religion in a house, I guess. I’m going to tell you why I laughed, for you’ve never guessed, and you’ve always been afraid to ask—” ~ “Afraid of you, Fran?” “Awfully, I'm going to show you— let go, so I can show you. No, I’m in earnest—you can have me, afterwards. . . . Remember that evangelist? There he stood, waving his hands—as I’m doing now—moving his arms with his eyes fastened upon the congrega tion—this way—look. Abbott.” “Fran! As If I were not already looking.” "Look—just so; not saying a word— only waving this way and that . . . And it made me thing of our hypno tizer—the man that waves people into our biggest tent—he seems to pick ’em up bodily and carry them in his arms. Well! And if the people are to be waved into a church, it won’t take much of a breeze to blow them out. I don’t believe in soul-waving. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in the church—does it?—do you think?” “You believe in convictions, Fran. And since you’ve come into the church, you don't have to say that you believe In it.” • “Y'es—there’s nothing on the out side, 'and oh, sometimes there’s so little, so little under the roof—what do you think of me, Abbott?" “Fran, I think you are the most—” “But do you!" she interposed, still insteadily. "In the superlative? 1 I ion’t see how you can, after that exhi- | 3ition behind the bars. Anyway, I vant you to talk about yourself. What made you go away from town? But :hat's not the worst; what made you stay away? And what were you doing iff there wherever it wag. while.poor little girls were wondering themselves sick about you? But wait!—the wheel’s going down—down—down. . . Good thing I have you to hold to—poor Miss Sapphira, she can’t come now! Listen at all the street criers, getting closer, and the whistle sounds—I wish we had whistles; the squawky kind. See my element, Ab bott, the air I’ve breathed all my life— the carnival. Here we are, just above the clouds of confetti. . . . Now we’re riding through . . . pretty damp, these clouds are, don’t you think! Those ribbons of electric lights have been the real world to me. Abbott—they were home. . . . No, Bill, we don't want to get out. We in tend to ride until you take this wheel to pieces. And oh, by the way. Bill— just stop this wheel, every once in a while, will you ?—when we’re up at the very tiptop. All right—good-by." And Abbott called gaily, “Good-by, Mr. Smookins!” “I'm glad you did that, Abbott. Tou think you’re somebody, when some body else thinks so, too. Now we’re rising in the world.” Fran was so ex cited that she could not keep her body from quivering. In spite of this, she fastened her eyes upon Abbott to ask, suddenly: “’Most’—what?” "Most adorable," Abbott answered, as if he had been waiting for the prompting. "Most precious. Most be witchingly sweet. Most unanswerably and eternally—Fran!” “And you—” she whispered. “And I,” he told her, “am nothing but most wanting-to-be-loved.” “It’s so queer," Fran said, plaintive ly. “You know, Abbott, how long you’ve fought against me. You know it, and I don’t blame you, not in the least. There’s nothing about me to make people. . . . But even now, how can you think you understand me, when I don’t understand myself?” “I don’t,” he said, prompt'y. 'T’ve \\ "Up, Samson, Up I” given up trying to understand you. Since then, I’ve just loved. That’s easy.” “What will people think of a super intendent of public schools caring for a show-girl, even if she iB Fran Non pareil. How would it affect your ca reer?” "But you have promised never again to engage in a show, so you are not a show-girl.” "What about my mother who lived and died as a lion-tamer? What will you do about my life-history? I’d nev er speak to a mail who could feel ashamed of my mother. What about my father who has never publicly acknowledged me? I’d not want to have anything to do with a man who —who could be proud of him.” “As to the past, Fran, I have only this to say: Whatever hardships it contained, whatever wrongs or wretch (COPYQIGHT 1912 f BOBBS - MEPP ILL CO.) edness—it evolved you. you, the Fran of today—the Fran of this living hour. And it’s the Fran of this living hour that I want to marry?” Fran covered her face with her hands. For a while there was silence, then she said: “Father was there, tonight.” “At the lion-show? Impossible! Mr. Gregory go to a—a—to—a—’’ "Yes, it is possible for him even to go to a show But to do him justice, he was forced under the tent, he had no intention of doing anything so wicked as that, he only meant to do some little thing like running away— But no. I can’t speak of him with bit terness, now. Abbott, he seems all changed.” Abbott murmured, as if stupefied: “Mr. Gregory at a show!” “Yes, and a lion-show. When it was over he came to me—he was so ex cited—” “So was I,” spoke up the other— “rather!” “You didn't show it. 1 thought maybe you wouldn’t care if I bad been eaten up. . . . No, no, listen. He wanted to claim me—he called me ‘daughter’ right there before the peo ple, but they thought it was just a sort of—of church name. But he was won derfully moved. I left the tent with him, and we had a long talk—I came from him to you. I never saw any body so changed.” "But why?” “You see, he thought I was going to be killed right there before his eyes, fnd seeing it with his very own eyes made him feel responsible. He told me, afterwards, that when he found out who it was in the cage, he thought of mother in a different way—he saw how his desertion had driven her to earning her living with showmen, so I could be supported. All in all, he is a changed man.” "Then will he acknowledge yon?— but no. no . . .” “You see? He can’t, on account of Mrs. Gregory. There’s no future for him, or for her, except to go on living as man and wife—without the secre tary. He imagines it would be a sort of reparation to present me to the world as his daughter, he thinks it would give him happiness—but it can’t be. Grace N'oir has found it all out—” “Then she will tell!” Abbott ex claimed, in dismay. “She would have told but for one thing. She doesn’t dare, and it’s on her own account—of course. She has been terribly—well, indiscreet. You can’t think of what lengths she was willing to go—not from coldly making up her mind, but because she lost grip on herself, from always thinking Bhe couldn’t. So she went away with Bob Clinton—she’ll marry him, and they’ll go to Chicago, out of Littleburg his tory—poor Bob! Remember the night he was trying to get religion? I’m afraid he’ll conclude that religion isn't what he thought it was, living so close to it from now on.” “All this interests me greatly, dear, because it interests you. Still, it doesn’t bear upon the main question.” "Abbott, you don’t know why I went to that show to act. You thought I was caring for a sick friend. What do you think of such deceptions?” ”1 think I understand. Simon Jef ferson told me of a girl falling from a trapeze; It was .possibly La Gonizettl’s daughter. Mrs. JefTerson told me that Mrs. Gregory is nursing some one. The same one, I imagine. And La Gon izetti was a friend of yours, and you took her place, so the mother could stay with the injured daughter.” “You’re a wonder, yourself!” Fran declared, dropping her handB to stare at him. “Yes, that’s it. All these show-people are friends of mine. When the mayor was trying to decide what carnival company they’d have for the street fair, I told him about this show, and that’s why it’s here. Poor La Goifizetti needs the money dreadfully—for they spend it as fast as it’s paid in. The little darling will have to go to a hospital, and there’s nothing laid by. The boys all threw in, but they didn’t have much, them Belves. Nobody has. Everybody’s pool in this old world—except you and me I’ve taken La Gonizetti’s place in the cage all day to keep her from losing out; and if this wasn't the last day, I don’t know whether I’d have piom ised you or not. . . . Samson was pretty good, but that mask annoyed him. So you see—but honestly, Ab bott, doesn’t all this make'you feel just a wee bit different about me?” "It makes me want to kiss you, Fran.” "It makes you”—she gasped—“want to do—that? Why, Abbott! Nothing can save you.” “I’m afraid not,” he agreed. The car was swinging at the highest reach of the wheel. The engine stopped. She opened her eyes very wide. "I’d think you’d be afraid of such a world famous lion-trainer,” she declared, drawing back. "Some have been, I assure you.” “I’m not afraid,” Abbott declared, drawing her toward him. He would have kissed her, but she covered her face with her hands and bent her head instinctively. “Up!” cried Abbott. “Up, Samson, up!” Fran laughed hilariously, and lifted her head. She looked at him through her lingers. Her face was a garden of blush-roses. She pretended to roar but the result was not terrifying; then she obediently held up her mouth. “After all,” said Fran, speaking somewhat indistinctly, “you haven't told why you ran away to leave poor Fran guessing where you’d gone. Do you know how I love you. Abbott?" “I think I know.” It was a good while later that Ab bott said: "As to why I left Little burg: Bob knew of a private school that has just been incorporated as a college. A teacher's needed, one with ideas of the new education—the edu cation that teaches us how to make books useful to life, and not life to books—the education that teaches happiness as well as words ihd fig ures; just the kind that you didn't find at my school, little rebel! Bob was an old chum of the man who owns the property so he recommended me, and I went. It's a great chance, a magnifi cent opening. The man was so pleased with the way I talked—he’s new to the business, so that must be his excuse —that I am to be the president.” Fran’s voice came rather faintly— “Hurrah! But you are to be far, far above my reach, just as I prophesied Don’t you remember what I said to you during our drive through Sure Enough Country?" . “And that isn’t all,” said Abbott, looking straight before him, and pre tending that he had not heard. "In j that town—Tahlelah, Okla.,—I discov ered, out in the suburbs, a cottage—• the dearest little thing—as dear as . . . as Mr. Smookins; just big enough for a girl like FVan. I rented it at once—of course, it oughn't to be standing there idle—there's such a j fragrant flower garden—I spent some time arranging the grounds as I think you’ll like them„ I didn’t furnish the cottage, though. Women always like to select their own cfcrpets and things, and—” Fran's face was a dimpled sea of pink and crimson waves, with starry lights in her black eyes for signal lights. "Oh, you king of hearts!” she exclaimed. “And shall we have a church wedding, and just kill ’em?” • Abbott laughed boyishly. "No—yon must remember that your connection with show-life is at an end.” "But—and then—and so,” cried Fran rapturously, “I’m to have a home after all, with flower gardens and carpets and things—a sure-enough home—Abbott, a home with you! Don’t you know, it’s been the dream of my life to—to—" Abbott was inexpressibly touched. "Yes, I was just thinking of what 1 heard you say, once—to belong to somebody.” Fran slipped her arms about hia neck. "And what a somebody! To be long to you. And to know that my home is our home. . . .” Abbott, with a sober sense of his unworthiness, embraced her silently. From far below came a sudden sound, making its way through the continuity of the street-uproar. It wai the chugging of the engine. The wheel began to revolve. Down they came—down—down— Fran looked up a? the moon. “Good by," she called, gaily. “The world it good enough for me!” (*THE END.) LEGEND OF GARDEN OF EDEN Oriental Christiana Believe Banana Tree Was the Source of Good and Evil. There exists a legend relative to the Christian inhabitants of the east that they believe'the banana to be the tree of the source of good and evil, in a bunch of the fruit of which the ser vant that tempted Eve hid itself, and they add that when Adam and Eve be came ashamed of their nakedness, they covered themselves with the leaves of this plant ' The origin of the banana is given as India, at the foot of the Himalayas, ■ where it has been cultivated since re motest antiquity, says the National Geographic Magazine. Its origin in the new world is as doubtful as the origin of the American Indian. Na tural to Asia and Africa, where more twenty distinct species of the genus are known, it is said to have been brought first to America from a^tw early in the sixteenth century, andplanted in the Island of Santo Domingo, whence Its spread was rapid through the surrounding islands and the main land. This has never been authentically established, however, and some authorities include the ban ana among the articles that formed the base of food supply of the Incas and the Aztecs before the arrival of the Spaniards. ' Certain it is that throughout the whole meridional America there is a strong tradition that at least two spe cies of the plantain were cultivated long before the coming of the Euro peans. Furthermore, it is singular that in all the languages Indigenous to the region where the banana ap pears, the plant has a special name, not proceeding from the conquerors, as was the case with the names of many other plants, animals and vari ous articles introduced into America after its discovery. Grown over the entire extent of the meridian of the earth, the fruit of the banana today forms in large part the principal food of a majority of the peoples living under the tropical zone. The dead are soon forgotten—and so are a tot of us who axe alto* , ...a?. / \ ; > . - - > .y; > MlllMiliiiHliKfliM Little Lesson in Efficiency. A woman who has been studying the science of household efficiency com ments that the obvious things that every woman ought to know about con serving time and energy in the doing of the daily household tasks are the ones that seem to make no impression upon the average household. For in stance, she says, always have the draining pan when washing dishes upon the left of the dishpan. Ton naturally wash the dishes with the right and hold them in the left. Then set them down on the left without using energy to reach across the right Sounds sensible, doesn’t it? Out of the Dictograph. , To think before you speak will help some, but it's better yet to hustle around and verify your facts. The man with a hand full of trumps never developed a suspicion that the deal isn’t square. Birdie Frizzles feels terribly dis graced because her mother, as a girl, had to learn to play "Monartery Bells" and “Silver Waves" instead cd rag time VALUE QUEER RELICS HIGHLY Large Sums Have Frequently Been Paid for Articles That Many Would Call Grewsome. It is not every man. not every hero worshiper, who would esteem the tooth of his hero of more value than diamonds. There is a ring belonging to an English nobleman, in which the place of honor, formerly occupied by a diamond, is given to a tooth that once did duty In a human Jaw. This tooth cost no less than three thousand six hundred and fifty dol lars; but it was the tooth of Sir Isaac Newton. A relic collector sold it at auction in 1846, and the nobleman who bought it gave it the place of a diamond in bis favorite ring. Another tooth, which so far excites the veneration of hero worshipers as to be able to hold a dburt of its own and to draw from long distances a small host of followers, is one that was originally hidden behind the lips of Victor Hugo. It is kept at his former residence in a glass case bear ing the Inscription, "Tooth drawn from the Jaw of Victor Hugo by the dentist on Wednesday. August 11, 1871, in the gardens attached to the house oi Madame Koch, at three o’clock in the afternoon.’’ The wig of a literary man appears to have been even more sought after than his teeth. That which Sterne wore while writing “Tristram Shandy" was sold soon after the writer’s death for ten thousand dollars; and ttje favorite chair of Alexander Pope brought five thousand dollars. The most extravagant instance oi literary hero worship 1s that of a well known Englishman, who constantly wears a small locket attached to a chain round his neck a part of the charred skull of Shelley.—The Sunday Magazine. The Gallant. Judge—The lady from whom you stole a kiss declares herself ready to waive her demand for punishment 11 you will ask her pardon and express your regret for what has happened. Gentlemen (to the offended lady)— Tes, 1 am willing to beg your pardon. But to regret that I gave you the Us# deer madam, that l cannot! Most Popular Fur-Trimmed Finery Everything is trimmed with fur and already furriers are making up in what are called “millinery furs” imitations of martin, ermine, skunk, leopard, moleskin, mink and sealskin. These furs are used in bands and are used for trimming. muffs, turbans, neckpieces and dresses. They border gowns at the hem, and sleeves at the wrist. Occasionally a high-necked blouse shows a narrow band of fur hugging the throat. But it is in millinery and muffs (which are made of velvet or other fabrics) that fur bands appear as an indispensible part of the composition. Round, close-fitting turbans. Oriental turbans, small hats, a few of the larg er ones that are beginning to emerge from tbeir eclipse, are all taking to themselves the luxury and suggestion of warmth and comfort which is lent them by the fur band. Millinery furs are called by the names of the furs they imitate, as “sealskin,” "fox,'’ “martin,” "mole,” "leopard,” "ermine.” It is more than likely that Molly Cottontail provides many of the skins which are trans formed by furriers into almost any thing they wish to imitate. The op possum, the skunk, the muskrat, the coyote and others have and help out in providing furs for trimming, be cause there is a tremendous and in creasing demand for them. The skins of these people of the wild are so dis guised by the dyeings and markings and piecings and clippings of fur riers that their masquerading is ac cepted easily. No qualifying "imita tion” prefixes their borrowed names. They are used in the handsomest of millinery and garments, and they make it possible for "the many” as well as "the few,” to indulge in good looking furs. The hats on which fur bands and collars are used are small and close fitting as a rule. Mostly velvet tur bans, although plush and satin figure in the making of a good number of models. The combination of fur and velvet, or fur and satin, is more effec tive than that of fur and plush, in millinery. When long-haired furs are used they are cut in narrow bands. | but short-haired furs, not so bulky, are invariably this season cut either : narrow or wide. In passing, it may be mentioned that furs must not be cut with scis : sors. The home milliner or dress | maker may cut them satisfactorily by : marking a line with tailor’s chalk on the skin side of the pelt and cutting along this line with a razor blade. In sewing seams two edges are held to gether and overcast. Furriers use a triangular needle, and it is far easier to sew skins with than the round needle. All three edges are cutting ! edges. It will be seen from the picture that I the muffs and hats are made to i match, while the neckpieces are odd— I of another kind of fur or plush. Thi9 I is only a fancy not an established fashion. The vogue of plain skirts with plush jackets to match in color i does away with the need of a neck piece other than a band of fur around the collar. With such a suit a hat and muff to match, trimmed with fur like that on the collar, is delightfully chic and also delightfully comfortable. One can face any degree of cold with them. The materials used for the muffs and turbans are many, velvets, plushes, brocaded silks, brocaded crepes, wide heavy brocaded ribbons, satins and chiffon all contribute to the making up of these smart acces sories. Muffs are flat and soft. Lace is used for their trimming, and a touch of lace on the turban corresponds with that on the muff. As is usual when furs are much in fashion (they are never out) metallic laces have reappeared and are sparingly used as a decoration on fancy muffs and neck wear, and in touches of gold and sil ver oh millinery. Some of the muffs and turbans shown may be attempted by the home dressmaker with good chances of suc cess. Before attempting them, how ever, she should examine a set made by professionals. There are many small items which if overlooked spell failure. JULIA BOTTOMLEY. FILMY LINGERIE FASHION’S EDICT FOR THIS SEASON — CUMBERSOME clothes are things of the past. Soft and fine, the under garments of today do not confine themselves alone to sheer muslins, but call lace and even chiffon into their fragile make-up. The latter is used for flounces and frills on garments which are seldom worn or that can be, dry-cleaned. But the filmiest laces are woven to withstand careful launder ing and garments employing them are practical. Some of these laces—as German val and cluny—are very strong and will wear as long as nain sook or muslin. Here is a corset cover which will please every woman who loves dainty finery. And is there one who does not? This pretty little furbelow is meant to fce worn under sheer waists. Whether it shows through or not, it is elegant, and will make a Christmas gift that will delight the heart of its fortunate recipient From one and a quarter to one and a half yards of all-over lace will make two of these without any seams. Lace 18 Inches wide Is cut in two length wise and the straight strip forms the little bodice. Beading and lace edging trim the top and form the straps over the shoulder. A wider beading of line Swiss embroidery is made to the waist measure. Baby ribbon is run in the beading at the top of the garment and tied in a full bow at the front. It Is run in the shoulder straps, which are made of beading with lace edging whipped to each side. A narrow hem finishes each side of the front. Wider ribbon is run through the beading at the waist and tied in a bow at the front. By way of adding the most frivolous and dainty of finishing touches tiny chiffon roses in pink, blue and white, with little ribbon rose foliage, is ap plied (in a short festoon) over the bust at each side. They are basted on, to be removed when the corset cover is washed. The sewing on such garments is to be done by hand, but there is so little of It that only a short time is needed Considering its beauty and inexpen siveness this corset cover is to be rec ommended as among the choicest of gifts. It is good enough for a million aire, costs little, but, bought in the shops, sells for a high price. JULIA BOTTOMLEY. Cretonne Slips. , Cretonne slip/ to put over frocks that are hanging in the closet or ward robe are convenient. They are made of two pieces of cretonne, cut in semi circular outline, a little bigger than a dress hanger. They are seamed to gether about the curved edge with a little opening left for the neck of the hanger. To the straight edge two long straight sections of cretonne are gath* ered, long enough to come to the bot tom of the frock. These straight pieces can be seamed together or fast ened with tapes or socket fasteners. Modes for Children. Fine crepes are being used for the lingerie dresses of children In the Rus sian tunic and empress styles. When in the Russian style the underskirt is generally of plain white crepe while the tunic or smock Is of white creDe embroidered or printed In daintv posies, and the long sleeves are of fine batiste finished with narrow Valen ciennes lace. . The simplicity of the empire style permits the use of fancy crepes un adorned, except for a narrow ribbon that defines the high waistline. Novel Paris Bag. Bags continue to be popular, and & new one which haa come from Paris is made of Bilk, either striped or of all black, and Is daintily fitted with, card case, minor and a watch.