en
' \
Illustrations by
Ellsworth Young
rcom?taifr. ao»)»s HT»«;-ju cowfrxytip
PART ONE
CHAPTER I.
On the Labrador.
Dictated by Hr. Jesse Smith.
Don’t you write anything down yet.
’cause I ain’t ready.
If I wroto this yarn myself. I’d make
!t good and red from tip to tip. claws
out. teeth bare, fur crawling with emo
tions. It wouldn't be dull, no, or evi
dence.
But tfcen it's to please you. and
that’s what I'm for.
So I proceeds to stroke the fur
smooth, lay the paws down soft, fold
up the smile, and purr. A sort of
truthfulness steals over me. Goin' to
be dull, too.
No, I dunno how to begin. If this
j am was a rope. I’d coil it down be
fore I began to pay out. You lays the
end, so. and flemish down, ring by ring
until the bight's coiled, smooth, ready
to flake off as It runs. I delayed a
lynching once to do just that, and re
lieve the patient’s mir.d. It all went
off so well!
When we kids were good, mother
she used to own we came of pedigree
stock; but when we’re bad, seems we
took after father. You see mother’s
folk was the elect, sort of born saved.
They allowed there’d be room in
Heaven for one hundred and forty-four
thousand just persons, mostly from
Nova Scotia, but when they took to
sorting the neighbors, they’d get ex
clusive.
Anyway, mother's folk as a tribe, is
millionaires in grace and pretty well
fixed in Nova Scotia. Then she’e found
out, secretly married among the gr.ats.
Her name’s scratched out of the fam
ily Bible, with a strong hint to the
Lord to scratch her entry from .the
Book of Life. She’s married a sailor
man. before the mast, a Liveyere from
the Labrador, a man without a dollar,
suspected of being Episcopalian.
In them days the Labrador ain't
laid out exactly to suit mother. She's
used to luxury—coal in the lean-to.
taties in the cellar, cows in the barn,
barter store round the corner, mails,
church, school, and a jail right handy,
so she can enjoy the ungodly getting
of their just deserts. But in our time
the Labrador was just God’s country,
all rocks, ice, and sea, to put the fear
into proud hearts—no need of *each
ers. It kills off the weaklings—no
need of doctors. A school to raise
men—no need of preachers. The law
was "work or starve”—no place for
lawyers. It’s police, and court, and
hangman all complete, fire and hail,
snow and vapors, wind and storm ful
filling His word.
Father’s home was an overturned
schooner, turfed in, and he was surely
proud of having a bigger place than
any other Liveyere on the coast. There
was the hold overhead for stowing
winter fish, and room down-stairs for
the family, the team of seven husky
doge, and even a cord or two of fire
wood. We kids used to play at New
fnlanders up in the hold, when the
winter storms were tearing the tops
off the hills, and the Eskimo devil
howled blue shrieks outside. The hus
kies makes wolf songs all about the
fewness of fish, and we’d hear mother
give father a piece of her mind. That’s
about the first I remember, but all
what mother thought about poor fa
ther took years and years to say.
I used to be kind of sorry for father.
Yon see he worked the bones thre ugh
his hide, furring all winter and fish
ing summers, and what he earned he’d
get in trdek from the company. All
us Livcyeres owed to the Hudson Bay.
but father worked hardest and he
owed most, hundreds and hundreds of
skins. The company ^trusted him.
There wasn't a man on the coast
more trusted than he Was. with moth
er to feed, and six kids, besides seven
huskies, and father’s aunt, Thesea
lonika, a widow with four children
and a tumor, living down to Last
Hope beyond the Rocks.
There -.-as secrete about father, and
If mother ever found out! You see.
he looked like a white man. curly
yailer hair same as me, and he was
fearful strong. But in his inside—
don’t ever tell!—he was partly small
boy same's me. and the- other half of
him—don’t ever let on!—was moun
taineer injun. I seen his three broth
ers, the finest fellers you ever—yes,
Scotch half-breeds—and mother never
knew.
Thar's me on father’s knee, with
my nose in his buckskin shirt, and
even to this day the wood smoke in
;amp brings back the wuff, whereas
summers his boots smelt fishy. What
happened first or afterwards is all
nixed up, but there's the smoke smell
ind sister Maggie lying in the bunk,
ill white and froze.
There's fish smell, and Polly who
used to wallop me with a slipper,
lying white and froze. And yet I
knew she couldn’t get froze in sum
mer.
Then there’s smoke smell, and big
Tommy, bigger nor father, throwing
up blood. I said he’d catch it from
mother for messing the floor, but
rather just hugged me, telling me to
shut up. I axefl him if Tommy was
going to get froze, too. Then father
told me that Tommy was going away
to where the milk came out of a cow.
You just shove the can opener into !
the cow' so—and the milk pours out.
whole candy pails of milk. And there’s
vegi tables, which is green things to
eat. First time you swell up and
pretty nigh bust, but you soon get
used to greens. Tommy is going to
Civil! Zation. It’s months and months
off, and when you get there, the
people is so awful mean they’d let a
stranger starve to death without so
much as ‘‘Come in.” The men wear
pants right down to their heels, and
as to the women—
Jifother comes in and looks at father,
so he forgets to say about the women
at Civill Zation, but other times he’d
tell, oh. lots of stories. He said It
was worse for the likes of us than
New Jerusalem.
1 reckon Tommy died, and Joan, too,
and mother would get gaunt and dry.
rocking herself. “ ‘The Lord gave,’ ”
she’d say, “ ‘and the Lord hath taken
away; blessed be the name of the
Lord.’ ”
1 don't reckon I was more’n ten or
eleven years old, but you see. this
Labrador is kind Of serious wiLh us,
and makes even kids act respon
sible. Go easy, and there's famine,
freezing, blackleg, all sorts of rea
sons against laziness. It sort of edu
cates.
Mother was worse thap silent. There
was something about her that scared
me more than anything outdoors. In
the morning her eye kep’ following me
as if to say. “Go find your father."
Surely it was up to me, and if I
wasn't big enough to drive the huskies
or pack father's gun, 1 thought I could
manage afoot to tote his four-pound
ax. She beckoned me to her and
kissed me—just once in ten years, and
I was quick through the door, out of
reach, lest she should see me mighty
near cryin'.
It was all very well showing off
brave before mother, but when I got
outside, any excuse would have been
enough for going back. I wished I’d
left the matches behind, but I hadn’t.
I wished the snow would be too soft,
but it was hard as sand. I wished I
wasn’t a coward, and the bush didn't
look so wolfy, and what if I met up
with the Eskimo devil! Oh, 1 was
surely the scaredest 111’ boy, and dead
certain I’d get lost Then I went on
because I was going, and there was fa
ther's trail blazed on past Bake-apple
Marsh. The way was as plain as
streets, and the sun shining warm as
he looked over into the valley.
Then I saw a man's mitt, an old
buckskin mitt sticking up out of the
snow. Father had dropped his mitt,
and without that his hand would be
froze. When I found him, how glad
he'd be to get it!
There was only Pete and me left,
and father wagging his pipe acrost the
stove at mother. “They’ll die, ma’am,"
I heard him say, and she just sniffed.
"If I hadn’t taken ’em out doors they’d
be dead now, ma’am."
She called him an injun. She called
him—I dunno what she didi.’t call him.
I'd been asleep, and when I woke up
she was cooking breakfast while she
called him a lot more things 6he must
have forgot to say. But he carried
me in his arms out through the little
low door, and it was stabbing cold
with a blaze of northern lights.
He tucked me up warm on the ko
matik, he hitched up the huskies, and
mushed, way up the tickle, and
through the soft bush snow, and at
sunup we made his winter tilt on Torn
gak Creek. We put in the winter
there, furring, and every time he
came home from the round of traps,
he’d sell me all the pelts. I was sure
ly proud when he took me hunting fur
and partridges. I was with him to
the fishing, in the fall we’d hunt, all
winter we’d trap till It was time for
the sealing, and only two or three
times in a year we’d be back to
mother.
Then I’d see Pete, too, who'd got
pink, with a spitting cough. He want
ed to play with me, but I wouldn't. I
just couldn’t. I hated to be anywheres
near him.
"Didn’t I tell yez?" father would
point at Pete coughing. “Didn't I
warn yez?”
But mother set her mouth in a thin
line.
“Pete,” said she, “is saved.”
Next time we come mother was all
alone.
“ ‘The Lord gave,’ ” she says “ ‘and
the Lord hath taken away; blessed
be the name of the Lord,’ but ife get
ting kind of monotonous."
She hadn’t much to say then, she
didn’t seem to care, but was Just
numb. He wrapped her up warm on
the komatik, with just a sack of
clothes, her Bible,.and the album of
photos from Nova Scotia, yes, and the
china dogs she carried in her arms.
Father broke the trail ahead, I took
the gee pole, and when day cams, we
made the winter tilt There mother
kep’ house just as she would at heme,
to clean we was almost scared to step
indoors.
It was along in March or maybe
April that father was away in coarse
weather, making the round of his
traps. He didn’t come back. There’d
been a blizzard, a wolf-howling hurri
cane, blowing out a lane of bare
ground round the back of the cabin,
while the big drift piled higher and
packed harder, until the comb of it
greV out above our roof like a sea
breaker, froze so you could walk on
the overhang. And just between dark
and duckish father's husky team came
back without him.
But when I tried to pick It lip, it
was heavy. Then it came away, and
there was father’s hand sticking up.
It was dead.
Of course I know I’d ought to have
dug down through the snow, but 1
didn’t. I ran for all I was worth.
Then I got out of breath and come
back shamed.
It wasn’t for love of father. No. 1
hated to touch that hand, and when I
did I was sick. Still that was better
than being scared to touch. It’s not
so bad when you dare.
I dug, with a snow-shoe for a shovel.
There was the huckskin shirt smelling
good, and the long fringes I’d used
to tickle his nose with—then I found
his face. I just couldn’t bear that, but
turned my back and dug until I came
to the great, big, number-four trap he
used for wolf and beaver. He must
There Was Father’s Hand Sticking
Up.
have stepped without seeing it under
the snow, and it broke his leg. Then
he’d tried to drag himself back home.
It was when I stood up to get
breath and cool off that I first seen the
wolf, setting peaceful, waggin’ his tail.
First I thought he was one of our
own huskies, but when he didn't knew
his name I saw for sure he must be
the wolf who lived up Two Mile Crick.
He’d got poor inspecting father’s busi
ness instead of minding his own.
That’s why he was called the Inspec
tor. It was March, too, the moon of
famine. Of course I threw my ax
and missed. His hungry smile’s still
thar behind a bush, and me wonder
ing whether his business is with me
or father. That's why I stepped on
tffe sn9w-shoes, and went right past
where he was, not daring to get my
ax. Yee, it was me he wanted to see—
first, but of course I wasn’t going to
encourage any animal into thinking
he’d scared a man. Why. he’d scarce
have let father even see his trackB for
LEAVE OUT THE SUPERFLUOUS
Some Truth in Assertion That Pres
ent Generation Considers Too
Many “Wants” ss “Needs.”
A woman who has been observing
people and things hap come to the
conclusion that the expense of living
today is largely due to Individnal in
dulgence. People want so much
more than they formerly did, or at
any rate. If they wanted it before,
they often did without it, for expe
diency’s sake; but now, she says, to
want and to have &o hand in hand
without regard for expediency. This
woman says: "My idea of the wide
spread complaint of the high cost of
living is that people are not temper
ate In supplying their three principal
wants, namely: food, clothing and
shelter. Some people cut down on
food aad shelter and spend an over
abundance on clothing. Others in
dulge themselves in rich foods that
are absolutely unnecessary. still
others like to live In fashionable
quarters aad neglect their food and
•batter. A person to be happy most
preserve a balance in all things. One
must be temperate with regard to
food, clothing and shelter. Live In a
respectable but not ultra-fashionable
neighborhood; wear standard clothes,
not the latest Paris fashions; eat
good, substantial food, not rich, tasty
delicacies that cater only to the pal
ate, is my parting advice.”
Unconventionalities.
"It was printed in your paper, was
It, mister? That's the reason I didn’t
see it.”
"You don’t seem to notice, Gerald,
that It’s nearly midnight, and I’m
yawning to beat the band!”
“There’s no need of your apologis
ing for these sliced tomatoes, Mrs.
Nayber; 1 saw they were spoiled, and
1 haven't touched 'em."
“Yes, 1 notice, Mrs. Sykes, that your
boy Bill takes my Mary Jane to the
moving picture shows quite often.
What she sees in him I can't imag
ine.”
"Oh, well, Mrs. Gliszard, my BUI
goes to see your Mary Jane because
nobody else does; he kind o' pities
her.”—Chicago Tribune.
Want Protection for Lions.
The legislative council of British
East Africa is expected to adopt a
proposal at present before it for the
protection of lions on crown lands.
Up to the present game licenses which
stipulate the number and class of ani
mals that may be killed or captured
have ignored lions, which have been
regarded as vermin. Now, however,
it is proposed to limit each holder of
a big game shooting license to four
lions. The other day a game ranger
who is said to be familiar with all
the conditions in British East Africa
expressed the opinion that the propo
sal would- do very little, if carried into
effect, to prevent the extermination of
lions in certain parts of the protector
ate. “They are being exterminated,”
he said, “by the advance of civiliza
tion. Exterminated may not be the
right word, for they are really being
driven away. In my opinion, how
ever, there will be no actual disap
pearance of the lion for a very long
time to come, although, even when he
is on the game license, there will be
complete freedom to boat and shoot
on private land.**
fear they'd be trapped or shot. So !
walked slow and proud, leadin’ him
off from father—at least I played that,
wishing all the time that mother’s lil’
boy was to home. After a while 1
grabbed down a lopped stick where
father'd blazed, not as fierce as an
ax, but enough to make me more or
less respected.
The Inspector was bigger than me.
stronger 'n any,jnan, swifter 'n any
horse. I tell yer the maned white wolf
is wiser’n most people, and but for
eating his cubs, he’s nature’s gentle
man.
The trouble was not him hunting,
but me scared. Why, if he’d wanted
me, one flash, one bite, and I'm break
fast. It was just curiosity made him
so close behind like a stealthy ghost.
When I’d turn to show fight, he’d seem
to apologize, and then- I’d go on whis
tling a hymn.
Thar he was cached right ahead in
the deadfall, for a front view, if I’d
known. But I thrashed with my stick
in a panic, hitting his snout, 30 he
yelped. Then he lost his temper. He’d
a “sorry, but-business-is-business’’ ex
pression on him. I ran at him, tripped
on a stump, let out a yell, and he lep’
straight at my throat.
And in the middle of that came a
gunshot, a bullet grazed my arm, and
went on whining. Another 3hot, and
the Inspector ran. Then I was rub
bing whar the bullet hurt, Bort of
sulky, too, with a grievance, when I
was suddenly grabbed and nigh smoth
ered in mother’s arms. She’d come
with the team of huskies followin’ me;
she’d been gunning, too, and I sure
had a mighty close call.
She’d no tears left for father, so
when 1 got through Bobbin* we went
to the body, and loaded it in the ko
matik for home. Thar's things 1 don’t
like to tell you.
It wasn’t a nice trip exactly, with
the Inspector superintending around.
When we got back to the tilt, we
daresn’t take out the huskies, or un
load, or even stop for grub. We had
to drive straight on, mother and me.
down the tickle, past our old empty
home, then up the Bacalieu all night.
The sun was just clear of the ice
when we made the Post, and we saw
a little ball jerk up the flag halyards,
then break to a great red flag with
the letters H. B. C. It means Here
Before Christ.
The air was full of a big noise, like
the skirl of sea-gulls screaming in a
gale, and there was Mr. McTavish on
the sidewalk, marching with his bag
pipes to wake the folk out of their
Sunday beds. Then he saw father’s
body, with legs and arms stiffened all
ways, and the number-four trap still
gripped on broken bones. Off came
his fur cap.
Mother stood, iron-hard, beside the
komatik.
“Factor,” says she, "I’vfe coine to
pay his debt.”
“Nay, it’s the Sabbath, ma’am. Ye'll
pay no debts till Monday. Come in
and have some tea—ye puir thing.”
"You starved his soul to death, and
now I’ve brought his body to square
his debts. Will you leave that hero
till Monday?”
Mr. McTavish looked at her, then
whispered to me. "B’y," said he, “we
must make her cry or she’ll be raving
mad. Greet, woman, greet. By God,
I’ll make ye greet!”
He marched up and down the side
walk, and through the skirl of gulls
in a storm, swept a tune that made
the meat shake on my bones.
Once mother shrieked out, trying
to make him stop, but he went on pac
ing in front of her, to and fro. with
his eyes on her all the time, peering
straight through her. and all the grief
of all the world in the skirl and wail,
and that hopeless awful tune. She
covered her face with her hands, try
ing to hold while the great sobs shook
her, and she reeled like a tree in a
gale, until she fell on her knees, un
til she threw herself on the corpse,
and cried, and cried.
CHAPTER II.
The Happy Ship.
Cap’n Mose of the Zedekiah W.
Baggs ’e was a Sunday Christian. All
up along ’e’d wear a silk hat, the only
one on the Labrador. Yes. Sundays
’e’d be ashore talkin' predestination
an’ grace out of a book 'e kep’ in ’is
berth, but never a word about dsh or
the state of the ice. Mother’d been
raised to a belief in Christians, so
when Mose dropped in at her shack,
admirin’ how she cooked, she’d be
pleased all up the oack, and have him
ACCORDED A HIGH POSITION
Women of Servia, Well Educated and
Able, Are Companions of Their
Husbands and Brothers.
There is no country in the world
where women occupy a more dignified
position in the home than Servia. The
Servian idea is quite different from
that of the Turk, who keeps his wom
en behind shut doors or the German,
whose ideal woman is a hausfrau. In
Servia the woman is the companion of
the man.
A man is responsible for his un
married sisters, and throughout the
Balkan states it is considered rather
a breach of etiquette for him to mar
ry before his older sister
No Servian girl would feel she could
hold up her head in society unless
she could speak four languages. There
1b hardly a Servian woman who can
not play Borne musical Instrument.
Embroidery, painting, drawing; and
sculpture are all studied. Politics is
a popular feature among women.
Servian women are very domestlcat
| ed and the highest ladles pay personal
right in to dinner. He'd kiss me,
talkin’ soft about little children. Yes
That’s how ’e got me away to sea aa
boy on a sealin’ voyage, without pay
ing me any wages.
Mother never knew what Cap’n
Mose was like on week-days, and Sun
day didn’t happen aboard of the Zede
kiah. I remember hidin’ away at the
back of Ole Oleson’s bunk, axing God
please to turn me into an animal. Any
sort would do, because I seen men
kind to animals. You know an animal
mostty consists of a pure heart, and
four legs, which ie a great advantage.
Queer w-orld though, if all our preyer?
was granted.
Belay thar. A man Bets out to tell
adventures, and if his victims don'i
find some excuse for getting absent,
he owes them all the happiness he's
got. It's mean to hand out sorrow tc
persons bearing their full share al
ready. ~So we proceeds to the night
when I ran from the Zedckiah. and
Joined the Happy Ship.
We lay in the big ice pack off Caps
Breton. The Zedekiah was old. just
paint an’ punk, and she did surely
groan to the thrust of the pack. 1 was
too scared to sleep, so I went up or
deck.
I I’d alius watched for a chance tc
run away, and thar wait Jim. the an
chor-watch, squatting oa the titts
dead asleep. He used to be that way
when nobody chased him.
I seen the lights of the three-masted
schooner a couple of miles to wind
ward. I grabbed a sealing gaff and
slid down on the ice.
first, as the pans rocked under me
I was scary, next I warmed, gettin
venturesome, until I came near slid
ing into the wet, and after that I’d
look before I lep’.
You know how the grinding piles
an edge around each pan, of broken
splinters? That edge shone white
agin the black of the water, ail the
guide I had. But times the squalls ol
wind was like® scythes edged with
sleet, so I was blinded, waiting, freer
ing until a lull came, and I'd get on
It was broad day, and I reckon each
step weighed a ton before I made
that schooner.
A gray man, fat. with a chin whis
ker, lifted me In overside. “Corns
far?" says he, and I turned round tc
show' him the Zedekiah. She wasn't
there. She was gone—foundered.
So that's how I came aboard of the
Happy Ship, just like a lil’ lost dog
with no room in my skin for more'n
bones and famine. Captain Smith
used to say he’d signed me on as fam
ily ghost; but he paid me honest
wages, fed me honest grub, while at
to clothes and bed, I was snug as s
little rabbit. He taught me reading
and writing, and punctuation with his
belt, sums, hand, reef, and steer, cate
chism, knots and splices, sewing, sque
gee, rule of the road, soojie moojie,
psalms of David, constitution of th«
United States, and playing the trom
bone, with three pills and a good lick
ing regular Saturday nights. Mother’s
little boy began to set up and take no
tice.
The five years In the Pawtucket all
along, from Montreal to Colon, from
banjos plunking in them portales ol
Vera Cruz, to bugles crying revally in
Quebec, and the oyster boats asleep
by Old Point Comfort, and the Glouces
ter fleet a-storming home past Saole
and dagos basking on Havana quays.
Suck oranges in the dinghy under the
moonlight, waiting to help the old man
aboard when he’s drunk. If ever he
went ashore without me, I’d be like
a lost dog, and he drunk before the
sun was over the yard-arm. But away
together it wasn’t master and boy, but
just father and 6on. He’d even named
me after himself, and that’s why my
name's Smith.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Jekyll and Hyde Both Out.
One day Mr. Jenkins, senior part
her in the firm, came out of his pri
vate office and handed Jimmy, the of
fice boy, a slip of paper and said:
“Here, Jimmy, go over to the pub
lic library and get me ‘Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde.' I have written it on a
piece of paper for you so that you will
not forget.”
Jimmy lost the slip of paper on the
way. When he discovered his loss
he returned to the office without go
ing to the library and was seated at
his little desk innocently shooting flies
with a rubber band when Mr. Jenkins
said 'to him:
“Well, Jimmy, where's ‘Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde?”’
“Please, Mr. Jenkins," responded
Jimmy with well feigned candor, “the
lady at the library said they both just
went to the ball game and to call for
them in the morning."
Interesting Memory Test.
Ask anyone to draw a representation
of a watch face with Roman numbers
and you will have plenty of evidence o!
the unreliability jjf incidental memory.
Of two hundref persons examined by
Myers only eight omitted the VI from
their drawing of the watch face, and
only twenty-one put HIT instead of the
more familiar notation, IV. From this
it would appear that impeachment of
a witness because of his inability to re
port some incidental feature of an
event or scene is not psychologically
justified.—Case and Comment.
attention to trivial matters of house
keeping.
There are two women doctors prac
ticing in Belgrade, and several wom
en teachers. But public opinion, on
the whole, is rather against women
entering the labor arena.
/
Great Financier Poor Writer.
Illegible bandwriting may prove an
aid to prosperity. The late Lord Gos
chen said of his father: "He has
told me, half in joke and half in ear
nest, that when he came to London
he was obliged to found a firm be
cause he wrote such a bad hand *i»*
no one would take him for a clerk.”
Of Lord Goschen himself his biog
rapher remarks: ‘In his latter years
he might have spelt as he chose, for
no one could have affirmed with cer
tainty how many Ts’ he might have
put in ‘although.' At length his script
became undecipherable even by Gos
chen himself. He could not when
speaking in parliament make out
what it was that he had put on' paper,
and he thus came in later years to
abandon almost entirely his old prac
tice of making note*”
Most Graceful Mounting of Plumes
GOOD ostrich feathers require the
investment of more money than
almost any other millinery trimming,
but they last much longer. They are
always in fashion and they stand
cleaning and dyeing so that the life
of a good feather extends over several
years. A handsome pair of plumes is
shown here. They are the only trim
ming required on a shape, and it is a :
mistake to use any other with them,
unless it is a little band and bow of
ribbon about the crown. This will
serve to conceal the mounting of the
feathers.
As will be seen in the picture, the
plumes are mounted at the back of the
hat, with one falling toward the front
and the other standing almost upright.
They are placed back to back.
By buying a readymade velvet
shape the owner of a plume, or of two
or three, may mount them herself by
going about it in the right way. It is
usual to first sew the wire stem of
each plume to a little square or disk
of buckram.'This should be about the
size of a half dollar. The stems must
be sewed securely to the buckram
with a strong linen thread. When the
needle is thrust through the buckram
first, leave several inches of the
thread free. After many stitches are
made (holding the plume securely to
the buckram), this free end is used to
tie with the lemainder of the thread.
The piece of buckram fastened in
thiji (iay to the stems of the plumes
make it possible to mount them grace
fully. When sewing the buckram to
the shape an end of thread is left free
for tying. This is necessary be
cause plumes sway in the wind anc
will pull stitches that are not tied
loose, and one is liable to lose a
plume. Whenever a plume is fastened
to the hat it should be tied rathei
than sewed, but several stitches are
needed as well as the tied thread, tc
hold the plume securely.
Do not make the mistake of drawini
the plume tightly against the hat. Lei
it fall naturally. Then, to keep it ir
position, tie the thread about the rit
and then attach it (the thread), to the
hat, leaving the thread sufficient^
long to give the plume a little play
The whole object is to fasten tbf
plume in place, but in such a way at
to make the fastening unnoticeable.
It is a feature of this reason’s mil
linery that a pair of plumes back tc
back, or one curling within the other
is mounted at the same point on th«
hat.
One or two plumes are seen mor<
often than a great number. For th<
season demands that the lines o
shape must be preserved, not lost, bj
too abundant trimming.
White plumes clean and dye satis
factorily. In buying black plumes, :
good quality may be depended on foi
many seasons’ wear. But one mus
select glossy and deep black ones, foi
the color of these will not grow lesi
rich with wear. Very good plumes an
not much affected by moisture. I
they become damp hold them over th<
stove or a radiator, and shake then
until thoroughly dry.
JULIA BOTTOMLEY.
BASKETS FOR THE
HOME-MADE CANDIES
EASY TQ FASHION
NOW that It has become difficult to
buy really good candy without pay
ing an extravagant price, those who
know how to make the delicious home
| made candles can be certain of mak
ing the most palatable of gifts for
friend3 who haven't time or ability to
make them. It is too early to make
up candies for the holidays, but one
may prepare in advance pretty boxes
or baskets in which to place them
when they are made.
Secure at the ten cent store or
wherever you can And thgm the bright
little splint basksti such aTare pic
tured tiered Cut and pull out the
strand of cslQjed^jfbavlngs that have
been placed in then! for ornament.
Jtun in, instead of the shavings a rib
boif $f the same width. A thin, in
expensive satin ribbon is just the
right kind for this purpose. Tie the
ribbon in a small bow at the front of
the basket, Light green and light
blue, or colors corresponding with
those In the basket, are prettiest. Red
and green are fine, if the basket is in
the natural wood or bamboo color.
These little baskets may be gilded
with gold paint and made very attrac
tive. After the candy has been eat
en the basket will remain a pleasant
reminder to the recipient of the do
nors delicious Christmas gift.
Paraffine or tissue paper should be
placed in them to protect them from
the candy.
They will serve so many purposes
later — thread boxes, handkerchief,
ribbons, laces, gloves—all these need
boxes. But the prettiest use lor
them is as a receptacle for small
flowers used in table decorations. By
fitting them with a scallow tin cup
or part of a can, and throwing back
the lid, they make a charming decora
tion for the table, filled with foliage
and flowers.
JULIA BOTTOMLEY.
. -
Dress Shields.
Instead of sewing or pinning shields
in a waist, sew a narrow piece of tape
or baby ribbon at each end of the
shield, and sew similar pieces at the
proper distance apart in the armholes
of all your waists. The shields are
quickly tied in place, they are easily
changed in wash waists, and there are
no pins to rust or prick.
^ * T< -'■■a- ' ...
Deviled Ham Loaf.
Take tw$ cupfuls of cracker oi
bread crumbs, one-quarter of a pound
of deviled ham and two cupfuls of
milk, using a portion of it to moisten
the ham. Stir in two well beaten
eggs, add one saltspoonful of salt,
pour into a buttered bread pan and
bake in a moderate oven for an hour.
Serve cold cut in thin slices.
To Stone Raisins.
When stoning raisins the following
method is excellent: First free them
from their stems, then put in a bowl
and cover them with boiling water,
letting them remain in it for two
minutes; finslly pour off the water
and open the raisins, and the seeds
can be removed quickly and easily
without the usual stickiness.
Marshmallow Mousse.
Beat one pint of heavy cream until
stiff, fold in one-half cup of powdered
sugar, and three-fourths cup of marsh
mallows cut into small pieces, flavor
with one teaspoon of vanilla, turn into
a mold, pack in salt and ice and let
stand from four to six hours before
serving.
Monograms.
French knots make a very hand
some monogram, especially in old Eng
lish. No padding is required, and the
papier-madhe letters cannot be used.
Stamp the monogram upon the article
and then simply fill it in closely and
solidly with small French knots. The
result will be highly satisfactory.
Plaited Mallne.
Maline is more used than ever, and
there 1b scarcely a gown without the
plaited frills or ruffles of this soft ma
terial. -
