■
And now David goes through the Valley of the Shadow worse than . |
i ’ death, for his pursuit of the Indians who have captured and carried ’ i
► away the beloved 'Toinette is stopped in the forest depths by an event ■ |
[ of tragic importance. How he saves hirr.seif and his friend and why ]
i • hope of respuing the girl comes to him, is told in this installment.
j> Tragedy has followed David relentlessly. His father was hanged <|
1 ) for rioting in England. He came to Corydon settlement to kill an ene- ‘ i
!• my; instead, he made friends, learned to love ’Toinette O’Bannon, fell <
'! in with Cranmer, the British spy, by accident, was accused of treason ]i
himself and heartbroken, left the settlement because the girl asked •
, proof of his innocence. Soon after he settled at Vincennes, his old ^
’ friend, Ike Blackford, rode madly in with the news that ’Toinette had \
ceen abducted by Indians. He and Blackford set forth to intercept ,
the kidnapers. Ike fell sick in the forest. ‘
CHAPTER XI—Continued.
Whtnj David reached his side his
eyes were closed. Frantically he
scooped up handful after handful of
water from the nearest pool, dashed
It in his face, then fell to rubbing his
wrists and temples. And at last Ike
moved feebly, lifted himself on his el
bow and looked about with unseeing
eyes. He tried to rise farther, and
toppled over again, moaning.
David’s heart sank at the situation.
He found a sheltered spot in which to
build a fire, aud labored with flint and
steel till lie succeeded in coaxing a
blqfre to live in the dry chips aud tin
der he found in a hollow tree. He
lifted Ike in his arms, exerting all
his strength, and bore him to the spot.
Blackford was now unconscious,
breathing with stertorous grunts that
seemed to leave hint weaker and weak
er. But there was nothing that David
could do, and having eaten his bit of
venison, he sat through the night with
his eyes fixed on the face of the sick
man. lying in the faint and wavering
light of the i.ttle campfire, while the
black shadows of the forest closed
them in relentlessly.
At dawn Ike seemed to be sleeping
more naturally. The Wabash must lie
within a few miles to the west: there
was the barest possibility that he
might come on some adventurous
trapper there, floating down the
stream with his load of pelts, who
would lend succor. David took off his
hunting shirt, hid it, together with his
rifle and powder horn, within the hol
low tree, tightened his belt and his
moccasins, and set off unhampered. A
hundred yards and he was lost to sight
in tile forest.
An hour passed. The sick man
stirred in his feverish sleep, raised
himself up, and stared wildly’ about
him. He rose to his knees weakly,
caught sight of a leafy bough nodding
In the breeze and waved his hand at
it in answer.
“Hello, Jack,” he called feebly.
“How’s New York? Glad to see you—
come down on the coach?”
He staggered to his feet aud tot
tered about the gruss, slinking hands
with imaginary friends. Another train
of memory stirred in his delirious
brain and he began pleading a cause—
■rgned. blustered, entreated, stormed;
and only the multitudinous jury of the
trees heard and mocked him with their
silence.
A naked, copper-colored figure glid
ed noiselessly through the under
growth and crawled like a serpent
toward the gesticulating madman.
From behind a fallen log its glittering,
evil eyes watched the drunken stag
gerings of the sick man and glanced
murderously along the barrel of a Brit
ish musket. The gun came to a rest
over Ike's heart; the red finger on
the trigger was about to tighten, when
suddenly Ike drew himself to his full
height and began singing in his clear
tenor:
Cheer, cheer, you shall not grieve,
A soldier true you’ll find me!
Aii, non, non, non, pauvre Madelon
Wovid go with you . . .
The ambushed weapon sank again
uncertainly; into the glittering eyes
came a puzzled look; and then ihe
hidden savage rose with a grunt of
understanding and strode fearlessly
with lowered gun up to the singer's
side.
“How!” came the guttural saluta
tion.
The eyes of the white man looked
full at him without a ray of compre
hension in their' wild stare. A mo
ment only Blackford paused, and then,
burning his shoulder carelessly on the
warrior, resumed his song.
The Indian nodded understand! ngly.
“Ugh!” he grunted. “White man big
Manitou! Make big medicine!”
He glided off again into the forest
as noiselessly as he came; and for a
while only the chattering of the squir
rels and the notes of birds broke the
stillness overhead. Ike had sunk
to the ground. And then, one by one,
there stole Into the glade six naked
savages, their cheeks hideously daubed
with red and yellow ocher, their war
bonnets nodding over their heads.
The one who had first discovered Ike
pointed to the figure on the grass.
“Big medicine,” he grunted; “no
hurt.”
They passed on to the north, in
single file. Behind them came the
other two of the party, leading be
tween them a girl whose face was
stained with weeping, whose dress
was torn and muddy with the march,
whose knees faltered beneath her. But
relentlessly the march kept on; and
the sick man, raising his head weak
ly from the ground, looked in the
face of Toinette and knew her not.
CHAPTER XII.
“Yankee Doodle Dandy."
As the end of the hurrying file of
savages vanished into the woods Datid
stole back toward the glade where Ike
lay. He had gone hat three miles
on his quest for help when his anxiety
for Ike's safety had overcome him and
he turned back. He had nearly reached
the spot when he caught sight of the
last two warriors of the party, and
Toinette between them; and even as
Ills blood stopped In his veins at the
W. *'■ mMuu, xx*
uv AAmmifislon axpirc® Augv
vision, the two warriors overtook the
advance guard and disappeared from
view among the trees.
The blood pounded wildly in Da
vid's temples, and like a madman he
rushed to the side of the delirious man.
"Ike!” he whispered hoarsely; “Toi
nette ’—didn’t you see them pass?”
But Blackford only moaned pite
ously; and David sank to his knees,
and. as gently as a woman, bathed the
parched forehead of the unconscious
man. As lie watched Blackford, a su
perhuman force seemed drugging him
away to rush after the vanished war
party ; hut as often as he rose fren
ziedly to his feet, the utter folly of
attempting Toinette's rescue alone
pulled him dowu; and at lust lie forced
himself to turn his back on his last
hope and to bow his head to the duty
nearest at hand.
Through the long nights his lonely
vigils were spent in brooding over the
[iast. By day he scoured the woods
for food, finding a wealth of purple
clusters of the wild fox-grape, vitis
labrusea. the muscadine; sometimes,
seeing the busy cloud of wild bees
swarming high overhead, he smeared
iiis face and hands with wet clay,
climbed laboriously to their strong
hold, and Titled their rich musses of
dripping honey; sometimes finding a
store of nuts, forgotten by the chat
tering squirrels; sometimes succeed
ing in bringing down a black grouse
as it drummed and strutted on a res
onant log. Thus eking out their scanty
store of dried venison, lie kept life in
Blackford's body through twelve days
of agonized watching.
And at last the fever and the stab
bing pain in Ike’s side vanished under
the healing of the forest.
There came a day when David,
gaunt and weak from starvation, bent
over Ike and felt the hot tears welling
up unconsciously; and even as he
watched. Ike's eyes opened and looked
up at him with all delirium gone.
“Hello, David,” he said weakly, “is
the rain over?”
“Yes,” was the joyous answer,
“thank Clod, the rain’s over now!”
Ike lay for a while in silence before
he spoke again:
“Time we’re going on, isn't it?” He
tried to rise. “Why, what makes me
so weak David?”
“You’ve been sick a long while, son;
easy now, easy!”
The tale of his long delirium was
one which Ike heard in wonder. His
sickness had left him like a little child,
and he cried in sheer gratitude as he
realized what David had done for
him. David saw that Ike remembered
nothing of the passage of the war
party: and lie said nothing of it to
Ike. fearing that Blackford would
blame himself for Toinette's loss.
They agreed, with hearts inexpress
ibly heavy, that the delay had driven
the last gleam of hope from the pur
suit; and as soon as Ike was able to
stand they begun again to seek the
river to the west. Onward they
pressed, with infinite toil. Ike’s hand
dinging to David's shoulder.
Again and again they were forced to
rest; and as the sun began its down
ward journey they had traversed five
miles only. They had reached a place
where the forest grew thinner and the
long rushes rose above their heads;
the pathless home of innumerable wa
terfowl. Ike fell heavily upon the
nmrshy ground, crashing through the
dry reeds. Dnvid lifted Ike's head in
\ ■ '
A Naked, Copper-Colored Figure Glid
ed Noiselessly Through the Under
growth and Crawled Like a Serpent
Toward the Madman.
terror. He had not lost consciousness;
on unendurable fatigue possessed him,
but his eyes burned with unconquer
able resolve.
“I’ll be all right in a moment,
Davy,” he gasped. “It’s only—listen,
what’s that sound?”
He staggered to his feet and David
held his breath. Then he shook his
head.
"I hear nothing but the blackbirds,
Ike.”
“No! listen, Davy, the fifes, the
lifts!”
David felt an awful fear sweep
through him. Had the strain been too
much for Ike’s exhausted body? Was
the delirium to return once more? He
began to speak soothingly.
But Ike held up his hand for silence.
“Listen, Davy, the fifes! They’re
playing ‘Yankee Doodle!’ And, oh,
Davy, you can hear the drums now!”
David strained in an agony of listen
ing. A breeze rustled the tops of the
marsh grass, and suddenly upon the
wind lie heard the unmistakable sound
of a marching quickstep, the shrill mu
sic of the fifes, the rumble of the
drums. They throw their arms around
each other’s necks and shouted with
all their strength. Waited . . . shout
again ... an answering halloa
came faintly to their ears, and with
a cry of joy they forced themselves
on. With a last effort they burst
tlirough the reeds and found the broad
flood of the Wabash at their feet; and
flying swiftly toward them a canoe
driven by the brawny muscles of two
white men.
“ ’Ore noin !” ejaculated the figure in
the bow as the canoe ran up the reedy
bunk. “Les homines fons qui pour
suivant la fille de Corydonf”
Toussaint Dubois, the captain of the
guides, had small respect for foolhar
diness. But the second occupant of
the canoe recognized the two adven
turers with a cry of thankfulness and
flung his arms around them.
“Get in the eanoe quick,” he said,
“no tollin' what pesky devils thar is
hereabouts.”
“Thank God you found us, Hogue!”
cried David as they obeyed his com
mand and the light craft shot out
again over the water. The man had
served with Hargrove, captain of the
company in which David had enlistedt
“Are you carrying messages to the
Prophet? What were those fifes we
heard?”
“The musicians at the fort,” said
Hogue.
“The fort?” repeated David blankly.
“Where are we?”
“Ye’re on the Wabash, sixty miles
north of the Old Post.’’
“But there’s no fort on the Wabash,”
said Blackford wonderingly.
“Th* huildiu’ on It’s jist begun,” an
swered Hogue; “th’ army gut here yis
tiddy.”
“The army!” Ike and David ex
claimed together.
“In course ye didn’t know—lef’ Vin
cennes, horse and foot, nigh to a thou
sand on us, seven days ago. Will
Harrison's n-eominandin' and Dubois
and I air a-scoutln’ around the bresh.”
“Then Tecumseh has chosen war?”
“Tecumsy’s still south," said the
backwoodsman grimly. “Old Horse
head Gibson and Harrison figger thet
he's up t’ devilment weth the Creeks
an’ we’uns air a-goin’ t’ skeer the
Prophet into a shakin’ ague before Te
curusy hes a chance t’ git back.”
Dubois grunted in assent. “By gar,
thees Harrison he strake queeck lak
panthere!”
“You came just in time,” said David
weakly. Silently he stumbled along
at the heels of Hogue and Dubois, as
they bore Ike's limp body between
them toward the clearing in tlie forest
on the east bank of the river; and
when the men of bis company ran out
to meet them their cheers rang
strangely distant in his ears.
But food and rest soon brought back
his strength; and Ike, too, gained rap
idly under the clear skies of October.
Ali the month was spent in completing
the log fortification, and then, leaving
it as a base with a handful of men,
the column took up its course once
more toward the Prophet’s towi\ at
Tippecanoe. The sick, Blackford among
the number, were left at Fort Harrison
to spare them the onward march.
David again entered Captain Har
grove's company. Among the cold
ashes of his hopes one gleam still per
sisted: lie might yet find Toinette at
the Prophet’s town. Indeed, that was
the one place where she had probably
been taken.
They advanced warily. The regular
troops, under Colonel Boyd, headed
the little column; the militia followed;
Spier Spencer’s “Yellow Jackets” trot
ted at tlie left, the Vincennes horse
men at the right; Jo Daviess’ Ken
tucky dragoons brought up the rear.
The boats conveying the supplies
were left at a blockhouse hastily con
structed at a point 25 miles north of
Fort Harrison : and at noon of Novem
ber C they came into view of the hun
dreds of tepees which made up the
Prophet's town. Less than one thou
sand strong, they had ventured to the
Indian stronghold, where 2.000 braves
were assembled; all along their march
they hud been exposed to attack; and
now, as they marched resolutely for
ward. the red warriors began to pour
out like angry bees from a hive.
The column halted and a parley took
i place. Angrily the Indians inquired
tlie meaning of the array's advance—
| did they intend to attack? Harrison
! shook his head; he wished merely to
J encamp that night and to confer with
the Prophet in the morning; there
should be no hostilities. The chiefs
grunted, pacified, and the army, wheel
ing a mile to the northwest, made
camp upon a wooded plateau, along
whose abrupt declivity on the west
there ran a little creek, called Tippe
canoe. The regular troops pitched
their tents; the militia, shivering In
the raw November dusk, without tents,
were forced to build great fires, around
which they huddled upon their arms.
A rain began falling; and the night,
cheerless, bitterly cold, shrouding in
blackness whatever advance the sav
ages might make, closed in on them.
CHAPTER XIII.
In the House of the Prophet.
The red warriors who had glided
past Blackford's delirious eyes
dragged with them r. girl who called
j iYiaciejcn —
piteously for help. “Ike, Ike, don’t
you know me?” she screamed, and
was answered only by the mocking
silences of the woods.
Northward she struggled, driven by
her captors; and all around she saw
the unpitying children of the wood.
Down to the edge of the rivers came
the dark majesty of the forest. Be
low struggled the green galaxy of
bush and shrub; and above, towering
beeches, clenn-boled, smooth, gray,
rearing their clouds of delicate leaf
ery; sycamores, whose massive pil
lars gleamed white through the dusky
aisles; superb cottonwoods, hearing
with proud lightness their weight of
ever-trembling leaves; colossal oaks,
like Atlas lifting up green worlds of
foliage; and, king of all, the Ameri
can liriodendron—the tulip tree—its
branches a stupendous dome of majes
tic beauty, over which, in May, it cast
the miraculous loveliness of its waxen
blossoms.
By day Toinette saw at times the
milder people of the woods, crouched
in the night encampments, she lis
tened with beating heart to the ter
rible scream of the cougar, the tawny
demon of the wood, or trembled in ap
prehension of those other human,
more dreadful demons, her captors.
**♦•*»*
Noon of the sixth day of November.
A fire of twigs filled the tepee with
an acrid smoke !ind rendered the cold
hut little less damp. On the pile of
skins upon the froeen ground were
three figures, two ineu and a woman.
Both men wore the leathern dress
and moccasins of the Indian, but in
spite of his dress and darkly tanned
face, it could be seen that one was
white. The woman wore what had
once been a dress such as swept the
garden walks of VorstiiUes; but it
was now no more than a torn und
muddy rag, her naked shoulders
scratched and torn by brunch and
brier and blue with mid. The white,
man tossed a buffalo robe toward the
girl, nod motioned her to cerer her
shoulders with it, leering ingratiating-'
ly while the Indian scowled. His
high, swarthy cheekbones were |
framed hy braids of coarse Mack-hair,
plentifully smeared with bear’s grease
and adorned by the feathers **f tha
hawk and eagle; one of Ids ayes was!
gone, the brows contracting over a
slit that showed a blood-rod cavity;
but the other burned with a hypnotic
intensity. His heavy lips muttered an
incantation. He was Elkskatawa, the
Prophet.
“There’ll be a brick house for you
in Malden, my dear.” said the white
man pleasantly. “With a black boy
to build a fire for you every morning,
while you're still snug in bed. Hap
“Listen, Davy, the Fifes!"
pen you'll remember poor Simon Gir
ty then, freezin' out in the woods with
'he Injun devils, jot them!” He
glanced at Elkskatnwa as if afraid
that the Indian might have understood
his last words. “Tou'll not forget the
man as was kind to you then, will
ye?”
Toinette shuddered at his tone and
was silent.
“Oh. I’ll see tliet ye git to Malden,
all safe, my beauty," lie went on. re
assured by the Prophet’s apathy.
“ 'Tis a tine, handsome man thet's
waiting fur ye thar—a party red coat'
he w’ars, and a tossel o’ gold on eacli
shoulder—purty ez a king. He’ll pay
BLIND REPAIR WATCHES BEST
Their Delicate Sense of Touch Makes
Them Superior in This Branch
of Mechanics.
Blind people—those who have been
born blind—are, as is well known, ex
ceedingly clever with their fingers, hut
it is not often we hear of a watchmaker
who was born blind, and fei there have
been instances of the kind.
A famous blind watchmaker lived at
Holbeach, in England. His name was
Kippin, and though completely blind
he could take to pieces and put togeth
er again watches of most delicate con
struction with the greatest ease and
in quicker time than most watchmak
ers who have the advantage of good
eyesight.
On one occasion some of the tiny
wheels and screws used in his trade
were stolen from him, but the thief
was captured with the property on his
person, and Rippin identified it by his
delicate sense of touch. Another watch
and clockmaker brought up his blind
son to his trade, and he proved so
skillful that on more than one occa
sion he detected faults in timepieces
which other tradesmen had failed to
discover.
One Thing In Their Favor.
“I’ll say this much for the movies.”
“Well?”
“A screen star doesn’t necessarily
have to have a dubious past to make a
i hit with a movie fan.”
•
How to Keep Warm in Cold Bed.
Many people have to sleep In cold
rooms In winter, and some, not being
able to warm up readily after entering
the bed, lie awake a long time.
To warm up quickly in a cold bed lie
upon the back, with the bedclothes
well tucked in about the neck and
shoulders, draw up and extend one
foot, then the other, alternately, draw
ing the foot up as near the trunk as
possible, and then extending it as far
as possible. Keep this up for a few
moments; and if done with vigor, by
the time one has drawn up each leg
and straightened it out, say, 100 times,
ono will be in a glow, and will usually
feel sleepy, the blood having been
drawn away from the brain to the
muscles and skin. Feeble patients can
do a few strokes, and rest a moment
or so, and then begin again.
Economy.
“Is it really cheaper to own your
own home than to pay rent?”
“Of course It Is. When you live in
a rented house you are always dissat
isfied about something, and you move
on an average about once a year. But
when you own your house, you have to
stay there whether you like it or not
and in thnt way you save all the mov
ing expenses.”
Caution.
“So you made your boy quit tnirtng
singing lessons?”
“Yes. I was afraid they’d spoil his
voice for cheering at a baseball game.”
ninny n goidpiece fur ye, my dear . . .
An' ye'll be wuth ’em all,” he giggled
evilly.
Toinette looked at him as a fright
ened bird looks nt a snake, unable to
move; n tear stole from b'-neath her
lashes and rolled down her wasted
cheek.
“Suppose ye talk a bit to me—
thar’s a good gal. Come, what’s yer
name? Tight-mouthed still, are ye?
Ye’ll beg to speak ’fore I'tn done with
ye!”
The flaps of the deerskin tent were
drawn aside and the painted face of a
warrior was thrust in. He was drip
"He’ll Pay Many a Goldpiece for Ye,
My Dear.”
ping with sweat though the day was
chilly, and his words were hurried.
Toinette strove in vain to catch an
English word among the torrent of
Delaware, but none came; she guessed
from the startled grunts from Elkska
tawa and the oath that fell from Gir
ty’s lips that the message was of seri
ous portent. Girty, casting a glance
over his shoulder, saw the girl’s in
tense gaze fixed upon them, and
laughed sueeringly.
"Here’s some news fur ye—thet fine
young man of yours hes hed his scalp
lifted, he, he, he! Some o‘ the young
I’ottawattamies met up wi’ him wan
derin’ ’long lost into the woods as ef
he thought he was in Philadelphy.”
Toinette whitened. The braves who
had brought her into the village of the
Prophet had told Girty, doubtless,
that she had recognized the sick
man in the woods. Had another scout
ing parry found Ike and killed him;
She could not know’; Girty, seeing iter
blanch at his random thrust, giggled
in triumph. The news which the run
ner had brought was that the army of
whites was within a few miles.
The consultation between the
Prophet and the renegade went on in
guttural whispers. Toinette began to
wonder why the news of the capture
of a single white man should cause
so prolonged a discussion. Sounds
of unusual activity in the village be
gan to breach her—a constant patter
of moccasined feet, hurrying by the
tent, the occasional wailing of a
squaw, quickly hushed by an angry
command, the barking of the mangy
Indian dogs—an unmistakable restless
ness in the whole camp.
There fell on her ear the faint
sound of drums—distant, meusured,
unlike the irregular beating of the
drums of the savage. Nearer and
nearer it came, steady, unmistakable;
und then, her heart at first refusing
to believe her ears, the shrill and
reckless music of the fifes! She be
gan to thrill with hope In every
nerve; and with an inarticulate sob of
joy she rose to her knees. The In
dian and the renegade looked up
sharply as she started up; and with
a cruelty that stunned her, Girty
laughed in her face.
“He. he, he!” Thet hain’t any
friends o’ yourn. my dear! ’Tis a
company o’ Proctor's Redcoats froir
Malden—they’ll make ye a fine body
guard to take ye ’crost to Canady,
He, he, he! Ye thought ’twas some o*
the boys from Corydon! It’s a sham*
t’ disappoint ye so. But if ye don't
wKh fur t’ go weth the king’s sogers,
ye’re not obleeged to. Why don’t ye
go weth Simon Girty, instead?”
I
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
TO WASH BLANKETS
j OPERATION TAKES TIME IF GOOD
WORK IS WANTED.
—
■ Warm Water, Ammonia, and White
Soap Is Recommended—Articles
Must on No Account Be Sub
jected to Rubbing.
—
Housecleaning means many weary
ing tasks, but the worst of them all is
washing blankets. It tnkes a good
j ly amount of money from the house
| keeper’s allowance to send these to
I the cleaner's, especially where there
j is a large family. So the woman who
| decides to “do” her own blankets
I should learn the very easiest way to
manage them.
Here is one system guaranteed by
an experienced housekeeper: Put a
half pint of ammonia into a tub aud
stretch the blankets over it, not al
lowing them to slip down into the fluid. ]
This should then be covered with luke- |
warm water. This process allows the |
fumes of the ammonia to rise through
the blanket and loosens the dirt. Good,
vigorous squeezing will do the rest.
Itinse in a tub of clear warm water
and run lightly through the wringer.
Here is another and more compli
cated method, designed for use on <
very soiled blankets: Air, beat and J
brush the blankets out on the line be- |
fore washing, so that every possible :
piece of fluff and down is removed. ,
Then shave a couple of bars of good i
wool soap into a basin, add it to a j
pan of boiling water and allow it to j
“jell” for a few minutes. Now lmve i
a tub or stationary wash tub half full ;
of warm water with a half cupful of -
ammonia in it. Mix the soap in with j
this, then put in your blankets. Stir
them around with a stick, but do not
rub them—squeeze and souse them up
and down. When the top of the water ;
begins to become scummed with dirt
the water should he changed. The
second water should be like the first.
The sousing process must be repeated
until ail the dirt is removed. Rinse
in clear water. Then put them through
the wringer—the jaws of which should
be very wide apart or they will make j 1
your blankets look stringy—and hang !
i out on the line.
Blankets should lie hung lengthwise 1
' on the line, using plenty of pins, so 1 1
that they have no chance to sag.
Shade is better than sun for drying 1
them. When they are quite dry go ! 1
I over them well with a clean whisk 1
; broom, brushing with the nap. This ! '
1 makes them delightfully fluffy. Fold
away with camphor halls or in moth- , '
1 proof bags.
-C
Fruit Loaf.
Put one pint milk in double boiler,
i add pinch of salt and bring to scalding j
point. Dissolve 1% tablespoonfuls •
cornstarch in a little cold milk, beat the j
I yolks of two eggs and four tablespoon
fuls granulated sugar together and
pour all into boiling milk, stirring till
smooth and thick. Cover and cook 20
minutes. Beat the egg whites very
stiff and mix lightly with the pudding.
Remove from stove and stir in one-half
cupful macaroons crumbled, two table
spoonfuls maraschino cherries, two ta
; blespoonfuls walnut meats, broken, and
j » teaspoonful of sherry. Turn into a
mold and set in ice. When very cold
turn out and serve with cream, whip- ]
ped or plain. i
English Chicken Pie. '
Pare six medium-sized potatoes, cut 1
in small pieces; cook until tender, but i
not broken, and then add two < upfuls t
chicken meat and half a cupfui fresh <
pork cooked and cut in small pieces; 1
cover with a crust made as follows: (
Sift three teaspoonfuls baking powder ‘
with two cupfuls flour, add two table- 1
spoonfuls shortening and half tea- :
spoonful salt. Rub thoroughly togeth- !
er and mix with_ one small cupful
milk. Put on floured board and press
out with the hands to size required to
cover chicken pie. Bake twenty min
utes, and serve hot.
Economical Fruit Jelly.
Save all the rinds and pulp of
lemons and oranges left from lemon
ade or fruit punch. Put them into a
saucepan and cover with boiling wa
ter. Boil ten minutes, strain half the
liquid and add sugar to taste—a small
cupful of sugar to one dozen lemon
skins gives a tart, refreshing jelly.
Lastly stir In a half package of gela
tin that has been dissolved in a little
cold water. Pour into a mold and
cool. One dozen lemon or orange rinds '
should make a quart of Jelly, and it is
better flavor and more fruity, than
when made with the juice alone.
Bacon and Egg Hash.
Sometimes a few slices of bacon and
a cold fried egg are left over from
breakfast and It Is a problem to make
use of them. Try chopping them fine
with an equal quantity of boiled or
mashed potatoes, then fry like an ordi
nary hash In a little butter, letting It
brown nicely before taking from the
pan. Serve with a parsley garnish and
chill sauce or catsup and you will think
you have some brand-new epicurean i
dish. If you prefer, you may make the <
mixture into little cakes and fry them
brown In butter or bacon fat.
Cream of Onion Puree.
Put two or three large onions
through the food chopper and cook
the Juice and pulp in two tablespoon- i
fuls of butter until a golden brown. I
Add a pinch of soda dissolved in a !
tablespoonful of water. Have ready '
a quart of milk scalded in a double j
boiler; add the onions and cook until j
creamy. Season with salt, pepper and ,
paprika and thicken with cracker
crumbs. Sprinkle grated cheese over
the top when served. Send buttered
toast bars to the table with this soup.
Rice Balls.
Sweeten plain boiled rice to taste
and add, while hot, butter the size of
a walnut and the beaten yolk of an
egg to make sweet rice balls. Form In- '
to little balls and put into the center
of each a tablespoonful of rich pre
served strawberries, peaches or pine- j
apple, first draining off the sirup. Roll 1
In white of egg and bread crumbs and '
serve with lemon sauce.
LOYALTY
TO YOUR STOMACH
is the first essential to
continued good health
when help is needed for
THE APPETITE.
THE STOMACH
THE LIVER OR
THE BOWELS
TRY - --
HOSTETTER’S
Stomach Bitters
—O——n—» fl*
**l m*. Wnjor, what’s goo< 1 for a eolJ beside whUkyf'*
•■That's r**y. dear boy. Mo«t enything is better for
m roltf tJ»aa M insky, or any other alcoholic stimulant, bnl
flir Very best tiling possible for a cold or bronchitis is thst
•M well known Vemedy our fathers used to u*e
Boschee’s
German Syrup
Has for the last 51 years been steadily
used in all parts oi the civilized world
forthe rapid relief of colds, coughs, bron
chitis. throat and lung irritation. No
other remedy has such a remarkable
record of widespread distribution. 25c.
and 75c. sizes at druggists everywhere.
Also the Owner Hop.
The English class was explaining
lie meanings of certain well-known
netaphorical expressions. As an in
stance, one pupil said that "It’s an ill
virid that blows no good” means that
■ven apparently evil happenings some
imes are beneficial.
“And now, just in your own words,”
aid the teacher to the bright boy of
he class, “explain your idea, simply,
*f the meaning of the old adage,
Money makes the mare go.’ ”
“Gasoline makes the flivver hop,”
vas the reply.
DON’T LOSE YOUR HAIR
9revent It by Using Cuticura Soap and
Ointment. Trial Free.
If your scalp is irritated, itching and
burning and your hair dry and falling
sut in handfuls try the following treat
ment: touch spots of dandruff and
tching with Cuticura Ointment and
'ollow with hot shampoo of Cuticura
soap. Absolutely nothing better.
Free sample each by mail with Book.
Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept. L,
Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv.
And Father Pays Bills.
“How is Robert getting on at col
ege?” asked the minister, who was be
ng entertained at dinner.
“Splendidly,” said the proud father,
vho then went on to tell of his son’s
’arious social, athletic and scholastic
uccesses, and the minister said it was
i fine thing to be college bred. That
vening little James, who had been-an
nterested listener, said: “Papa, what
lid Mr. Brown mean by college bred?”
Oh, that,” said papa, who had been
ooking over his son’s bills, “is"a four
ears’ loaf.”
Heat Eaters9 Backache
Meat lovers are apt to have back
aches and rheumatic attacks. Unless
you do heavy work and get lots of fresh
air, don’t eat too mnch meat. It’s rich
in nitrogen and helps to form uric acid
—a solid poison that irritates the
nerves, damages the kidneys and often
causes Iropsy, gravel and urinary dis
orders. Doan’s Kidney Pills help
weak kidneys to throw off uric acid.
Thousands recommend them.
A Nebraska Case
"ftwy Picture
N. M. Buchtel, Clay
Center, Neb., saya:
. “My back pained 80
adly that I couldn't
move around. I
didn't rest well and
mornings was more
tired than when I
| went to bed. My
kidneys were too
frequent In action.
The doctor’s medi
cine didn’t help me
and Anally I took
Doan’s Kidney Pins.
““‘'•o u=m* hvb ooxes i nave never
Mia a symptom of kidney complaint."
Gat Doen’i at Amy Store, 60c a Box
DOAN’S ■yf»I*T
FOSTER-MILBURN CO, BUFFALO. N.Y.
Constipation
Vanishes Forever
^rompt Relief—Permanent Cure
JAK 1EK S LITlLfc
JVER PILLS never
aiL Purely vegeta
>le — act surely
>ut gently on
he liver,
itop after
[inner dis
ress—cure'
ndigestion.
mprove uie complexion, brighten theeyea
MALL PILL, SMALL DOSE, SMALL PRICE.
Genuine muat bear Signature
DATCUTC Watira I.Colemui,Wuli
rAltWTo
‘BOUGH onMTSM5fed;^M^”a <
APPENDICITIS
Ide write tor valuable Book of Information I If EC
k B. BOWBKS, SIFT. M, BIB 8. BSABSOBS 8T.. CHICAGO
W. N. U., OMAHA, NO. 48-19167
