i r^
• '' 1|||JJAsh UmiSMal Love Story I
‘~‘ By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHESM
a I • . ■ - 1-iM-r. anil all the world chortles with de
> 1 * git. fascinates an avowed woman-hater
. :r. 1111..-; I \ out of her hand. In the story which
■ . • .niiing heroine does nothing so eotniuon
: »!ie fascinates dozens. And in the end
sic l,j' •• •! eating out of her hand, but three of the
- i ~ saw following her around like faithful
: •. - l llt.it. - a!- .gettier delightful, and we feel sure our
- li eujo> the s.-tml thoroughly.
THE EDITOR.
CHAPTER I.
, l>**. - * - leaning back among the
naluiHii • he m .• .miens ir. The
UH-n. ha 1 n..t yet risen, but a taiut and
‘usumou- * 'Vi -;.r. ! :ig like a halo
about th • fat.oot |~-uk of the ragged
hue of bill*, heralded its approach.
Her ejr.-* >uept the hillsides, vainly
f*4 with-.tr . ire city, for an) -:gu of a
human i >e: .ng il-r chauffeur and
her te ;J -••• • ! talking heatedly to
gether near the radiator.
leuinu* forward and ailed to
the ■ haufleur
“V Tiarl. - she a-ked. "what lias hap
I —-n--.: Ar v.-rt i.lly -minded here?"
The man's h* lid etnergeil fr.Mn the
b-uiuei lie eauie round Ui the side of
the nr
“I atu very sorry uuidatu." he re
potted * - ■ ■ tiling has g 'lie wrong
with ih. -to I -lead have to take
it to pi lo-fore I .-an tell exactly
what is wroi.g. It will lake several
h.oit - in . ,t ought to Oe l.itie by day
light I*, i.aps 1 had lo-t’er go and see
vii.-d. r Le-e i-u t a lanu somewhere
near "
An i i m u- her.- alone?" Aline n
. Iitnusl indignantly.
Her m r< .» smiled at h.*r reassur
ingly.
"What I.aie Mr to fear, you foolish
girt"' K . !..y»etf. | would like l>etter
then in>• g • • remain h.-re until the
,
"You Art trceed a Gcod Sarraritan."
r.«»«i . . t-r the i« |« that round
bill. Kut -*efi * There is no Ut*tVS- :
mlf
for •'!. . . » t < lea V e os.”
i They turned their head-. From
•joule dist; t. e I.ehiUd there mine.
faintly 4' nr-t. hut more distinctly
O IT) U* he -ound of llorsc'S
leads L*.: ! r : ad louder oamr the
aoutel. I— - . ve a little . ry as n
11-41. - r. , • . -
at lie- ere-; of the h !. Tli ■ narrow ‘
*tri|. of r j,; ... a.ed sud :. aly dwarfed. ;
mu «nre„-.i.al.ie |a>rti.-a of th.- horizon 1
blotted • •. In the iiaif light tliere
• as ■Mt.iethirg at moat awesome iu the
ni.UMu.ij - o . f tlie horse and of the
■null •> ie • ts«le it.
■|t is 4 rid of goblins th.- Aline!"
her ■ yl< igiuioi softly. "Whitt
la .1 that « • lues?"
It hunaan bring. Dieu merel!”
He • ■ . - I. with a matter-of-fact
little -l-h of content.
A -.is later horse and rider
Mere ocside the ear.
H ' ' ; • ned‘ ' 'll- new
rom. i . - ...•uhth'iK and raising
his : .*i|> |o hi- cti|».
“• -:.efi do -a. " I.ouise said.
“I*lv..-e le.i us what you would advise
Us to do. 1* there a village near, or
au mu. or . v u a barn? < *r shall we
bare to -i*ej the flight i:i the car?"
“The nearest village.' he repi.ed. “is
twelve i . . - away. Fortunate;}-, my
own home s i . -e by. 1 -hull he very
pleased — 1 . my brother—if you will
honor us. 1 am afraid I cannot offer
you very much in the way of eu.ertuin
toeot—"
>Ih- r -se briskly to her feet anil
beamed ui*>n him.
"You arc inileed a good Samaritan!”
»tie «-» .». »-•!. “A ri«>f is more than
we had dared to hope for. although
when uae !< -» up at this wonderful
ski and lire; i , - this air one wonders,
pertmi- whether a roof, after all. Is
Midi a blessing.”
"It gets very cold toward morning."
the man said practically.
t1 o.urv she as>*-i;ted. “Aline,
you will tiriiia tay dressing-bag and fol
low us Tlii' a •ulleiuau is kind enough
to '3er ;s - - ter for the night. l*car
u*e. you f.-jll; are almost as tali as
>ou 'pi- -re-! she ad i* <!. as -he stood
hy hi» side. “For the first t.;,.. In my
life you ;uakc me feel undersized."
lie P-ifced down at her. n little more
at hi* C M* now hy reason of the lrieud
liness of her mauner. although he had
still the air of one embarked upon ail
ad« * ature. tlu* outcome of which was
to I*** regarded with sum* qualms. She
<».' little more than tm-dium height,
m.* l*i- Brat impressions of her were
tl| was thin, and too pale to be
..,,-d .s'klog: tluit eyes were large
',,,1 of with e><-*»' jws more deur'y
,p, a. d than u usual among English
women; nn<l that site moved without
seeming to walk.
"I suppose I am tall,” lie admitted,
as they started off along the road.
"One doesn’t notice it around here. My
name is John Strangewey, and our
house Is just behind that clump of
trees there, ou the top of tile hill. We
will do our best to make you comfort
aide. he added u little doubtfully;
"hut there are only my brother and
myself, and we have uo women serv
ants in the house.”
“A roof of any sort will he a luxury.”
assured him. “1 only hope that we
shull not be a trouble to you in any
way.”
"And your name, please?" lie asked.
She was a little amazed at his direct
u*-ss. hut she answered him without
hesitation.
"My name,” she told him, “is Lou
ise."
He leaned down toward her, a little
puzzled.
"Louise. Rut your surname?"
She laughed softly. It occurred to
him that nothing like her luugh had
ever been heard on that gray-walled
stretch of mountain road.
"Never mind! I am traveling incog
nito. \\ ho I am, or where 1 um going
—well, what does that matter to any
body? Perhaps I do not know myself.
You eau imagine, if you like, that we
came from the heart of your hills, and
that tomorrow they will open again and
welcome us back.”
“I don’t think there are any motor
cars in fairyland.” he objected.
"We represent a new edition of fairy
h>re," she told him. "Modern romance,
you know, includes motor-cars and
even French maids.”
"All the same,” he protested, with
masculine bluntness, “I really don’t
see how I can introduce you to my
brother us ’Louise from fairyland.’ ”
She evaded the point.
"Tell me uhout your brother. Is he
as tall as you, and is he younger or
older?”
"He is nearly twenty years older,”
her companion replied. "He is about
my height, hut he stoops more than I
do. and his hair is gray. I am afraid
that you may find him a little pecu
liar.”
lier escort paused and swung open a
white gate on their left-hand side. Be
fore them was an ascent which seemed
to her, in the dim light, to be abso
lutely precipitous.
“It isn’t so bad as it looks." lie as
sured her, "and I am afraid it’s the
only way up. The house is at the bend
barely fifty yards away. You
can see a light through the trees.”
"You must help me. then, please,”
slle begged.
Hr stoojted down toward lier. She
linked her fingers together through his
left arm and, leaning a little heavily
upon him. begun the aseent. He was
conscious of some subtle fragrance
from her clothes, a perfume strangely
different from the odor of the ghost
like flowers that bordered the steep
path up which they were climbing. Her
arms, slight, warm things though they
were, and great though his own
str^igth. felt suddenly like a yoke. At
every step he seemed to feel their
weight more insistent—a weight not
physical, solely due to this rush of un
expected emotions.
She looked around her almost in
wonder as her companion paused with
his hand ui>ou a little iron gate. From
behind that Jagged stretch of hills in
the distance the moon had now ap
peared. He'ore her was a garden,
austere-looking with its prim flower
beds. the trees all bent in the same
direction, fashioner after one pattern
by the winds. Beyond was the house
—a long, low building, part of it cov
ered with some kind of creeper.
As they stepped across the last few
yards of lawn, the black, oak door
which they were approaching suddenly
opened. A tall, elderly man stood look
ing inquiringly out. He shaded his
eyes’with ltis hands.
“Is that you. brother?" he asked
doubtfully.
John Strangewey ushered his com
panion Into the square, oak-paneled
j hall, hung with many trophies of the
chase, a few oil-paintings, here and
1 here some sporting prints. It was
i lighted only with a single lamp which
stood upon a round, polished tuhle in
the center of the white-flagged floor.
‘This lady’s motor-car has broken
I down. Stephen,” John explained, turn
ing a little nervously toward his broth
er. "I found them in the road, just
at tlie bottom of the hill, sue and her
i servants will spend the night here. I
have explained that there is no village
] or inn for a good many miles.”
Louise turned graciously toward the
' elder man. who was standing grimly
apart. Even in those few seconds, her
quick sensibilities warned her of the
hostility which lurked behind the tight
ly closed lips and steel-gray eyes. His
j bow was stiff and uncordial, and he
made no movement to offer his hand.
“We are not used to welcoming la
! dies at Beak Hall, madam.” he said,
i T am afraid that you will find us
' somewhat unprepared for guests.”
“I ask for nothing more than a roof,"
Louise assured him.
John threw his hat and whip upon
the round table and stood in Uie centei
lot the sione tloor. She caught a
glance which hashed between the two
: men—of appeal from the one, of Icy
resentment from the other.
“We can at least add to the roof a
bed and some supper—and a welcome,”
John declared. “Is that not so. Ste
phen?”
The older man turned deliberately
j away. It was as if he hud not heard
Mis brother's words.
“I will go and find Jennings.” he
said. "He must be told about the serv
ants.”
Louise watched the disappearing fig
ure until it was out of sight. Then she
looked up into the face of the younger
man, who was standing by her side.
“I am sorry." she murmured apolo
getically. "I am afraid that your
brother is not pleused at this sudden
i intrusion. Ueuliy. we shall give you
; very little trouble.”
He answered her with a sudden
j eager enthusiasm. He seemed far more
natural then than at any time since he
had ridden up from out of the shad
j ows to take his place in her life.
“1 won't apologize for Stephen,” he
said. “He is a little crotchety. You
must please be kind and not notice.
You must let me. if I can, offer you
; welcome enough for us both."
—
CHAPTER II.
Louise, with a heavy, silver-plated
candlestick in her hand, stood upon the
uneven floor of the bedroom to which
-he had been conducted, looking up at
the oak-framed family tree which hung
above the broad chimney-piece. She
examined the coat of arms emblazoned
in the corner, and peered curiously at
the hist neatly printed addition, which
indicated Stephen and John Strange
wey as the sole survivors of a dimin
ishing line. When at last she turned
away, she found the name upon her
lips.
“Strangewey!" site murmured. "John
iStrangewey: It Is really curious how
that name brings with It a sense of
familiarity. It is so unusual, too. And
what an unusual-looking person! Do
you think. Aline, thar you ever saw
anyone so superbly handsome?”
The maid's little grimace was ex
pressive.
"Never, madam,” she replied. “Aud
yet to think of it—a gentleman, a per
son of intelligence, who lives here al
ways, outside the world, with just a
terrible old man servant, the only do
mestic in the house i Nearly all the
cooking is done at the bailiff’s, a quar
ter of a mile away.”
Louise nodded thoughtfully.
“It Is very strange.” she admitted.
“I should like to understand it. Per
haps.” she added, half to herself, “some
day I shall.”
She passed across the room, and on
her way paused before an old cheval
glass, before which were suspended
two silver candlesticks containing
lighted wax candles. She looked stead
fastly at her own reflection. A little
smile parted her lips. In the bedroom
of this quaint farmhouse she was look
ing upon a face and a tigure which the
illustrated papers and the enterprise
of the modern photographer had com
; liined to make familiar to the world—
[lie figure of a girl, it seemed, notwith
standing her twenty-seven years. Her
soft, white blouse was open at the
neck, displaying a beautifully rounded
throat. Her eyes dwelt upon the oval
■ face, with its strong, yet mobile fea
tures; its lips a little full, perhaps, but
soft and sensitive; at the masses of
brown hair drawn low over her ears.
This was herself, then. How would
she seem to these two men downstairs,
she asked herself—the dour, grim mas
ter of the house, and her more youthful
rescuer, whose coming had somehow
touched her fancy? They saw so little
of her sex. They seemed, in a sense, to
lie in league against it. Would they
find out that they were entertaining
an angel unawares?
She thought with a gratified smile
of her incognito. It was a real trial
His Bow Was Stiff and Uncordial.
of her strength, this ! When she turned
away from the mirror the smile still
lingered upon her lips, a soft light of
anticipation was shining in her eyes.
John met her at the foot of the
stairs. She noticed with some sur
prise that he was wearing the dinner
jacket and black tie of civilization.
“Will you come this way, please?’
he begged. “Supper is quite ready.”
He held open the door of one of the
rooms on the other side of the hall, and
she passed into a low dining room, dim
ly lit with shaded lamps. The elder
brother rose from his chair as they en
tered, although his salutation was
I
'■veu grimmer than his first welcome
He was wearing a (lress-coat of old
fashioned cut, and a black stock, am
he remained standing, without ant
smile or word of greeting, until sin
had taken her seat. Behind his chaii
stood a very ancient manservant in *
gray pepper-and-salt suit, with a whit*
tie. whose expression, at the entranc*
of this unexpected guest, seemed cu
riously to reflect the inhospitable in
stincts of his master.
The table was luid with all inannet
of cold dishes, supplemented by others
upon the sideboard. There were pots
of jam and honey, a silver teapot am;
silver spoons and forks of quaint de
sign, strangely cut glass, and a great
Dresden bowl filled with flowers.
“I am afraid." John remarked, “that
you are not used to dining at this hour
My brother and I are pld-fashioned in
our customs, if we had had a little
I longer notice—”
“I never in my life saw anything
that looked so delicious ns your colt)
chicken,” Louise declared. "May 1
have some—and sonic ham? 1 believe
that you must farm some land your
selves. Everything looks as if it were
: homemade or homegrown.”
“We are certainly farmers,” John ad
mitted. with a smile, “and I don't think
there is much here that isn't of out
own production. The farm buildings
are at some distance away from the
house. There is quite a little colony
i ut the back, uud the woman who super
I intends the dairy lives there. In the
house we are entirely independent of
your sex. We niuuuge, somehow or
other, with Jeuniugs here and two
boys.”
“You are not both woman-haters, I
hope?”
Her younger host flashed a warning
glance at Louise, but it was too late.
Stephen had laid down his knife and
fork and was leaning in her direction.
“Madam,” he intervened, “since you
have asked the questiou. I will confess
that I have never known any good
come to a man of our family from the
friendship or service of women. Our
family history, if ever you should come
to know it, would uwply justify iuy
brother and myself for our attitude to
ward your sex."
“Stephen!” John remonstrated, a
slight frown upon his face. “Need you
weary our guest with your peculiar
views? It is scarcely i*>lite, to say the
least of it."
The older man sat. for a moment,
grim and silent.
“Perhai»s you are right, brother," he
admitted. “This lady did not seek our
company, hut it may interest her to
know that she is the first woman who
has crossed the threshold of Peak Hall
for a matter of six years.”
Louise looked from one to the other,
half incredulously.
I “Do you really mean it? Is that lit
erally true?” she asked John.
“Absolutely,” the young man as
sured her; "hut please remember that
you are none the less heartily welcome
here. We have few women neighbors,
and intercourse with them seems to
have slipped out of our lives. Tell me.
how far have you couie today, anti
where ditl you hoj>e to sleep tonight?"
Louise hesitated for a moment. For
some reason or other, the question
seemed to bring with it some disturb
ing thought.
"I was motoring from Edinburgh.
As regards tonight, I had not made up
i my mind. 1 rather hoped to reach
Kendal. My journey is not at all an in
teresting matter to talk about.” she
i went on. "Tell me abont your life
j here. It sounds most delightfully pas
toral. Do you live here all the year
round?”
"My brother,” John told her. “has
not been farther away than the near
est market town for nearly twenty
years.”
Her eyes grew round with astonish
ment.
1>UL JWU Ji'J 111 l.OilUUI! »UIUriUUt*N.'
“1 was there eight years ago. Since
then 1 have not been further away than
Carlisle or Kendal. I go into camp
near Kendal for three weeks every
year—territorial training, you know."
“But how do you pass your time'
What do you do with yourself?” she
asked.
“Farm." he answered. “Farming is
our daily occupation. Then for amuse
ment we hunt, shoot and fish. The sea
sons pass before we know it."
She looked appraisingly at John
| Strangewey. Notwithstanding his sun
tanned cheeks and the splendid vigor
of his form, there was nothing in the
least agricultural about his manner oi
his appearance. There was humor as
well as intelligence in his clear, gray
eyes. She opined that the books whicli
lined one side of the room were at
once his property and his hobby.
“It is a very healthy life, no doubt,’
she said; “but somehow it seems in
comprehensible to think of a man like
yourself living always in such an out
of-the-way corner.”
John's lips were open to reply, but
Stephen once more intervened.
“Life means a different thing to end
of us. madam,” he said sternly. "There
are many born with the lust for cities
and the crowded places in their hearts
horn with the desire to mingle witl:
their fellows, to absorb the convention
al vices aud virtues, to become one oi
the multitude. It has been different
with us Strangeweys.”
Jennings, nt a sign from his master
removed the tea equipage, evidently
produced in honor of their visitor
Three tall-stemmed glasses were
placed upon the table, and a decantei
of port reverently produced.
Louise had fallen for a moment oi
two into a fit of abstraction. Her eyes
were fixed upon. the opposite wall
from which, out of their faded frames
a row of grltn-looking men and women
-i
startlingly like her two hosts, seemed
to frown down upon her.
"Is that your father?’’ she asked,
moving her head toward one of the
portraits.
“My grandfather. John Strangewey,"
Stephen told her.
"Was he one of the wanderers?”
"He left Cumberland only twice
during his life. He was master of
hounds, magistrate, colonel in the yeo
manry' of that period, nnd three times
refused to stand for parliament."
"John Strangewey!” Louise relat
ed softly to herself. “I was looking at
your family tree upstairs.” she went
ou. "It is curious how both my maid
and myself were struck with a sense
of familiarity about the name, as if
we had heard or read something about
it quite lately.”
Her words were almost carelessly
spoken, hut she was conscious of the
somewhat ominous silence which en
sued. She glanced up wonderingly
and Intercepted a rapid look passing
between the two men. More puzzled
than ever, she turned toward John as
if for an explanation. He had risen
somewhat abruptly to his feet, and his
hand was upon the hack of her chair.
“Will it he disagreeable to you if tny
brother smokes a pipe?" he asked. “I
! tried to have our little drawing room
j prepared for you, but the fire has not
! been lit for so long that the room, I am
j afraid, is quite impossible.”
“Do let me stay here with you.” she
begged, "and I hope that both of you
will smoke. I am quite used to it.”
John wheeled up an easy chair for
| her. Stephen, stiff and upright, sat on
the other side of the hearth. He took
! the tobacco jar and pipe that his broth
er hud brought him. and slowly filled
the bowl.
“With your permission, then, nin
I dam.” he said, as lie struck a match. :
Louise smiled graciously. Some In
stinct prompted her to stifle her own
| craving for a cigarette and keep her
; little gold case hidden in her pocket.
; All the time her eyes were wandering
; round the room. Suddenly she rose
and. moving round the table, stood
once more facing the row of gloomy
looking portraits.
"So that is your grandfather?” she
remarked to John, who had followed j
her. "Is your father not here?”
He shook his head.
“My father's portrait was never
| painted."
"Tell the truth, John,” Stephen en
[ joined, rising in his place and setting
down his pipe. “We Strangeweys
were hillfolk and farmers, by descent
and destiny, for more than four hun- '
dred years. Our place is here upon !
the land, almost among the clouds, and
those of us who have realized it have
led the lives God meant us to lead.
There have been some of our race who
! have been tempted into the lowlands
I and the cities. Not one of them
brought honor uj>on our name. Their
pictures are not here. They are not
; worthy to be here."
Stephen set down the candlesticks
and returued to his place. Louise, with
her hands clasped behind her hack,
glanced toward John, who still stood
j by her side.
“Tell me.” she asked him. “have
none of your people who went out into
the world done well fi>r themselves?”
“Scarcely one," he admitted.
“Not oar." Stephen interrupted.
“Madam,” he went on, turning toward
Louise, “lest my welcome to you this
••veiling should have seemed inhospita
ble. let me tell you this: livery
Strangewey who has left our county
and trodden the downward jiath of j
LAST RECRUITS OF SLAVERY
Remnants of Cargo Brought to Amer
ica in 1859 Make Up Interesting
Colony Near Mobile.
I’erhaps the most interesting colony
of negroes in America toiluv is to be
found in Alabama, about three miles
from the heart of Mobile. Here in a
little town called Plateau lives a group
of nine weather-beaten, grizzled old
] men and women, the remnant of the
] last cargo of slaves brought to Ameri
can soil from the coast of Africa, says
the Southern Workman. The youngest
| is entering on his sixty-sixth year; the
I oldest is not less than one hundred and
! ten; while just a few years ago one of
I their number died who had seen more
I than one hundred and forty years.
They were brought to America in the
1 summer of 1859. In I860 their emanci
J nation came. For the next few years
I they were bufTeted about by changing
| fortunes without any settled home.
One among them, wiser than the
1 rest, saw the dangers of their unset
tled condition. Not owning their homes
; they could be turned out at any time,
and, hiring themselves to strange mas
ters in search of laborers, they might
some day be carried off again into
slavery, perhaps to Cuba or Porto Rico,
for they learned that slavery still ex
isted there. With such incentive be
hind them they selected a tract of |
land just outside Mobile, on Three,
Mile creek, and began the purchase of
homes.
As one goes over arid about Pla
teau, he is struck with the appropri
ateness of the setting in which this
African colony is to be found. About
one-half the town Is owned by negroes,
and of the property occupied by them
at least 7o per cent is owned by their
own people. The lnrgest single hold
ing of land among them is between 50
and 60 acres. Another negro land
lord owns and rents about 20 houses.
There are nine stores, of which seven
are owned and operated by colored
men. The largest of them all is one
of these seven and represents a vol
ume of business amounting to more
than $11,000 annually.
j failure, lias done so at the instance of
1 one of your sex. That is why those of
us who inherit the family spirit look
askance upon all strange women. That
is why no woman is ever welcome with
in this house.”
Louise resumed her seat in the easy
chair.
“I am so sorry." she murmured,
looking down at her slipper. "I could
not help breaking down here, could I?”
“Nor could my brother fail to offer
you the hospitality of this roof,” Ste
phen admitted. “The incident was un
fortunate but inevitable. It is a mat
ter for regret that we have so little to
offer you in the way of entertainment.” j
He rose to his feet. The door had
opened. Jennings was standing there
with a candlestick upon a massive sil
ver salver. Behind him was Aline.
“Yon are doubtless fatigued by your
journey, madam," Stephen concluded.
Louise made a little grimace, but she
rose at once to her feet. She under
stood quite well that she was being
---
“Those of Us Who Inherit the Family
Spirit Look Askance Upon All
Strange Women.”
sent to bed. and she shivered a little i
when she looked at the hour—barely
ten o’clock. Yet it was all in keeping.
From the doorway she looked back in
to the room, in which nothing seemed
to have been touched for centuries
Site stood upon the threshold to bid liei
final good-night, fully conscious of the
complete anachronism of her presence
there.
Her smile for Stephen was respectful
and full of dignity. As she glanced to
ward John, however, something
Hashed in her eyes and quivered at the
corners of her lips, something which
escaped her control, something which
made him grip for a moment the bad
of the chair against which lie stood
Then, between the old manservant
who insisted upon carrying her candle
to her room, and her maid, who walked
behind, she crossed the white stone
hall and stepped slowly up the broad
fiight of stairs.
Louise has quite an interesting
little chat with John before she
resumes her journey, and in his
mind is awakened something
that hasn’t been stirred for a
very long time.
(TO HE CONTINUED.)
FOODS THAT CAUSE RICKETS
Disease ts Due to Too Little Animal
Fat Protein and Lime Salts ii»
Dietary* Says Doctor.
“Beware of giving young children too
much pasteurized inilk. proprietary
food, or even eereais. to the exelu
sion of brow n bread and butter,
stewed fruit or roasted apple, and a
little meat once a day,” writes Dr.
Beverley ltohinson of New York in
giving a warning note about rickets in
the New YTork Medical Journal.
He adds that he Is “considering
especially children two or three years
"Id. who are healthy and vigorous un
less rickets develops unawares by
reason of faulty dietary.” And lie
quotes the following from Osier:
“Like scurvy, rickets may lie found
in the families of the wealthy under
perfect hygienic conditions. It is most
common in children fed on condensed
milk, the various proprietary foods,
cow's milk and food rich in starches.”
Bickets is the cause of knock-knees
and bow legs. It is due to toe little
animal fat and protein in the dietary,
together with too little lime salts.
Her Memory Faulty.
She was middle-aged, stylishly
gowned and apparently sane. And she
was looking at the pointings in the
Corcoran Gallery of Art through a
gold-framed lorgnette, that dangled
from a jeweled gold chain.
Another woman was standing before
a canvas, and, in a desire for informa
tion, or. perhaps, for the sake of social
interchange, the lady of the lorgnette
inquired, affably:
"Is that a picture of the death oi j
the Lord?"
“No, madam; it represents the mar
tyrdom of St. Sebastian.”
“Ah, I see. I have the poorest mem
ory. I knew that they killed the
Lord, of course, but I disromembered
just how.”—Washington Star.
Dealers throughout Australasia note
an increasing demand for woman’s
hats and sports coats of American
make.
I
Don t take chances
this year! Use
GO
BK
C= .=» RED RUBBER^
- They Fit All Standard Jan
Experts teaching “coW pack” canning use GOOD
LUCK rubbers because they won't ”biov. out”
during sterilization nor harden, shrink or crack m.n~t
the jar is sealed. Send 2c stamp for new b- ■ t - a
preserving or 10c in sumpa for l doz. rings if y r
dealer cannot supply you. Address Dept. 54
BOSTON WOVEN HOSE A RUBBER 4.0 j
Cambridge. Mass.
USES FOR FAMILY UMBRELLA
Mind of Woman Devises Twc Ways if
Which Rainstick May Be Pressed
Into Service.
Two novel uses for an umbrella r
rold of fn a recent issue of Popular M
chanics Magazine. The mind of «> ■
an devised them both.
Picnickers desiring to go in bntl. .
are often handicapped by the lack ‘
convenient places to change clothe- A
umbrella and some paper muslin ( r
vides a light portable tent that is pr
tical and inexpensive for such us. -
f'ut the dark paper muslin into ...
many nine-foot lengths as there u>
sections of the umbrella. Sew th>
strips together. At eaeh seam tie .
string about a yard long ami a ■ .
cord 15 feet long to the handle to b
up the tent. For use open the <::■
brella, invert it and to each rib lie .
end of the cord to the handle of the
umbrella and suspend it from a rr
or other support, weighting or tyi g
down the other end.
A clothes dryer that can he i-a-i!
carried will appeal to travelers ar. i
persons living in small quarters. Ar
umbrella. four yards of strong wraj
ping twine and several small bra
rings are required. Knot the rings
into the twine at intervals, measuring
the distance between the rib points <f
the umbrella, and hook the twine ti
the points by the rings, providing .
siderable drying space for small arti
cles. Hook the umbrella handle <c ■ r
a suitable support or tie it careful
to the supporting pii»e of a light tlx
ture in the middle of the room, read/
for the articles to be dried.
That Was Different.
"I want,” said the grim-faced > ’•m
mander, “a dozen men who will give
their lives to their country.” The en
tire regiment stepped forward. The
commander selected twelve.
“Now,” said he, “you are to hold this
position until you are wiped out."
“But we shall lie killed!" quavered
one.
“Did ycu not volunteer to give your
life to your country?" asked the c.
mander sternly.
“Oh, ‘life!’ I thought you »
‘wife!’ ”
Had Short Memory.
Landlord (to I'at. who lias just ;
his rent)—I hear you are a good j;
of whisky, Pat. Now, here are two
different bottles and 1 want you t"
me which is the best.
Pat takes a glass of each, smacks his
lips and looks wise.
Landlord—Well, Pat. which is the
best?
Pat—Begorra. yer honor, they are
both good, but would you mind tilling
tne another glass of the first. I have
forgotten the taste of it.
Apology.
“I hear. Mr. Catts, that you said I
was a wallflower at the hall."
“My dear Mist; Pussy, I remarked
that you were among the conspi -q
ous mural ornaments of the occa
sion.”
“Oh. Mr. Caus, now that’s some
thing different, but yon flatter me."
Accounts for It.
“Money is trouble.”
“I guess that is why people are al
ways borrowing it.”
Boston may soon have women
street ear conductors.
Whole Wheat
and
MahedBariey
skillfully blended
and processed
make
Giape-Nuts
a most delicious
food in flavor
as well as a
great body, brain
and nerve builder.
"TtaobaBaason
