The Columbus journal. (Columbus, Neb.) 1874-1911, March 04, 1908, Image 6
PlWFill! -"" L"5Ti;1"rzrrecrR-,-.,." rfi- . ,-fc--- y?-x r r -"'T"-" "- T-v.. -. -I-'-----, 5v " T - jw '"r SP' i : -ssT ' snsl BBSnT- BsSl sBnV -a. ya l-.t. !-. ij IV i irrc IV ' f A 'Bsr -Brhs! ssMMH nm - . l k"" s if t - X SYNOPSIS. SYNOPSIS. Burton H. Barnes, a wealthy American touring Corsica, rescues the young Eng lish lieatcnant. Edward Gerard Anstruth-er.-'aml his Corsican bride, Marina, daughter of the Paolis. from the mur derous . vendetta, understanding that his reward is to be 'the hand of the girl he loves. Enid Anstrutlier. sister of the Eng lish lieutenant. The four fly from Ajae cto to Marseilles on board the French steamer Constantine. The vendetta pur sues and as the quartet are about to board the train for London at Marseilles. Marina is handed a mysterious note which causes her to collapse and necessi tates a postponement of the journey. Barnes gets part of "the mysterious not and receives letters which inform him that ho Is marked by the vendetta.- lie employs an American detective and plans to beat the vendetta at their own game. Ftor the purpose of securing the safety of the women Barnes arranges to have Lady Char iris lease a secluded villa at Nice to which the party is to be taken ta a yacht. Barnes and Enid make arrangements for their marriage. The net tightens about Barnes. Ho re ceives a note from La Belie Blackwood. the American adventuress. Barnes hears that Elijah Emory, his detective, has been murdered by the 'Coraicans. He loams that the' man supposed to be Cor rotio, who followed the party on their way to the boat, was "Sallceti. a nephew of the count, and that Count Corregio had been In Nice for some time prior to the party's arrival. The count warns Barnes not to marry Enid unless he would have her also involved in the mur derous feud. Barnes and Enid are mar ried. Soon after their wedding Barnes' bride disappears. Barnes discovers she has been Wdnated and taken to Corsica. The groom secures a fishing vessel and is about to start in pursuit of his bride's castors when he hears a scream from the villa and ruslies bac!; to hear tiiat Anstmthertt .wife;' "Marina, is also miss ing. Barn-.ii Is compelled to depart for Corsica without delay, and so he "leaves the seArch for Marina to her husband while ne goes to limit for Enid. Just be fore Barnes' boat lands on Corsica's shore Marina is discovered hiding in a corner of the vessel. She explains her action by saying she has come to help Barnes rescue his wife from the Corsi cans. When Barnes and Marina arrive in Corsica he is given a note written by Enid informing him Hint the kidnaping Is for the purpose of entrapping Karnes, so the vendetta may kill him. Itarr.es and Marina have unnsuul adventures in their search for Enid. CHAPTER XII. Continued. They dash up the gorge for half a mile and she says sharply. "It is here, pointing fo a steep ascent, that. cambered by ferns aud wild flowers, makes a most unpromising roadway. Then she catches her breath and whistiers: "You expect an ambush?" for the American has now his rifle on the saddle in front of him, western fashion, and his pistols ready in his belt. "I do, answered Barnes and relates the words of the shepherd. "Quick!" cries the girl. "This trail will take you right up Del Oro. where you can look down on Bocognano. By it. you will get between your enemies aad .your destination." "My destination is my wife. She is in this valley with those men." "Oh. ,1 think not. Saliceti is too crafty. He is still conveying Enid to Bocognano and has left only some of his followers to slay you. Come on." Barnes follows his guide up the steep little path, that covered with vises and wild flowers is difficult to discern, but after they had gone a few hundred yards, the rocks growing larg er, the trail more precipitous, Marina says: "Here we must leave our ponies aad climb on foot." So they pasture the two hardy little brutes in a vale full of 6oft grasses and leave them munching contentedly. Barnes, sling lag his haversack over his shoulder, Marina having nothing to carry with her. J. Before, her now strides the Ameri can, his alert eyes always glancing down the steep declivities to their left, for the almost unused trail they are following is hundreds of feet above the travelled bridle path that keeps to the torrent, dashing through the bottom of the valley. After nearly an hour of this, the noise of a waterfall strikes their cars, gradually growing louder. Five minutes later. Barnes holds up his hand cautiously. Marina's glance follows his; far below them, conceal ed in the big rocks that skirt the stream at the little bridge near the waterfall, are several crouching. armed men. A little farther down the rapid, in the top of a big" beech tree, is perched another, his hand shading hie eyes from the rays of the declining sua thai shines in his face as he looks down the pathway coming from the east. "These gentlemen arc waiting -for me. remarks the American, ia his face the supreme joy of a sportsman who gjjl bag not only one head, but a battue. He puts his rifle on the ground, taoseas both revolvers in bis belt and auks: "The way to descend the preci pice from here?" "Why?" falters the girl. "Why? Because I am now the hunt "er.".aaawers Barnes. "Do you-think I as, going to spare the wretches who have stolen my wife? None of 'them! Quick, the path by which I can inter cept thom and cut them off to the last .Marina rooks at his fatal pistols and shudders! "Thank God, there is no path!" "Ah, then I will have to be con tent with the sentry, that fellow in the beech tfee .there." "My. Go4. it you kill any of them." amass .Marina, fyou will never get out of the island alive. You came to save., .her. not to murder her." She puts a white imploring hand on Barnes, who is already preparing , bis iriie. Then she suddenly' half cries: Tour wife. You want her!1' and points-far up to the top of-the pass be tween the two great mountains, Ro- tonfio and Del Oro. and Barnes eyes following her hand, he sees figures silhouetted against the clear blue Al pine air. All are mounted, and one is surely a woman. . 7J"Yom think that is my. wife?" 1 "I am sure of it. Saliceti has only left some of his men behind to waylay if you come on unguardedly." Barnes doesn't even. answer her. His snick steps are carrying him so rapidly ia pursuit . akmg the. dizzy itain path that Marina, though lfe!imfaegfflg!.t the poor girl half runs, can scarce keep up with him. Their path leads along the preci pices, aow -and again reaching some little mountain valley through which a stream trickles between1' stunted pines, and about whose rocks are- growing the sweet forget-me-nots and violets ofyCorslca. But as they near the summit, of the mountain, darkness comes also and a blinding mist, cold with the chill of melting snow, descends upon them, and enveloping them with a fleecy sheen, the rocks and, lichens about the path are shrouded from their gaze. They are above the timber line and the great bare granite blocks bruise Marina's tender feet as they stumble among them. I The girl Jays her hand upon her companion's arm."We may reach the summit before darkness," she pants, out of breath, "but the dizzy descent on the other side is impossible without daylight." "I remember. answers Burton. "I have passed down it hunting moufflon." Then he takes off his hunt ing coat and places it carefully over the delicate shoulders of his fragile companion, already shivering in her light summer garment under the Icy mist about her. "4 am thinking of some shelter for you. for we must pass the night upon the mountain." he says tenderly: then asks anxiously: "Do you know one?" 'Y-e-s." she replies. 'her teeth chat tering, "if we can reach it in this storm. The little chalet where poor old Concealed in Big Rocks that Skirt the Tomasso sometimes took me when he brought me here as a child to pluck the flowers of the mountain." With this she turns abruptly to the left, and Barnes following her, they struggle up a couloir filled with mas sive boulders, but nearing the summit the mist becomes colder, the wind sharper and the gloom more deep. Sur rounded, as they are, by frightful precipices, this is appalling. "I've lost my way," mutters Marina, her voice low with faihtness, but a moment after she cries: "Ah.- see the granite cliff. Follow its wall! The cabin is beneath it But beware! beyond the cabin there is a very deep crevice." The wind howls about them. The night is even blacker, but keeping the sheen of the cliff close at his left. Barnes stumbles over the granite slabs almost carrying the exhausted girl. Finally, compelled by the howl ing of the wind, he calls into her ear: "Courage! I see the hut Thank God, someone has a fire inside it" "Perhaps it is made by the awful bandits, the Rochini and Romano who murder so many poor travellers," shudders Marina. But undeterred by this, using the light as a' beacon, her escort rapidly approaches the open door of the little cabin, from which issues a cheerful gleam. Suddenly they pause, for a deep tone issues threateningly from its in terior: "Kola, if you are gendarmes, beware of me!" "Madre mia." gasps Marina, with a low scream, "that voice." "Bandit or no bandit, you shall give us. warmth and shelter!" calls Barnes in answer. Then he too, stands astounded, as from. the rough door strides a man. and outlined by the flickering blazes and surrounded by the mists o? the mountains is a face that makes Marina tremble and shrink: "Holy Mother of God. a ho3t!" For it is the countenance of her foster father, old Tomasso Monaldi, whom everyone had thought dead from the night of her wedding; hJV-' slBahnssPsZ A Jlls vstfsJ vv .jb nssn 4JVbwEssBbssI n"" Vipaaay liljlll lAr.f ilijr M Bnrsv. -"s! EsTaV " 9"njksw sHKnSns f 'tvST-' SBSssssssssswBnssssns AnsmT-'' ' i tSr sjjiAtf sSST M r SBf v "sSBBBBBBBBBBB'SfnsSSSSSBl BBBuk,-. jjr 1 MlIBfJL M '" Km- - nssssssssssssssXssssssmr jsamSaaaaw . aa.aw ''nv-- J-aTr sSsSsSsSsSsSsmssXBssnf L'SlSSnBBBBBw . n ST "S a"' .SXs. JinsSSBBBBBBBBBBBBBBj-sb9BS KHBBsusi91ns9QkkBBasasassau ,&-v "ijr nrBSTsSTnsSTBTP9aw' '?.v'-'tv''v'.l-' ''nsasaTBB7nsT7)rtf'-v"?Ca. assssualassasflnWs -'-Ci tf C? -.- -' nsr ascr'g. yg sk v julKEfWKtrV2KTii''jFz-' Y-''"-?'-"''WBB53'5Bsnsnp" Ss SSBBBy 7s Ssjvkr' vi.d V . v . S'E'SBSSS' sCljs&L&AeSks But sow the goblin recognizes her; It cries: "Marina! daughter of say heart! you have come to'saccor yomr poor old hasted dowmTomiasso,M and slaking on his knees it- catches the half fainting girl's hand, aad kisses It reverently. "Too, alive, dear old Tomasso? IBs- possible! " half shudders, hall sobs the girl, sinking down beside the spirit and looking Into his deep, dark eyes that gleam so lovingly upon her. ' "Two weeks ago, on the morning of the tragedy. De Belloc's soldiers re ported to that officer in my presence that they'd killed you," -says Barnes impressively. "Bah!" sneers the ghost; "the ser geant, I suppose, told his officer they shot me. The soldiers fired. It was easier for me to fall down behind a granite boulder than stand up and let them shoot again, though it was the darkness of the early morning. Then I came up on the mountain here, and fearing the soldiers would again pur sue me, I nave been a hermit, de scending at night to the lower valleys to garner chickens and steal sheep." "Holy smoke," grins the American, "here's the fellow for whose death they have vendettaed me. alive and talking!" CHAPTER XIII. Glorious Bandits." The storm fairly howls about them, but Marina forgets it as Tomasso half sobs: "Your coming here, dear mis tress, shows you forgive me for the killing of the Englishman, your hus band, the one who murdered An tonio in the duel," and the flickering light revealing Barnes' face, he ex claims: "The American who saw your brother slain. Ah, now you agree with me this accursed Anstruther's death was just." "Thank God. you didn't murder "him!" cries the girl. "Your stiletto en tered the heart of Musso Danella, who deserved death for his lies." "I killed poor Musso Danella?" stammers the old Gorsican. Then he mutters as if he can't'-believe: "No, no. I heard his groan as I struck through the curtains." "Twas the groan of Musso Dan ella," answers Marina. "That you Stream Are Several Cronching Men. killed the right man proves my hus band innocent. 'Twas the hand of God directed you." The girl's voice is very reverent. "Then if it was the hand of God. Danella's death is sure proof your husband killed not Antonio," says To masso solemnly, making the sign of the cross; but again breaks forth: "No. no the proofs Musso gave to both you and me made us believe this Anstruther, your spouse, shot your brother. The things he held up to our very eyes " "Were the property of another English officer one killed in action on a British warship under the Egyptian guns at Alexandria! Do you think I'd live in the arms of a man with my brother's blood upon him?" cries the young wife fervidly. "No, that is not possible, also." agrees old Monaldi. "But." interjects Barnes, "while you jabber here, your darling mistress dies of cold." "Oh, my heart is warm enough with joy at seeing Tomasso live to make me forget the icy wind." and the en thusiastic girl kisses the rugged face of her old servitor. "Nevertheless, I have not forgotten supper," suggests the commossense American, and half drags Marma into the cabin. "Eating first and affection afterward." (TO BE CONTINUED.) Transformation in Ocean Travel The wealthy passenger for Europe does not now book a cabin of a steam ship, but engages a suite, which is in reality a commodious flat consisting of four luxuriously appointed rooms drawing room, dining room, bedroom and bathroom furnished and decorat ed in the most costly and artistic man ner with a rare and beautiful variety of woods, upholsterad with silks, dam asks, tapestries and brocades. Every possible convenience is provided even the blessings of the telephone have not been overlooked, so that pas sengers in their staterooms may call up friends in distant parts of the ship and make appointments for dinner, etc. Leslie's Weekly. i ..' r ' Joe-Dad's Bee Tree r9 AN EPISODE fit WOODS i ANDWATES EXPLOITS EfiMst Mcfaffty i A. fTmsf Cm Ctc. SafkhBshiJ imi (Coyrnkt, by Josepk B. Bowles.) "See that," said old Joe-Dad, as he rose from the skiff and peered into the surrounding timber. "Mmm," went on the ancient "pusher." "I reckon they's a bee-tree round here somewhere's. How'd some honey taste on them flap-jacks we're bavin at camp?" "What're you mumbling about, Joe," was my answer as I hooked on a me dium sized meadow frog, the kind the big-mouth bass are so partial to; "what did you see when you stood up just now?" "Bee." said Joe-Dad. We had been fishing for several days on the Illinois river, with our camp at the mouth of a creek that emptied into the river. Big-mouth bass, wall eyed pike and young squirrels had been our bill of fare, with plenty of corn-meal pan-cakes, or "flap-jacks," as the pusher called them. The possi bility of honey, however, interested me mightily, for I have what is com monly known as a "sweet tooth." So when we got back to camp, after getting a half dozen thumping bass, and after Joe-Dad had carefully locat ed the direction the bee went, the THE ROPE! plans and specifications for raiding the bee-tree were elaborately dis cussed. "We've got plenty o rope," said the pusher," knocking the ashes out of his short-stemmed pipe, "arid two good axes. We may have to build a 'smudge,' and agin mebhy we won't have to." "You must have been an interested party in some bee scrape, Joe," was my answer. "Fur awhile, fur awhile," was the "pusher's" response. "Yes, I reckon I was about the most pizenously inter ested feller in a chunk o rope that ever happened Into the timber." "Why. that sounds like a story, Joe," said I. "tell me about it." "Well." begun Joe-Dad. it was this-a-way. I was young, an' I wuz green as to bees. I wuz the best climber next to a squirrel that ever shinned up a saplin. I'd lived in the woods, an' ylt I wuz so busy huntin' an fish in that I'd never been huntin' fer bee trees more'n four er five times. But I wuz mightily shore I wuzn't a 8keered uv ary bee that ever d rawed a stinger." "So one night over comes Bob Early to the cabin, an' he's got a bee tree sighted that's plumb full o honey to hear him tell it. an' nothin'll do but fer him an' pap to git out after it next mornin.' But the old man's got a line o' traps he's got to 'run, an' he says fer me to go 'long 'ith Bob. So bright an' soon the next mornin' Bob an' me's pinted fer this here bee tree. Bob's got an ax. I've got an' ax, an' Bob's carryin' a long rope," "What's the rope fer. Bob." sez I. "Jist to hang oureelves ef we miss findin' that bee tree," says Bob. "I didn't say nothin' to that, fer I knew Bob Early was" raised on bees. I an that he wasn't packin that quoil o rope ier mn. "An so perty soon we got to a clear In down in the timber, an' Bob took a squint through the bresh, an at last he sez, 'straight jut from this here log to'rds the river.? So we starts 'to plough through the awftillest tangle you ever seen. Buck-hresh, black berry briers, pieces o swamp, old logs an the devil's own mix-np o' wood an' water. Finally old Bob halts clost to the river, an lookin up at the edge uv an openin' in the woods he sez We've hit fer. here she is.' " ""Then I sqtdnted up, an there was the biggest and slickest sycamore I 'boat ever seen, no branches low down, but up about forty feer or so there O . 4& wnz a turrible big dead limb stkktn' ont from the malm trunk. Am' from that dead-limb yoa could see the bees goin' ia an' comin' out. am' says Bos. Thars oar honey.'" "There was another good-sued limhl stlckln' out from the tree clost to the dead one, am' maerly I sex, Howre we goin' to git all this here homey? That sycamore would toagh a grey squirrel to climb it Ez fer a mam; he coaldmt climb it no more'm he could climb a rain-bow.'' "Bob never said mothia' bat jist kep' flggerlm' 'roan, am' them he sex, 'Well fell that thar seplia' sost It'll fall acrost the dead limb.' sex he. 'aa ef it don't bust her down, one o us 'II have to climb the saplin' an cut away the limb." "So Bob an' .me lays our axes into the saplin' ah'. when the saplin is about ready to go. Bob throws the rope over one of it's limbs an' hitches to a tree close up so'st the saplln's bound to come down on the, dead limb. Well, sir, down comes Mr. Sap lin square across the dead limb a few feet from the big sycamore itself. But' it didn't bust the limb. Some o' the bee3 they come out but went back agin', an' Bob an' me we jist stood an' looked." " 'It's a case o climb,' sez he.'" 'Now bein' that I wuz nacherly the best climber in the world. I allows I'll go up. Bob sez 'Cut her off as near the butt as you kin, an' I'll sling you' the rope up after the limb busts off, an' you kin tie her to the green limb you'll be standin' on. throw down your ax an slide down the rope. I'll cut loose from the green limb with a couple o' bullets an' there you are." "So I ties the ax tight to me an' up I goes. It wuzn't very hard, an' I gets up to the spot in a few minutes. Then I unties the ax an' begins chop pin' on the dead limb. I hadn't got her half off when the weight o' the saplin weakens the limb an' it tears off an' falls, takin' with it the heft o the honey, but leavin' about seven bushels o bees at the butt o' the limb, an' along on one side o the limb HOLLERS I. where it had fetched loose from. Well, that looked all right, but in about three seconds the bees appintett a committee to investigate. Something like twelve or fifteen thousand bees wuz on this committee, an the first thing they did to me wuz to jist sting me once for good luck. 'The rope." hol lers I. an then I shet my mouth an eyes fer fear the bees'd start in on me there. They ccrt'ny did sting me awful. I thought I'd fall ofTn the limb. I wuz skeered to try to slide down the sycamore, cuz I'd a dropped forty feet an broke my neck certain. The saplin o" course had gone with the dead limb, an thar I wuz forty feet up in the crotch, an gittin stung at the rate o six hundred stingers a second." "Well. Bob. he jist nacherly gits the rope untied from the saplin as soon as he kin. an quoils her up an' sends it across the limb so's I ketch it the first sling. But by that time I'm one big bunch o pizen from them stings, an partickler my head and neck. Pears like they mostly settled on my back, an the back o' my neck, an' when I got the rope, they sort o shifted an' commenced to sting my hands." "Well. sir. I didn't lose any time gittin' a hitch. to the limb with that rope an' when I slid down her I cert'ny perty near set fire to it I went down so tarnation quick." "Talk about PAIN! Why I was jist the painfullest feller in the woods. Bob grabbed me the minute I lit. an he had a big gob o' honey in his hands. He rubbed that honey into the stings, an I want to say right here that in two hours I wuz all right, though I wuz some sore. But the honey took the pizen out. an' after a couple o days I wouldn't a knowed I'd a-hoen stung at all. But lawz-a-me. I'll never furgit settin' up thar a hundred feet from the ground, er say forty feet, an gettin" peppered by them bees." "An' ho you see ef it hadn't a-been fer the rope we had along. I'd a had to jump an' break my neck er stuck thar tell them bees had jist nachcrly stung mc plumb ofTn the limb." "After I'd got shet a little o' the pain, by Bob rnbbin in the honey, he sez to me. 'What do you think of a rope in raidin a bee tree?' " "And what did you say to that, Joe Dad?" was my inquiry. "I sez the next time I goes after a bee tree, I 'lowed I'd pack a ladder, If they wuzn't no objections." -..r.l-.; p'frn -- J vy--ymk I- sflssVfVnsslnsssjLsKssBRsB sBnSTnsPSBBBBBBBBBBBsPsar Parasols, which are aow being shown in the shops, are altogether lovely. Chiffon, gauze, silk and linen are all represented and ia the most fascinating developments. The love liest in the group Is a white liberty satin embroidered with a design of a flight of swallows in shades ranging from a rich cream to golden brown. This Is mounted on ivory ribs and has a stick to match. The white linen sun shades show open embroideries in pale pastel colorings quite as often as the all white needlework. One of the pretty dancing costumes worn recently was a rose-colored chif fon, with a border of flowered gauze. A fold of bias panne velvet of the. same shade over the shoulders lent a soft line to the neck, while a fringe of chenille hung over the waist line, giv ing the figure the required straight ef fect Another pretty frock was of green crepe, with drapery fastened on the shoulder with a buckle. The gown was made empire style and showed just a touch of black velvet here and there. In both cases the slippers matched the gown. This is a nice idea and pre cludes the possibility of wearing the wrong combination. Conventional figures aad polka dots prevail among the new designs in em broidery this season, both in the sheer white goods and in flannel. I saw such a dainty pattern among the latter that would be pretty for babies' long skirts. It was hemstitched, the hem decorated at intervals with little curlycues worked in white silk, while above was a decoration of dots in satin stitch. It was only 69 cents a yard, and was mqch to. be preferred to another by its side which was de cidedly more elaborate, though less in price. Better a little fine embroidery than a cheap, gaudy pattern. A white or colored cotton dress usually becomes creased and crumpled long before it is soiled sufficiently to warrant its dispatch to the laundry. A little thin starch, made with cold water, will, however, be found excel lent as. a means of stiffening the skirt where it has become limp, a sponge dipped in the starch being used with which to dampen the material. The garment should then be spread over an ironing board and pressed all over by degrees, says Woman's Life. One of the loveliest of the luncheon dresses is made of rose-colored cloth. PRETTY FANCY APRON The fancy apron now plays a more important part in the wardrobe of the up-to-date woman than for some time past. The iopuIarity of the chafing dish has been a factor in this development and the young girl or matron who does not own one or more fancy aprons is an exception. Fine, sheer materials naturally have the preference, and white takes the lead, but among the daintily-figured stuffs that are so alluring are many that serve admirably for the fashioning of these aprons. In the accompanying sketch is shown a particularly fetching apron of figured lawn. As indicated, it is made from two squares of the material, ths anron part simply requiring a little feather stitching around the hem on three sides and a little rounding out at the waist line to be ready. The bib calls for more work, as the circular opening for the head must be carefully measured and neaUy finished. The two squares are adjusted at the waist with a buttonhole. A feature that distinguishes this apron from others simi larly fashioned is that the bib in the back .comes down to meet waist line and is attached to the belt button. Large bandanna, handkerchiefs are ser viceable for aprons of this type, which are practical as well as pretty. MMWMM juuutprwv -" " -" " Kimono Much Liked. That graceful and fascinating gar ment the kimono, which Americans have borrowed from the Japanese, has found much favor in the eyes of wom en of the Occident, and it has evi dently come to stay. But of the thousands of women who slip into its easeful folds for that de lightful hour when they loaf and in vite their souls and the confidences of their friends, how many know that the Japanese, men and women alike, invariably wrap the kimono from left to right? Only when the perform the last toilet for the dead do the Japan ese reverse their custom and wrap it from right to left Since American women have marked the kimono as their own, they might do well to adopt its traditions along with it and wrap it from left to right Rich Wedding Gown. A rich effect in gold lace and white .satin was shown in the gown worn at a recent house wedding. It was a heavy white satin princess, with a col lar and upper yoke of point lace fol lowed by a deep yoke of gold lace. The sleeves, ending at the elbows. ??; J-.i-'' r oty . with a long, plain drooping skirt The waist Is a little affair im Ivory-colored lace. Bat the 'coat is oae of those elaborate little Freach coats, cat away in the front and finished with velvet collar and cuffs. The hat Is a wida black one. with an immense feather going almost entirely around the brim and hanging off at the back. A spring costume of graceful out lines is noticeable for the lining which shows oa the moderately wide three quarter length sleeves and beneath the points of the godet jacket skirt This costume was fashioned by a woman of considerable renown as a fashion able modiste, and certainly the cos tume does her credit. The material used Is a rich-looking green broad cloth, a color which is almost black, yet shows the verdure tinge. The style is simple, the only noticeable feature being displayed in the pointed godet arrangement of the jacket. It Is lined with burnt orange silk. These two colors, while so very different have combined splendidly ia this cos tume. The idea of a wholly different color for a lining is. Indeed, a new move toward more originality and less imitation of other fine frocks. As simple and dainty a yoke for a chemise as you could and Is made from two handkerchiefs. The hand kerchiefs should not be lace-trimmed, but may be daintily embroidered around the plain hemstitched hem. The two handkerchiefs are used for the yoke, front and back, and for lit tle sleeve caps. The handkerchiefs are cut in half, from one corner to the other, so as to make four triangular pieces. The cut edges of two of the pieces arc used for the tops of tho front and back yokes. This makes tho opposite corner extend into the chemise in a point. The chemise is cut to form a point and the hem stitched edges of the pieces are sewed to the chemise to form the point The back of the chemise is made in the same manner, and the cut edges are neatly hemmed. The other two pieces of handker chief are then hemmed neatly on the raw edges and the two "smaller cor ners are firmly fastened, one each to one end of the front and back of the chemise, so as to make the larger and uncut corner fall in a pointed cap over the arm. Lace is then sewed to the four upper sides of the handkerchiefs, which form the top of the yoke. At each side of the arms, where the shoul der cap joins, the yoke pieces, a dainty bow of ribbon is placed. (0 .VnnnBBBBBBBBfcV sbbbbbbbbbJs V'SBsnnnnnm J1JirJ).J...J....Jfc..-.r..(1(nJ1f1J were each of two flounces of Venetian point and Mechlin lace, draped irreg ularly and quite closely to the arm. From the gold lace yoke, in both the front and the back, three graduated bands of gold lace went nearly to the gown's hem. These bands tapered -in toward the waist line and then out again, and between the "three ends at the hem an impiecement of gold lace I formed deep points. A Thought I am coming to believe that there is work for everybody somewhere. It may not be the work we want, and it may not he the place in which we de sire to stay, but it will supply creature comforts, and that is a great deal, says Home Chat. Most of us have to do unpleasant things, from time to time, but it is quite possible to do them cheerfully. What He Panted Fer. Little Tommy Whacken was .taken by his mother to choose a pair of knickerbockers, and his choice fell oa a pair to which a' card was attached, stating: "These can't be b?ates " 1 Current Literature n 4 ) i HI - M ' I J I l ' ! :5aaoiilissSsssdSMsssssssnSMil Jip ,, i ", " ' ggnBB!gi P?TSW!P"SnJS"BJ . ss"S"rK tBtmmmna.ui u Ljifi. .' i am r -