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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;
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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
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EXPLOITS
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(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."
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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
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