PES SFB va 3% 0% 140
Bellefonte, Pa., June 24,1892
THAT BROTHER OF MINE.
Who is it comes in likes whirlwind,
And closes the door with-a slam,
And, before he has taken his hat off,
1s cut ‘tor:* ‘some bread and some jam?
Who is it that whistle so loudly eT
As he works at some langle of twine
That will send his kite up into cloudiand ?
Why, of course, it's that brother of mine.
Who is it that when I am ‘weary,
Has always & whole in his coat,
A button to sew on in a hurry,
A sail’ to be made for a boat ?
Who isiit that keep in my ket.
His marbles and long fishing line,
And expects, undisturbed there to find them ?
No-one else but that brother of mine.
Who is it that tiptoes about softly
Whenever I'm sick or in pain—
Audis G¥SEN minate forgetting
And whistling some he iting stain ?
Who is it that when he is trying
To be just as still as he can,
1s always most terrible noisy ? . ;
My brother, of course —he's the man. :
‘Who is it I'd rather have by me
When in need of a true, honest {riend :
Who ib it: that T'shall miss'sadly ©
When his boyhood has gome to an end ?
And when he is far from the old home,
And I long for a glimpse of sunshine
Whom then do you think-I shall send for,
Why, of course for that brother of mine.
Agnes L. Pratt, in Good Housekeeping.
MARGUERTTES LOVERS.
A Seaside Romanee of Fidelity, Rivalry and
Worldly Wisdom. 1a
BY AGNES MARIE MULHOLLAND,
«Hello, old boy! "Not in bed yet?”
Up went the gas jet in a sputtering
protest, and by way of challege a pack-
age of folded newspapers flew over to-
ward the fireplace with the most flat-
tering results toa ‘well directed aim.
They wete quickly hurled back and
struck the reading’ lamp, as thelong,
athletic figure’ in the lounging chair
middenly sat bolt upright and brought
to view Delancy Hulburd’s handsome
face. hd :
“Oh, I say, Tom, what an awful
bore you are,” ‘he grumbled. “What
have you been ‘up to ‘at ‘such an un.
earthly hour? 'Fell asleep’ waiting on
on.” LA 1a 1 197 Hi
“Tell yon what, there was a rattling
gue of: billiards at. the Eversham:
ouldn’t get. away,” laconically . ex-
plained Tom Donaldson.
that,” he eontinued, pushing the cigars
across the table, “you'll be sorry you
didn’t come along earlier. in the even-
ing, Went to make a call—perfect
dream of a girl,” a
Hulburd laughed ' unbelievingly.
“That' makes the twentieth ‘dream’
this week,” he remarked lazily, be-
tween puffs.
“Well, there’s no mistake this time,
Birdie,” said Tom, good naturedly
(Birdie being the name by which Mr.
Hulburd was generally known to his
familiars). “You'll admit that mnch
yourself, when youl see her,” he went
on, sitting down with the air of aman
about to bestow a precious confidence.
“It was rather an odd thing from the
beginning. The very fst day I came
down I saw her on the porch—they
live in the adjoining cottage, you know
No. one in the hotel here seemed to
know them—awfully exclusive and all
that, It seems the fates were on my
side, however. Late last Friday after-
noon I was seated just where I am
now, pegging away at a stiff bit’ of
Edripides, when suddenly my equani-
mity ‘was disturbed by the most terri
fying feminine shrieks. I was at the
window in a wink, and, bless you,
there sat my unknown princess in an
abnormally|Shigh cart and seemingly
paralyzed with fear; She still held on
to the lines, but the big bay was all
confused and kept backing obstinately.
I waited long enough to see the wheels
go over the carriage block and then I
made a rush forit. I gotdown in time
to catch the brute just as he went
crashing into the fence. A gray-hair-
ed'man came running down the cot
tage steps and lifted the girl out. He
gard : ‘My darling! Are you hurt?
‘Not at all, uncle,” she gaid, in a very
shaky voice’ ‘please take me in’
Then they both disappeared into the
house and I handed over the vehicle
to one of the hotel fellows.”
tiGireat Coosar 1 interrupted Hulburd,
contemplating his friend with a medi-
tative air, “that must have been the
very—""
“Now, see here, you wait Birdie,”
commanded Tom with an authorative
rap of the paper cutter. “I have the
floor vet, you know. Well, the old
gentlenan of my story called that
evening and solemnly thanked me for
saving his niece’s life. Next morning
my fair unknown and her aunt came
out as I was on the porch. The girl
said something in a low voice, and her
companion came over to the railing—
‘Mr. Donaldson, I believe? I said
‘yes, and then she went off into a
rhapsody of gratitude. Finally, to my
sincere relief, she called ‘Margreet!’
and the niece advanced shyly. ‘My
niece, Miss Wendell, Mr. Donaldson !’
‘My niece’ murmured something very
sweetly? and just then that prig Dudly
came out, ‘and the aunt drew stifly
back. ‘We would be pleased to have
you call, Mr. Donaldson. [knew some
of your family very well, that is, if you
are one of the Chestout Hill Donald-
gons, and I am sure the resemblance
is striking.” You may be surel lost
no time in confirming that supposition;
and then they went on their way for a
walk to Chelsea. I cailed exactly
twice, and to-morrow evening, by
special permission, I am to bring you
along.”
“Humph' very kind of you,” mum-
bled Hulburd sleepily, and then bright-
ening visibly, he got up with a mighty
stretch. “Now what I want to say is
this,” he began, “I have met her my-
self.’
“No bluffing now, Birdie. B: care
ful of the truth,” reminded Tom.
“That's straight,” declared Birdie,
beaming down guilelessly at his friend,
“on the identical afternoon of that
iceniical Friday I rescued a hat-pio,
veil and all from a watery grave in the
_| Noblesse oblige,
| that,” said Tom 'insinuatingly.
‘‘Besides | ;
was driving an uncommonly frisky
animal—"
“What did she look like ?”’ demanded
Tom, without ceremony—*“the girl, 1
mean,” he. added impatiently in|
answer to his tormentor’s teasing
smile. Ls 8 gon if 2
Lots “of browny gold—or goldie
brown, er—oh; dash it, you know the
prettiest kind of hair there is, you
know,” began Hulburd helplessly.
“Big, soulful, baby-blue eyes?’ sug-
gested “rom; helpful ye .
“Well, really, I didn’ get quite that
far, but I do believe they were blue,
and I know I wanted to see more of
them,” "asserted Hulburd mn a half
apologetic voice.
“Then yourunknown and mine must
be one and the same person,” cried
Tom in a tone of conviction. He arose
and indulged in a ‘profound yawn.
“You'll “come then, to-morrow even-
ing, old fellow? And I say, Birdie,
you might get the aunt interested’ in
gomé of your late European adventures.
you know, and all
“Be-
sides, you are sure to like her.”
“Like who—which ena?”
ered Tom feverishly.
Hulburd took him squarely by the
shoulde:s, “Good night, young man,”
he-8aid kindly and firmly. “I leave|"
you to your ravings, and may ‘the gods
be good to you.” Eg
“He is a very old family friend,” ‘ex:
“| plained Miss Marguerite. “The: expla
‘| nation was directed to’ Delaney Hul- |’
burd one evening later, and he looked -
up from the photograph of an‘evident
man of the world; which he was" re-
garding with a pretense of interest, to
the dainty. figure opposite, Joel be-
neath a spreading pink-shaded lamp.
“Very beautiful—that is, handsome,’
commented the visitor incoherently,
with his vision still limited to & piquant
goldan head and a confusion of rose
color.
| “Yes, isn't it?” ‘gushed the young |
lady,
“He is a Mr. Delancy Dawson,
of Philadelphia.” iy a
“Really |” cried Hulburd delighted:
ly. “Odd, now, isn't ity that that
should be. my name? . Delancy isn’t
half bad, you know, but they never
will call me anything else but Birdie,”
he added sadly, 1 a
“Well, that isn't half bad, either,
Perhaps’'—hesitatingly—*perhaps it
suits you. Thereis a great dea in a
name, after all.” !
| «Miss Marguerite, how cruel!” he
cries in shocked protest. .
Miss Marguerite looked roguisk for
an instant. “I will tell you a tremend-
ous secret,” she palpitated.
' Hulburd leaned forward as she
glanced apprehensively toward the yel-
low ‘lamp, beneath whose brilliancy
two figures were seated in conventional
attitudes. “You must never mention
it,” she: whispered, ‘but my aunt
thinks Mr, Donaldson extremely hand-
some.” | |
She sat upright again after washing
her hands of this confidence, and the
soft * dimples in her cheeks deepened
into tempting shadows.
“And you? What do you think?”
| 40h, really, I'm sure I never thought
about it at all,” she laughed with a
pretty assumption’ of airy: indifference.
“But isn’t he too funny 2” she rippled
on with another confidential lowering
of her'voice.
chair a trifle nearer-~ “You know,”
she went on gazing gravely down at|
her rings; “the very first time he call-
ed he spoke about you.” "~~ .
| “Indeed,” exclaimed Hulburd in 2
‘voice expressive of some curiosity.
| “Yes, really.” She flashed a demure
emile at him. “He told auntie—and
me—that you both had made a resolu-
tion to leave pretty girls alone in the
future, and devote all your leisure and
‘attention to the wall flowers and ugly
ones. I am sure it is awfully noble of
vou; but truly, now Mr. Hulbard,
don’t yon think it was the least bit un
kind?" He asked auntie almost in the
samebreath if—if he couldn’t bring
you to see me!”
“No, did he, though? Well, that
only goes to prove how far beyond the
ordinary was the temptation that caus
ed Donaldson to break his iron clad
resolution,” declared Hulburd gallant-
ly, and then they both laughed immod-
erately,
. “Hello, who's taking my name io
vain?” cried Tom, making his way
over as rapidly as was consistent amid
a confusion of bric-a-brac.
“Pray, do not tell my secret, Mr, Hul-
burd,” entreated the little hostess
anxiously.
“You may rely upon me, I assure
y )
‘you,’ he answered fervently, with a
mental abjuration at Tom for distvrb-
ing the charming tete-a-tete. ““Confi-
dences between them already,”’thought
Tom savagely. “No thank you. It's
scarcely worth while. We must be
going,” he said aloud, and Miss Mar-
guerite endeavored to look more or less
compunctious, and more. than ever be-
witching, “Well, what do you think
of her?” demanded Tom gruffly as they
strode along the beach a few minutes
later.
“Who, the aunt,” asked Hulburd
brightly.
“No, confound it, the niece,” retort:
ed Tom ferociously.
“Oh, as to that, you were right—a
dream is nowhere in comparison,” this
very placidly.
“Glad we agree for once,” said Tom
curtly, “and before {I say good night
let me thank you. Mrs. Chandler was
no end interested in the recital of your
European adventures—as related by
me!”
“Now, see here, Tom,” began the
other seriously, but Tom was already
out of speaking distance. Hulburd
shrugged his shoulders expressively.
“Humph, so that's the way the wind
blows,” he soliloquized meditatively,
and turning once more he trudged
along cheerfully in the direction of the
lighthouse to the whictled accom pani-
ment of the “Spanish Cavalier.”
It was again Saturday evening. The
tumultuous Atlantic. The owner of it
two college men had come down in an
“Why, the other, of course,” answ- |
Hulburd slipped his'gilt
early morning train; and now, to the
exceeding discomfiture of Mr, Hulburd,
whom the fates had designated her
artner, they had persuaded Aunt
Ch undler into taking a nocturnal walk.
“When I was’ a little girl 1 used to
think that path would take one straight
to heaven,” he heard Miss Marguerite
say remialacently in the rear, and then
he felt that Tom had made her atop’
by the pier, ostensibly to gaze at the
moon’s trailing reflection in the sea as
something miraculously new. He lost
Tom’s answer, howevee. | 17
“I think it would be au easy matter
for you to get 'to'heaven: by any path,
Miss Marguerite,” that gentleman was
declaring with profound sincerity.
“Oh, do you: think so?" she ques-
tions, raising her shining eyes with a
little show of surprise, and then turned
her child like = face towards the sea
again. “I am not always good,” she
asserted.
{ «What a base libel!” cried Tom, in-
dignantly gathering her fluttering wrap
carefully across her shoulders.
|] was cross—very cross, to-night,”
she persevered.
“Miss Marguerite !”
«Yes, it is true, You did not come
to say ‘good evening to me for such a
long time, and you talked to auntie
for ages.” ;
“Well. why "didn’t I come to say
good evening, and why did I talk to
Jour aunt for ages?” demanded Tom,
otly. | i
rs 8 gure I don’t know, Mr. Don-
aldson,” said his tormentor, sweetly.
“Yes, you do, too I" said Tom, with
a rudeuess born of provocation, “If
Hulburd had one grain of sense he'd
give np boring you to death and give
other peoplea chance to exchange or-
dinary greetings with—other ‘people.
Birdie's getting to be an awful cad, if
he.only knew it!’ | -
“I like Mr, Hulburd very, very
much,” confessed Miss Wendell, calm-
ly, struggling with a lock of rebellious
hair.
“Well, there's no accounting for
taste,” said Tom coldly, with both
hands plunged unsociably in his ulster
ckets. :
“And I like you, too, you know,”
said this sad little flirt, confronting him
with her laughing face, “so let us be
friends., It's wasting time to quarrel
such a beautiful night as this. Mr.
Donaldson, are you still cross ? Aren't
we friends?’ She held out her warm,
soft band, and 'om grasped it in both
his own with a feeling that he never
could and never would relinquish it
again. “Margreet!” echoed ‘another
well-known voice; ‘“Margreet, child,
where are you? Why are you dilly-
dallying? You might have some
thought for others, Here were Mr.
Birdie and I away down to Kentucky
avenue before we missed you. Mr.
‘Donaldson, do you mind walking back
with me? Mr. Birdieis such a quick
walker; and while I have it on my
mind I want to ask you about your
Aunt Florence Warnly. The last time
1 saw her was just after the war. Dear
me, I shall never forget the day she
came up from the South with her two
boys. Do you remember, Margreet nr
she called back.
“I'm afraid not, auntie,” answered
the'musical voice of her niece from an
ever increasing distace.
Hulburd, to whom good humor was
not yet restored, chuckled audibly.
“Were you speaking, Mr. Hulburd?”
she asked innocently, with an upward
glance of her charming face.
“Tr—no. Sort of a desecration to
tallc ‘on’ such fa night ‘as this,” he
‘answered uninvitingly.
“I’m glad you think as I do,” said
Miss Marguerite agreeably.
Hujhurd stopped suddenly.
«1 Rally do believe that some girls
‘have no more heart than a flower or a
butterfly,” he declared with some bit-
terness and in a tone of stern convic-
tion.
4 And I really do think that you are
very rudeto say such a dreadful thing
to me, Mr. Hulburd,” said Mies Mar-
guerite with a perceptible tremble in
the statement, and for the rest of the
way they both maintain a dignified
silence,
“Good night, Miss Marguerite,” said
Donaldson at the door, with an elo-
quent hand pressure.
Hulburd lingered to see Tom safely
on his way to the gate, “Miss Mar
guerite, may 1 see you to-morrow even-
ing?’ he entreated. “I must see you,”
he added, “there is something I must
tell youn.”
“We will be at home, Mr. Hulburd,’
said the gir! evasively. ‘“Good-night.”
“Margreet,” called her aunt from the
library. “I thought you'd never come
in. Sitdown, my dear.”
“Auntie, there's some bad news,”
said the child, apprehensively.
“Fhe usual thing,” sighedjber aunt,
resignedly, “we eimply "can’t keep up
appearances one week longer. Your
uncle's last veuture is a total failure, as
I always said it would be; and as you
know, there is the butone alternative.’
“Oh, auntie, dearest, not that,” cried
Marguerite, with a strange little sob
in her throat more eloquent than a
volume of expostulations.
“Well, Margreet, it is simply a case
of the almshouse tor us all or your
marriage to Delancy Dawson. I need
not remind you that your uncle and I
have made sacrifices innumerable for
you ; aad truly this is not such a great
one we ask in return. should think
a wealthy husband and a home of your
own would be two very acceptable
things.”
“Je seems so old. And I—do not
Jove him,” faltered the girl in a lifeless
voice.
“You at least respect him 2”
“Oh, auntie, yes. He is good—too
good for me—and I am so young.
‘Why, auntie, it seems only yesterday
since I was a little bit of ajchild.
“Tush! Old enough to have com-
mon sense; and Delancy Dawson ap-
preciates you above gold, sense or no
gence, He has loved you, as you know,
since you were a mere baby, and such
devotion is rather out of the common
nowadays. You had better think it
over, Margreet,” she added in a kinder
tone with a swift glance at the small
despoudent figure, “to-night must posi-
tively decide all.”
©] will think about it, and try to do
right,” said Marguerite, and rising:
‘wearily she went slowly to her recom.
Drawing acide the curtains she leaned
heavily against the window and gazed
out wistfully through & hot. mist. of
tears. ‘Two men walked rapidly. past
on the brilliant sand. Marguerite
pressed closer to the glass. ‘They
nave been walking all this time,” she
said in & eoft whisper, and then there
was a short sobbing laugh.
“Dear fellow! If auntie had only
turned her head aa instant sooner! It
was bold of you to kiss my hand, sir,
but to prove that I wasn’t so very vex-
ed I—will kiss it again,” and, rais-
ing * her hand, she pressed her hot
lipe to it lovingly. “Good-night, old
moon,” she said aloud with tearful
eyes upraised again ; “we've had many
a race and many a good tire together.
Marguerite, the little girl, . « thing
of the past. Marguerite married—ah!"".
Impulsively.she threw out her arms
as the placid planet, thus apostrophiz-
ed, sailed calmly under a passing cloud
leaving her in utter darkness. When
it was again light she did not notice
that the two men had disappeared, for
with head bowed down she had given
away to unrestrained weeping. She
arose the next morning with a terrible
feeling of depression. Aunt Chandler
read heroic resolutions in the pale,tired
face and kissed her silently. After-
wards Uncle Chandler came into the
library and patted her gently on the
head: She answered with a reassur-
ing pressure on his poor trembling
hand, and for an instant was possessed
with a wild notion of imploring him to
take this awful trouble from her, until
she realized with a shiver that it was
principally for. the sake of this gray-
haired old man that she had elected to
suffer. She turned to him suddenly
with ‘anxious, burning eyes. ‘Uncle
Chandler!” “Yes, darling.”
“When you were a young man did
you think—that is, do you think now
that all girls are as heartless as flowers
or butter-flies?”’ “Why, no, my dear,"
he hastened to answer conciliatingly;
“I hope that as a boy I never enter
tained a thought to make me so un-
worthy of my own mother, and I rather
think T believed then, as'I most firmly
believe now, that a good, sincere girl;
is one of the fairest things the Lord
ever created,” declares Uncle Chandler
stoutly. ‘And who talks of heartless
flowers to my pet,’ he'said, taking her
fondly in his arms, ‘sure, haven't the
very daisies got hearts of purest gold,
and Daisy Wendell —"
“Oh, you are such a dear, and such
a comfort,” interrupted the girl impul
sively, and with a quick, impetuous
embrace, she broke from him and flew
out of the room, while the old man
gazed after her apprehensively.
Shz was 1 high spirits in the even-
ing, and called to Hulburd from the
dining room when he came. He paus-
ed in mock astonishment at sight ofthe
dainty figure flitting about the pretty
square table. She nodded brightly.
“You are just in time to be of some
use, so make haste,” she commanded
gayly, with a wave of the crumb brush
for emphasis. Hulburd gleefully laid
aside his hat and gloves and entered
into action withi all the enthusiasm of
a school boy.
“I say,” he ventured, ‘this is, er—
sort of a lark, isn’tit?”’
“Sort of" she replied in the same
jovial spirit, ‘poor cook! She had
such a gruesome headache, and like
Mrs. Gummidge, she feels it more than
the rest of us, so I chased heraway to
bed after dinner.”
“Let us trust that she appreciates
your kindness,” eaid Hulburd with
sincerity.
“Poor cookie: She loves me so
dearly,” said Marguerite brushing
vigorously. .
“Happy cook I'" said the visitor sur
reptitiously, upsetiing the salt.
“Qn, now, you will think me fright.
fully conceited after sucha speech,”
cried Marguerite with a bewitching air
of concern. .
“It would be impossible to think
you otherwise than charming, Miss
Marguerite,” said Hulburd. “If you
don’t mind personalities, your gown is
no end becoming. The er——tucks make
a stunning effect.”
“Tucks! Mr. Hulburd they're
ruffles, And please do not spill any
more sugar, I beg of you. You've no
idea what work it is to brush so much.
“Then let me help. Let me brush
and you bold the tray. Miss Marguerite
Do.”
“Not if we are ever to finished.
Go back—go back to your own side of
the table, Mr. Hulburd. ' You must
help with the cloth. Lift the two cor-
pers gently: Fold in the crease; now
again; now stand there until I come
up to you, You see there is some art
in-—Oh, Mr. Hulburd! How could
you?’
| “Can't imagine, really,” answered
that truthful man, making a frantic
dash after his escaping portion of the
cloth- “It must be unusually slippery.
Perhaps a tablecloth, like a woman, i8
not to be relied upon.”
“Mr. Hulburd,” said Marguerite,
with an assumption of displeasure, “I
am truly grieved that you should cher-
ish such mistaken sentiment with re
ard to women.”
“But, Miss Marguerite, to prove how
true it all is, I can give you a dozen
quotations from Plato and a few other
old wiseacres. They all found you out
centuries ago, you see,” he persisted
teasingly.
“Plato is dead and can’t defend him.
self,” said Miss Marguerite logically.
“Besides, I prefer quotations from the
living.”
“Well frankly, now, if I were to give
my own original opinion of your sex,
the ancients to the contrary, you under
stand, Miss Marguerite—"
“Why the poor cloth would never be
folded,” interposed Marguerite with de-
liberate rudeness, at which Hulburd
feigned to be terribly abashed.
“We seem to do this sort of thing
pretty well together,” he ventured
when the work of the moment was once
more resumed. “We do it very badly
indeed,” said Marguerite with swall
show of mercy, as she in turn lost her
hold at the critical moment, and in_an
excitable effort to'regain her crumpled
share'of the linen, stumbled over the
rag and into a pair of very willing
arms, For an instant she leaued
against him with wildly beating heart,
and then with a startled ery endeavor
ed to free herself, But Hulburd kept
her hands between his own: “Margue-
rite] Dearest!” he began in a voice
of tender entreaty.
“Hush, some one is coming!” she
anted. There was a teasing rustle of
silk followed almost immediately by
the unwelcome apparition of auntie.
“Margreet, child—dilly dallying as
usual I”
“Ah, good evening, Mrs. Chandler,”
began Hulburd with a disastrous at-
tempt at nonchalanca; ‘“I—we—that
) ;
is—
| “We were folding the cloth, auntie,”
explained her niece lamely.
“Rather an awkward thing, you
know,” pursned Hulburd. disappear-
ing under the table in search of the
missing damask, and breathing male-
Hioitons upon intrusive relatives in gen-
eral.
“I came to tell you that Mr. Daw-
gon bas arrived unexpectedly. Per
haps you had better leave the cloth
for Nora. Your uncle is askiog for
you,” said Mrs. Chandler coldly, and
then rustled away as noisily as she had
come.
The girl grew suddenly pale and sad
looking. “IL believe I will say good
night and good-bye for awhile, Miss
Marguerite,” said Halburd with out-
stretched hand. = “It is imperative that
I go ‘to town to-morrow on business,
but I shall live in the hope of seeing
you next week, and perbaps I may be
able to assist you in your domestic
duties with more Savorilie results,” he
persisted in a tone whose meaning
would not be disguised, He still held
her passive hand and gazed lovingly
down at the pretty, pensive face, but
she refused to raise her eyes, and with
a parting pressure he left her. At the
hall door he turned again and looked
back. She wasstanding. in the same
the ‘old buffet, ‘with her fair head
together.
One week later, as Hulburd sprang
forcibly collided with another grip
laden passenger, who was, hurriedly
descending from the neighboring plat-
form. “Beg pardon,” he began, and
then in a tone of forced gdyety, “Why,
Tom, old fellow! this is a surprise.
Thought you were in New York.”
“So I was; just got back this mom-
ent,” answered the other with ill-dis-
guised vexation. They pushed their
way through the mob of shouting ve-
hicle mongers, and Hulburd was again
the first to break the silence. “Sup-
pose you put up at the “Sea Foam ?”
he asked with magnificent indifference.
“Think I shall go back ‘to the old
quarters. Pretty comfortable there,”
replied Donaldson in the same spirit,
and together they turned into the fa-
miliar hostelry, where the hostess re-
ceived them in the usual stiff silk gown
and with the amount of cordiality pro
perly due to such lucrative patrons.
“You are most welcome,” she told
them blandly.
“Yes, you can have your old rooms.
Your's was just vacated this morning,
Mr. Donaldson, strange to say.
thought you would both have been
here for the wedding on Wednesday.”
“Couldn’t on account of college, you
know,’ said Tom with polite interest.
“Fr—whose wedding was it, may I
ask? Surely not your daughteror you
would—"
“Then you didn’t know!” exclaim-
ed the landlady dramatically.
“Why, Miss Marguerite—Miss Wen-
dell that was. She was married to a
Mr. Dawson, of Philadelphia. They
say it was not a love match on the one
side at least; but she did certainly look
lovely. It was a very quiet affair, so I
suppose that is why you were not here.
She looked at the two men inquisi-
tively. Hulburd was savagely cram-
ming two letters into a vest pocket
that was never made for things so bulky
“Insufferable woman!” he muttered
between his teeth. Donaldson turned
around, hatin hand. “Come for a
walk ?7 he asked laconically, Hul-
burd followed obediently, and they
went out together. Simultaneously
they stopped at the gate of the adjoin-
ing cottage. A new white rent bill was
pasted on one of the shurttets.
A couple of loosened honeysuckle
vines swayed to and fro ina lonely,
uncared for fashion. Hulburd gently
closed the half open gate and then,
without a word, they both pushed on
steadily towards the board walk. At
the iron pier they paused to watch the
sunset. Presently Donaldson, with a
dry cough, and after some deliberate
fumbling, drew out a bulky note book,
from between whose pages he careful-
ly lifted a half withered daisy. Almost
at the same moment Hulburd brought
to view a coquettish knot of fair blue
ribbon.
The two men looked at each other
comprehensively. There was a pause,
a contemptuous laugh, and then dis:
carded ribbon and flower went whirling
out to sea in company.
Tom turned around with a whole-
gouled smile:
“It's like old time again, Birdie, my
boy,” he said. with a kindly grip on
the other's shoulder.
“Glad to see you, Tom, old fellow !"
cried Hulburd, heartily, and then they
shook hands violently. As they turn-
ed away, arm in arm, a ponderous
white tipped wave came rushing in,
geattering shells and many strange
things along the shining beach.
RT,
Belts of all kind, from the plain black
ribbon and canvass to the most elabor-
ate developement in gold or silver, in
in leather or kid, will be worn during
the summer.
spot, a slim, blue figure outlined against |
drooping, and hands clasped listlessly
The World of Women.
The old fashioned combs of our grand
mothers are again in vogue. They are
high in appearance and price, being:
made of gold and tortoise shell. Dag-
gers are also worn., and fine gold hair-.
pins are much in favor. Ribbon is used:
extensively as a decoration for the halr,.
coming in tiaras, bows, ete.
Miss Ray Beveridge, a student at the.
Cogswell Polytechnic School in San
Francisco, is taking a course of instruc.
tion in smithwork, and some of the or-
naments turned out by ber are said to:
show unusual merit. ‘She intends to.
set up a shop of her own in the city and:
establish a school of design for women,
where they may try their hands at mak--
ing articles of house ornamentation.
India linen, nainsook, linen lawn.
and dimity are all pretty made with a
full skirt, ruffle, full sleeves and deep,
close cuffs, with a Russian blouse, round
or a full “baby waist. The trimmings.
are ribbons and point: de Genes lace,
which may be had in white or ecru, and.
is applied as a bertha, girdled, in fact, it.
is put on every fabric in ‘every: possible
manner. A Russian blouse is imitated.
with a round waist by wearinga ‘‘dou-
ble bell’ skirt, which consists of ‘a bell
make in two parts, the upper one reach-
ing nearly to the knees and the lower
one to the floor, with each edge trimmed
to correspond with the belt, cufls, and
opening down the left side. Creamy
organdies and batistes are likewise
trimmed with this lace, ribbon belts, and
bows or silken girdles.
Miss Katharice V. Currey, of Syra -
cuse, beat the record for fast typewriting
making 183 perfect words in & minute.
Miss Curry has been operating a type-
writer for five years. Last summer she
commenced speed work, and a few days
ago succeeded in breaking the world’s
record. :
The highest sworn speed heretofore
has been 172 words per minute. At the
first trial Miss Curry wrote 172 words,
but some of them were not quite perfect.
Then she tried to get 180 words in a
minute. The first trial showed I76
words, with but one imperfect one
among them. The second trial showed
the requisita number, but with some
imperfection.
The third trial, however, says the
Utica Observer, she managed to get 180:
perfect words: on the paper inside of
sixty seconds, Then she attempted to
beat her own record, and on the third
trial she made the unprecedented speed
from the train at the busy station, he of 182 perfect words in a minute. The
speed wassworn to’ by the judges and
timekeeper.
FROM PETERSON’S MAGAZINE FOR
JULY WE TAKE THE FOLLOWING.—
Skirts for walking continue to be too
long! for comfort or’ cleanliness; though
the best French models are made so as
to escape the ground. For indoor wear
the long skirt is graceful and suitable.
many persons are tired of the sameness
of the bell-skirt, and have the least
drapery in front, just about the hips, or
have narrow pockets, about a quarter of
a yard deep, put in the material, with
be long flap ornamented with buttons.
is
breaks the monotony of the plain skirt,
and it enables a woman once more to
get at her purse or handkerchief without
the awkward fumbling in the pleats at
the back of the dress. The modes of
ornamenting the bottoms of skirts are
numerous, yet they present a ‘sameness
that is rather tiresome. The trimming
is not deep as a rule: only a few rows
of ribbon, or three or four narrow ruffles,
or bands of galloon, or lace, or even - of
machine stitching are used. The drap-
ed flounces caught up with bows, which
promised to be popular earlier in the
year, are chiefly used on evening gowns
and are very graceful. Some of the
new dresses are caught up very slightly
with rosettes, one low down and one
near the hip; this is also a pretty
change.
Bodices appear in a much greater va-
riety than skirts. The trim tailor-made
jackets and close fitting vest, or full
shirt, as the fancy may dictate, seem to
be necessary as a part ef every woman’s
wardrobe for street wear, Then there:
are several other kinds most popular:
the corselet, with a full top and deep.
pointed belt ; the bodice with the yoke
mads of velvet, silk, or of the material
of the dress ; but the most beautiful is.
of lace or embroidery. There is also
the bodice with a long basque at the
back —or a coat-tail back, as it is more
generally called— which comes to the
side seams, where it is rounded off and
ends in coat-tail at the back ;
bodice with a point in front and moder-
ate basques at the back, the front being
in full folds. There is also the bodice
slightly painted at both back and front,
which is tinished by a folded sash tied
in a bow at the right side, the ribbon
used being about an inch and a half to
two inches in width. With this bodice,
the band of the skirt may be trimmed
instead of the edge ot the bodice, and
hooked over it. The band is shaped in
this case; and the ribbon laid on in a
oint form before and behind. This
will be found a very good way of alter-
ing gowns that are of last years styles ;
aod the advantage of putting on the
skirt over the bodice is, that that por-
tion of the skirt, from being always cov-
ered up, is perfectly unworn and clean,’
and a fresh ribbon sash will restore the
dress to much of its original freshness.
Another bodice has the new revers and
folded Empire sash. The latter is al-
ways a mode that can be applied to old-
fashioned gowns of thick material, to.
which either velvet or silk can be used
for their new embellishment. The re-
vers at the back take the shape of a.
rounded collar. and the sash is the same:
asin front. The waist ‘s defined in
nearly all the new dresses, and the sash
is a noticeable feature. Sometimes it is.
the wide soft sash, draped around the.
waist and ending in a broad short bow
at one side, sometimes it is a narrow
ribbon, brought up at the back and tied
between the shoulders ; sometimes it is
a mere apology for a sash—a narrow
ribbon tied around the waist, with the
ends of the bow five or six inches long.
But, in any case, it is s smart effect and
a welcome change. Sleeves are also a
distinguishing feature; they are full
and wide and put in with large pleats,
but do not rise above the shoulders and
and are ucually close-fitting from the
elbows to the wrists.
style serves two purposes: it
and the