Bellefonte, Pa., Aug. 24, 1894.
OUR NIGHTS ARE COOL.
No matter where you choose to go,
From Canada down to Mexico,
We don’t know why they teil us sa,
Bat it is the rule
For people everywhere do say
In some quite reassuring way,”
“Oh, yes, it's hot nere through the «lay,
But then our nights are cool.”
We've heard this story till we're loath
To disbelieve it under oath.
We may be deaf or dumb or both,
But still we're nota fool.
We quite believe if one should go
To Satan's burning realm below
He's say, “Our days are hot, you know,
But then our nights are cool.” J
—Nizon Waterman in Winnipeg Free Press
FE —
MRS. TUXTER'S TROUBLES.
CHAPTER 1.
“Just when I'd make up my mind
to chivvy bim out of the business, too,
whatever Mr. Manx might say!” de-
clared Mrs. Tuxter, as she flung her
nightcap on the floor with impotent
tury. :
That veteran Macchiavelli in petti-
coats, Mre. Thomas Tuxter, was 1n-
capitated from attending her daily bat-
tle-field by a sharp twinge in the
shoulder, which caused her to roll
helplessly over in bed and groan at her
small latticed window pane, through
which the dim January light slowly
filtered away until it penetrated the
mass of opaque shadow wherein Mrs.
Tuxter lay.
No prying eye but “Jemimer Jane's”
was allowed to peer into the chaste re-
cess dedicated to Mrs. Tuxter—and
sleep. When Mrs, Tuxter retired for
the night Jemimer Jane dutifully es-
corted her parent to the threshold of
this august apartment and then with-
drew to a cubicle partitioned off from
the rest of the kitchen—a cubicle
which was shared by intrusive and sa-
ble-hued cockroaches, starved out from
the adjoining cottage.
Jemimer Jane had a mortal terror of
these insects ; they seemed to her to be
destitute of all moral fibre ; and she
carefully guarded against their intru-
sive propensities by putting each leg
of her small bedstead in an earthen-
ware saucer of water, thereby hoping
to prevent the cockroaches from
climbing up the bLedclothes. Some-
times the plan succeeded; at other
times the invading army swarmed over
their companions and scorned to be
denied.
Then Jemimer Jane would tearfully
shrink beneath the clothes and half
suffocate herself in a vain attempt to
evade the serried battalions of her foes.
Overhead—even through the bed
clothes—she could hear the resonant
snoring of that majestic female, her
mother, and longed for the time when,
the proud possessor of a four-poster
and an upper room, she could also bid
defiance to every midnight foe.
Early this particular morning on
which Mrs, Tuxtur dashed her night-
cap to the floor, Jemimer Jane lay
awake, idly speculating when ber
mother would return from Finsey sta-
tion with the customary bundle of
morning papers ; for that enterprising
female, Mrs. Tuxter, had bearded for-
tune and defied the workhouse by em-
barking in the somewhat precarious
calling of a newsveuder to the myriad
clerks and professional men who went
to the city every morn, and labored
there until dewy eve warned them that
it was time to return to their wives and
families. Jemimer Jane had been
carefully coached by her mother in
some of the sacred mysteries appertain-
ing to the selling of papers, but was
not allowed to take the initiative in
any way. She was very fond of posters
and placards, not for the sake of their
contents, but mainly because, when
deftly sewn together, they madea most
excellent coverlet for keeping out the
effects of cold weather. She preferred
conservative journals, as a rule, be-
cause the paper was thicker and
warmer. As a matter of fact, howev-
er, the warmer the politics the thinner
‘the placards. Seen fiom a distance,
her coverlet had somewhat the appear-
ance of acrazy quilt, owing to the artis-
tic effects produced by the different
colored inks in which the posters were
printed. Thus while sbe slept, Jemi-
mer Jane insensibly imbibed opinions
of the most diametrically opposite na-
ture, until they became fused in one
homogneous whole, and rendered her
that rare being, an important woman,
able to look upon all conflicting politi-
cal parties a8 80 many ants pulling
straws hither and thither, under the
belief that they were doing great
things.
Jemimer Jane had never formulated
these ideas. With her blue pensive
eyes, fair hair and delicate features,
she was too pretty to need the stern aid
of logic, too insignificant to be able to
obtain an audience, even if she were
logical. But this particular morning
she was suddenly called upon to as-
sume the office of kLeadship, to think
for hereelf to carry on a campaign in
the enemy’s country ; in short, to as-
sume the reine of office, and to tempo-
rarily depose the august female, her
mamma. Napoleon himself, so his-
tory informs us, once lost an important
battle through temporary indisposition,
which obscured bis judgment and al-
lowed the enemy to steal a march up-
on his forcee.Mrs. Tuxter was in a
similar position this eventful January
morning. She had matured her plans
for the overcoming of an enemy, had
retired to bed the previous night full
of ginger cordial and an ardent long-
ing for the fray ; and now, in the dim
dawn, she lay groaning and tumbling
about on her uneasy couch, utterly ua- |
able to escape the grim fiend which
gripped her shoulder with fierce claws,
and sent little darting pains all down
her majestic back. Nothing else but
a conscienceless thing like rheumatism
would have dared to take so great a
liberty with Mre. Tuxter’s vertebrae.
Suddenly Mrs. Tuxter realized the
situation as the dim light slowly be-
came a trifle less faint, and a few fall- !
ing snow-flakes softly fluttered against
the window and noiselessly disappear-
ed. She was chained to her bed, ut-
terly unable to order a reconnoissance
against the enemy or command the
disposition of her forces. In other
words Jemimer Jane was still below,
and the papers not fetched from the
station, whilst in all probability, that
enterprising young newsvender, Mr.
Richard Fagg, was folding his news
sheets and awaiting the arrival of her
customers—those customers: whose pa-
tronage she had solicited in such obse-
quious yet well-rounded periods a few
days aga.
Presently Jemimer Jane became
conscious of her mother’s stick thump-
ing loudly on the floor, and regardless
of cock roaches, sprang out of bed. The
veteran clock on the kitchen dresser
golemnly struck fourteen as she did so.
Jemimer Jane, by various inductive
processes peculiar to herself, thereby
arrived at the fact that it was a quar-
ter to eight. A quarter to eight. A
quarter to eight! No wonder her
mother was angry. She rushed up the
narrow steps, and burst into Mrs. Tux-
ter’'s room with a vague feeling
that something dreadful had hap-
pened.
“Bring a light, you unnatural child,
and pick up my night cap!” groaned
Mrs. Tuxter. ,‘Here am I a-moiling
and a-toiling by day, and likewise by
night, and you sleep like the queen up-
on her throne.”
“It's so dark down there in the
kitchen, mother,” gaid Jemimer Jane,
hastily lighting the candle, and waiv-
ing all questions as to where royalty
usually slumbered. “Whatever's the
matter ? Are you ill ?”
“Am Lill 2 retorted Mrs. Tuxter,
with bitter irony. “Oh, no, not by no
manner of means. Ill! I look ill,
don’t I? Ishould be lying herein
state if I was well, shouldn’t I, with
the business all a-going to rack and
ruin every passing momink! III!
Oh, don’t ask meit I'm ill! I'ma
sick woman to-day, Jemimer Jane
Tuxtur, all through a-gallivantin’ and
a prancin’ up and down the road after
young Fagg’s customers.”
Jemimer Jane's pretty face flushed
with apprehension. She turned her
sweet blue eyes affectionately on the
cld woman.
“Can I do anything, mother ? Shall
I run up to the station and get the pa-
pers, or make you your tea and butter-
ed toast ?”’
Mrs. Tuxter raised herself on her
arm with a groan.
“Buttered toast!” she said, in tones
of withering scorn. “When the con-
nection I've labored so to bring about
is a-dropping to bits, in this a time to
talk of toast, dry or buttered ? You
run up to the station as fast as your
legs will carry you, and get the papers
like lightning. Don’t wait to fold
them, but if any one growle, just say,
pleasant like, ‘Mother’s very sorry, sir,
but she’s been took bad with the rheu-
matics, and hopes for a continuance of
future favors.” Now, don’t stand star-
ing there ; be off |”
“But about you, wother?” said
Jemimer Jane, aoxiously surveying
the old tyrant, “Shall I go for a doc-
tor 7
“A doctor! You'd better go for an
undertaker ; they are one and the same
thing. Catch me a paying for a doc-
tor,” said Mrs. Tuxter wrathfully.
“Put the embrocating bottle by the
bedside, and if I feel like embrocating
myself, I can embrocate. I'll wait for
my breakfast till 10 o'clock ; but don’t
you come away much before then, or
you'll miss the Reverend Mr. Manx.
He told me he is going up to town to
day.”
Jemimer Jane eped down the nar-
row staircase, hastily drew on her thin
boots and an old mackintosh, and pre-
pared to face the inclement January
morning. The station stood a quarter
ot a mile off. Mr. Fagg’s “pitch”
was about a hundred yards from the
station, Mrs. Tuxter’s little shanty
some fifty yards nearer. After much
deliberation Mrs. Tuxter had secured
her position owing to the fact that her
active enemy always got a little ahead
of her, and thus secured the first pen-
nies. Butshe had also made the dis-
covery that stout old gentlemen, unless
they had their peanies ready, did not
care to unbutton their coats so far
from the station, and therefore passed
Fagg paperless in order to buy from
her. Still, the rivalry was wondrous
keen, and the profits proportionate.
Hence the astute Mre, Tuxter feared to
relinquish her post even for a single
morning. Jemimer Jane was not a
good saleswoman. She only stood
meekly holding a bundle of limp papers
and looked tearfully at intending pur-
chasers, who hurried by under the im-
pression that she was about to beg.
Consequently, Jemimer Jane attended
to domestic duties whilst that enter-
prising Amazon, Mrs. Tuxter, bore
down upon her victims and made them
feel that they had begun the day in a
manner which was sure to bring retri-
bution in its train if they failed to pur-
chase papers from her.
As Jemimer Jane struggled through
the falling snow to the station, she
brushed up against Mr. Richard Fagg,
who had also overslept himself. That
young gentlemen stopped short in
amazement, gave vent to a shrill whis-
tle, and surveyed her curiously.
“Running the business to-day ?" he
agked. “Old ’'un off on the ram-
page ?"
“I don’t know what you mean,”
Jemimer Jane replied with hauteur, as
she attempted to draw her heavy par-
cel into a waiting rodm,
Fagg followed her.
“Look here, honor bright now ; ain’t
she comin’?
“No ; mother’s ill.”
“And you're going to
place ?”
“Yes, ' said Jemimer Jane, half cry-
ing at the futility of 50 unbusinesslike
a eubstitute. “I’m going to take moth-
er's place, She's very bad with rheu-
matism.’
Good-looking, young Mr. Fagg re-
flected.
“I thought that dodgin’ up and down
take her
the road after my customers 'ud do for
her some day,” he said.” Iain’t vindic-
tive though, and I ain’t got nothin’
against you—uot a scrap.”
He roughly hauled up her papers
and carried them into the waiting
room,
“Now,” he said, ““d’ye know how to
fold ’em 2’
“No,” helplessly replied Jemimer
Jane.
He went back to fetch his own
heavy bundle, and brought it in.
“Look here,” he said, “you just sit
by the stove, and I'll fold your ‘Chron-
icles’ to go on with, All these first
trainers takes ‘Chronicles; it's the
nine ’spress swells as wants ‘Tele-
graf’ and ‘News.’
Jemimer Jane could only sit with
blurred eyes surveying the muscular
young fellow as he ran his thumb over
a mass of papers, preparatory to fold-
ing them. Sometimes she could see
the top of his bead, but it was general-
ly obscured behind a mass of whirling
sheete. Before she bad recovered
from her suprise, she found herself
selling “Chronicles” right and left. By
9 o'clock all her papers were gone,
and Mr. Fagg had not even commenc-
ed to get rid of his own.
Jemimer Jane began to think.
“You fold, and I'll sell for you,”
she said, with a decision which sur-
prised herself.
Flagg looked pleased, but shook his
head.
“You run 'ome, Miss Jemimer, and
get the old ’un her breakfast, or
you'll never ’ear the last of it.”
He was speaking in gasps as he
folded and twisted, and twirled his own
stock.
Jemimer Jane paused a moment to
consider. Then she made up her
mind.
“Mother must wait,” she said de-
cisely, and darted out with a bundle of
Mr. Fagg’s papers.
“It's a shame to let a girl like that
sell papers in such thin things,” he
muttered. “I’ve heered about the old
‘un and her buttered toast on Sunday
mornings, Bllieve she shammin’;
that's what she’s dooin’—shammin’
cos I ran her off her legs t'other
morning !"”’
Jemimer Jane came back for a fresh
supply of papers. At a quarter to 10,
just as ehe was handing Fagg his
money, there was a slight cough be-
hind her, and the Rev. Joseph Manx
gave the girl an approving tap on the
shoulder.
“That's right, my young friends,
that right, Co-operation is the secret
of success,” he said cheerily, as he
stamped his feet to keep them warm.
{ “Where is your estimable mother this
| morning, Jemime ?”’
“Ill in bed, sir,” said Jemimer shy-
ly ; “but she sent her dooty, and 'opes
for a continuance of future favors.’
“She means well, but is illogical,”
said the good clergyman absently. “I
do hope she has discovered that there
ie room for Fagg and yourselves too.
It has been pointed out to me, my child,
that it is scarcely seemly for a woman
of your mother’s years to use such
vituperative terms to her young rival.
The spectacle, I am told, of her ambling
down the road to forestall him with a
customer is not pleasant, and gives rise
generally to hilarity. But she means
well, doubtless. A worthy woman—a
very worthy woman, though somewhat
set upon having her own way. I will
look in this afternoon on my return
from town, and see her. You had bet-
ter go down to Mrs. Manx, and get
some soup and breakfast.”
He went over the bridge, and left
Jemimer Jane paralyzed with fright.
“If mother knew I'd spoken to you
she'd never forgive me,” she said
breathlessly to Fagg.
The good-natured youth only grinned.
“Don’t you say nothin’ and I'll get
Mr. Manx to go and see old Sykes in-
stead,’ he said. “He's got to be at
the school house and won't have time
to come to your place. Won't the old
lady be mighty glad you've sold out!
You just keep quiet, and I'll tackle
her.” ’
Jemimer Jane shyly put out her
hand. Fagg took it awkwardly.
“Mind you, when the old 'un’s on
the war path again, we're {riends out
of business hours. She's doing’ her
best to tomahawk me, but I don’t
mind.”
“Yes,” said Jemimer June, and sped
away, frightened at the sound of her
voice to prepare the matutinal toast of
of the suffering Mrs, Tuxter, who greet-
ed her with a volubility which would
have amazed the Rev. J. Manx could
he have heard that good lady, for
Jemimer Jaue literally watered the tea
with tears, and, as a punishment for
getting up late, was not allowed to have
any sugar in it.
CHAPTER II.
Mrs. Tuxter was confined to her bed
for more than a fortnight. During
that period her language was not char-
acterized by that refinement which is
popularly supposed to distinguish the
caste of Vere de Vere. Indeed, when
a celebrated American poet once wrote
the line “painful and frequent and
free,” he must have had an internal
premonition ot Mrs. Tuxter’s linguistic
requirements. And that worthy lady
also suffered mentally as well as phys:
ically. She could not understand how
| Jemimer Jane contrived to carry on
| the business so successtully without
| ber. She it was who had erected the
| fair fabric of trade; she it was who
| bad stood in the gates and won the
| people's hearts ; and yet, now that she
{ was laid up, Jemimer Jane. who had
| done nothing at all hitherto, appeared
| to be able to carry on the business
| without the slightest effort, and retura-
| ed every day with the multitudinous
, “coppers” which she had coaxed from
the pockets of Mrs. Tuxter’s clientele.
! “How did vou do it?" inquired Mrs,
Tuxter one day, when Jemimer Jane
announced that shé had completely
i sold out her stock-in-trade. “I won-
| der if it's because your so like me?
You're a slight, skinny thing, but peo-
. ple must have seen the likeness, Any-
body asked after me?”
RARE
| not going to be a funeral, with me in it,
—
“No, mother,” said Jemimer Jane
quietly—‘'no ane except—-'
She stopped confusedly.
“'Cept who?” demanded Mrs. Tux-
ter. !
She was now able to come down and |
complain of having to wait for her
breakfast. |
“Mr. Fagg” said Jemimer Jane, |
shyly.
Mrs Tuxter snorted like a leviathan. |
“You can tell him, then, I'm not |
dead yet,” she said, “and, what's more |
I ain’t a-goin’ to die. Fagg, indeed!
Like his impidence to {ask after me
when he made me run up and down
that road like a female ostrich. Fagg,
indeed! I'd like to fag him! What I
can’t make out i8 why he don’t get all |
our customers.”
“I have a lot of his customers |” said
Jemimer Jane, indignantly. Then
she sighed. “He asks after you every
day.”
“So much the better,” said Mrs.
Tuxter, complacently, “though tor the
life of me I can’t tell how you manage
to get his people away from him.
That'll bring his proud spirit low and
hold his nose to the grind-stone of af-
fliction. I'll teach him to start an op-
posite business and defrord the widow
and the orphan—especially the widow.
I'll have the rest of his customers be-
fore I've been back a week. There's
whatever Fagg may hope for.”
“I didn’t think you so unforgiving,”
said Jemimer Jane, sadly. ‘And,
mother, he didn’t start in opposition.
We've done our best to take away his
business. Mr. Maux says he’s a very
good young man, indeed, and very
kind to his mother,”
“Oh! he’s got a mother, has he ?"’
inqured Mrs. Tuxter,in surprised tones,
as if she rather expected that young
Mr. Fagg was a primordial atomic
globule, or something for which evolu-
tion was responsible. But Jemimer
Jane had sped out toward the station
without waiting to continue the discus-
gion.
When Jemimer Jane reached the
station old Mrs. Tuxter would have
been very much astonished had he seen
her hated foe untying the Tuxter bundle
: papers. Jemimer Jane tried to stop
im.
“You mustn’t,” she said, in tones of
deep distress. “You mustn’t. Moth-
er ain't a bit grateful, and never will
be.”
Young Mr. Fagg dropped the paper
for one brief moment.
“We'll talk about that afterwards,”
he said. “I ain’t a-doin’ this to please
your mother!” and he went on folding
with the rapidity of a lightning express.
When the papers were all sold,
Jemimer Jane came back to the third-
class waiting room and found Fagg
there with two steaming cups of coffee
and a plate of bread and butter.
“I must go home to mother,” said
Jemimer Jane, in distressed tones.
“Ain't she well enough to get her
own breakfast yet?’ demanded Fagg.
“Yes, but—"
“Well, there's no reason why she
shouldn’t do it for once,” said Fagg.
“I 8'pose she’s comin’ back soon ?’
“She hopes to next week,” said
Jemimer Jane; “but the doctor says if
she does she’ll only be ill again, and
that she’s not fit for that kind of life at
all. She ought never to have gone in
for it.”
She paused sorrowfully to think
what would happen if Mrs. Tuxter be-
came ill again, Fagg helped her out.
“Have some more coffee?”
Jemimer Jane shook her head.
“Is this atime to be drinking coffee ?"’
she said, with unconscious plagarism,
“when mother and me will soon be next
door to the workhouse ?”’
Young Mr. Fagg poked the waiting
room fire nervously. He had no right
to do it, but the porterin charge was
an old friend of his, and he felt that he
could take liberties.
“If you was to read the papers, Miss
Tuxter,” he said, you'd find how all
these American millionaires owns rail-
roads, and when one railroad gets in
the way of another railroad, they goes
shares.”
“Yes,” said Jemimer Jane, not quite
realizing what was coming,
“Well,” said Fagg, ‘d’you think you
could see your way, Jemimer Jane'’—
Jemimer Jane breathed more natural-
ly now that he ceased to address her by
the formal title of “Miss Tuxter'’—*to
an amalgamation of our united boards?
—that is what they call itin America.”
“Boards!” echoed Jemimer Jane,
looking vaguely round. “Oh, you
mean the things lo stick the posters on!
What good would that do?”
“No, I don’t. I mean, turn the two
businesses into one. You've been do-
ing better lately, haven't you?’
“Yes,” said Jemimer Jane, well
knowing that he had doubled her re-
turns.
“Well, if you'd only let me keep com-
pany with you, Jemimer Jane (I'll be
20 in March), the thing's done. You
gell and I'll told.”
Jemimer Jane blushed. Though she
was very pretty, no one had ever before
breathed words of love into her ear.
Her heart gave a leap and a bound.
She knew that a man who had been so
kind to her in distress would probably
make a good husband. But mercenary
congiderations did not influence Jemi-
mer Jane. She had been so accustom-
ed to consider herself a mere cipher,
that the notion of any man (even a
very young man) could want ber for a
wite was preposterously runny. Fan-
ny? No; on second thought it did not
seem to be so funny, as young Mr.
Fagg looked anxiously down on her
for an answer.
“But there's mother,” she said faint-
ly; “and I’m only 19.”
“Then it's a go?" asked young Mr.
Fagg. “But mind you, Miss Tuxter”
—Jemimer felt intensely miserable at |
being addressed in such solemn tones
again—‘‘you’re not to be borne down
by any help I've been able to give you
lately, If you can’t like me (I koow
i it
I’m rather a rum ’an), you just say so,
and I'll keep to my end of the road af- |
ter I've done your papers for you, and
not bother you any more, Bat I'd like
you to say ‘Yes,’ if you could manage
There's Wombwell's
menagerie |
coming, and I've been looking forward '
to taking you, if you would do me
proud to such an extent.”
: i
Jemimer Jane shyly extended her able, and as they were never in good
. 1 | taste, it is not to be regretted that they
she said | have given place to the pure white ware
hand without looking at him.
“It ain’t the menagerie,”
softly. “I'd like to go anywhere—
| with you.”
sweetbread for supper and supported
her flagging spirits with a small bottle
of stout (Jemimer Jane, though still
growing, only had the bread and but-
ter and water of affliction for supper)
someone knocked at the door, and in
walked young Mr. Fagg with his best
clothes on. He made a ceremonious
bow to the old lady and put his hat on
the table.
“I've taken the liberty of calling to
bring you a few oysters, Mrs. Tuxter,”
he said—*juicy 'uns—nd to inquire af-
ter your health. Ah, mum! youdon’t
know what people have said about you
since you've been ill.”
It was a very good thing that Mrs,
Tuxter was not aware of what people
said about her, for the remarke had not
been wholly flattering. Mollified by
the oysters and flattery combined, Mrs.
Tuxter could only recast ber previous
impressions of Mr. Fagg and consider
him a most agreeable young man, par-
ticularly when he requested her to go
on with her supper, and not mind him
any more than ‘it he was a stone.”
When Mrs. Tuxter had finished her
supper, she drew her chair up to the
fire-place and graciously asked Mr.
Fagg to enlighted her as tothe object
of his vigit.
“Well, you see, Mrs. Tuxter,” re-
plied the unabashed Mr. Fagg, as Jemi-
mer Jane fled to the wash house, “Mr.
Manx has been down to see us this af-
ternoon, to tell me the doctor told him
it was a shame you should have to give
up so fine a business on account of your
health.”
“Very kiod of him,” grimly said
Mrs. Tuxter ; but I an’ta going to give
it up for nobody, health or no health.”
“That's what I said,” returned Mr.
Fagg admiringly. “I said to him,
‘You don’t know Mre. Tuxter, not by
a long sight, if you think she’s ever
goin’ to give up anythin’ she's set her
mind on.” ‘Well, he says, ‘Ferguson
the doctor tells me she'll be sacrificed to
the inclemency of the elephants’—I
don’t know what he means, mum, but
that’s what he said—‘inclemency of the
elephants, if she carries on the business.
She’s a-damaging of you tremendously,
Fagg, she’s such an active woman,
a ekimmin’ up and down the road like
a seagull ; but she’s overdone it,’ says
he.
like that'll stop. Why don’t you go
up and see her, and try to get her to
take you into partnership afore she
kills herself and ruins your trade? If
you and the young lady could only
make a match of it, then that wonder-
ful woman—'"'
“Did he say that?’ inquired Mrs.
Tuxter, much flattered.
“That wonderful woman could stop
quietly at the home and draw her third
of the profits just as reg’lar as if you
was a savings bank.”
“A half, you mean,” said Mrs. Tux-
ter, firmly. “I wouldn't demean my-
self by taking less’n half.”
“No, mum there'd be Jemimer Jane.
One-third for her, one-third for you,
and one-third for me. And Mr. Manx
is going to get up a subscription to build
us a nice stall just outside of the sta-
tion, for you to come and sit in on fine
days, and give a masterful eye to the
business generally. You say ‘Yes,’
Mrs. Tuxter, and he'll set about it to-
morrow. Mother sends her respeks,
and she’ll take the liberty of callin’ on
you to-morrow with a bottle of oppo-
deldoc, if you're agreeable.”
“But Jemimer Jane ?”’ inquire Mre.
Tuxter.
“I'll leave her to you. mum,’ said
the diplomatic Fagg. “If you could
only make up vour mind to take me for
a son-in-law some day, when we've
turned the business into a limited com-
pany, I’ve no doubt you can coax Miss
Jemimer into it.”
“Tell your mother I'm most sgree-
able to eee her,” said Mrs. Tuxter, with
lofty condescension.
She was delighted at the turn events
had taken, but diplomatically conceal-
ed her delight.
When Mr. Fagg took his departure,
Jemimer Jane, her pink cheeks aglow
with shy happiness, slipped ont from
the back door, and accompanied him a
little way dowa the road.
“You've done it?” she asked, look-
ing at her hero, with child-like, trust-
ing eyes. “You dared to speak to
mother about it?”
Her belief in Fagg was wonderful as
she nestled closely up to him with rapt
adoration,
“Yes,” said Mr. Fagg; “I wae a bit
upset, but I got through it all right. 1
don’t mind telling you in confidence,
Jemimer, she’s a majestic female and
‘most took my breath away. When
I'm the head of the family, she'll have
to let you alone, or it'll be her turn to
get upset.’
“You're not afraid?’ queried Jemi-
mer Jane, with widely-opened eyes.
“Afraid! I ain’t no more afraid of
her when my blood’s up than if she
was a whole menagerie in herself,” said
Mr. Fagg, proudly. “Now, you run
back, Jemimer Jane, and get to bed.
Iv’e been saving up to buy you a new
shawl. Mother wants you to go with
her to choose it to-morrow.”
A new shawl! Was there ever such
a hero—such a great, good, masterful
fellow since the world began ?
—— The author of “Little Lord Fauan-
tleroy,” Mrs. Francis Hodgson Burnett,
was at one time a teacher in a little
country school. She was so poor that
she bad not even enough to buy stamps
| with and she earned the wherewithal to
post her first manuscript to the publish-
“ers by picking berries.
——The war between China and Ja-
pan appears to be going at a very slow
rate.
‘You never know where a woman’
For and About Women.
Madame Sarah Bernhart, the divine
is a Hebrew.
Ornate dishes are no longer fashion-
which is always dainty, always pretty
t . | and always in harmony with
That evening, as Mrs. Tuxter ate | 1 y whatever
flowers the hostess may choose for her
table. For breakfast and luncheon
sometimes the old-fashioned blue and
| white, which our grandmothers used, is
placed in charming contrast to white
luncheon doylies, embroiderad with deli-
cate blue corn flowers, or sometimes
pale green grasses and sweet pea blos-
soms. The wide-mouthed cups are fav-
orites with everybody, and when they
are large enough to hold a good-sized
‘‘drop”’ they are praised indiscriminate-
ly, at least by the women guests,
Miss Comstock, who is President of
Comstock Banking Company, of Green
City, Mo., and Cashier of the Comstock
Castle Bank, of Green Castle, Mo., is
probably one of the youngest bank offi-
cers in the country. She entered the
bank at Green City in March, 1889, as
Assistant Cashier and Bookkeeper,
which position she filled in all its vari-
ous duties. In September, 1892, the
owners of that bank organized one in
Green Castle, when they made Miss
Comstock President of the old bank and
Cashier of the new one. As the Presi-
dent and Directors of the latter bank
live at some distance from it, Miss
Comstock has the real work of the bank
to do, and despite the heavy responsi-
bility she is interested and successful in
her work.
ete
Overskirts have struggled hard to
gain a foothold in the world of fashion.
But women have intuitively opposed
them. The plain full skirt has proved
itself too satisfactory to be cast aside.
Still the new overskirt of the summer
gown is not so bad as it might be. It is
graceful, and more than that, it is
novel.
Afternoon dresses of ecru grass linen
in a dark shade of tan are made up into
very dressy yet simple gowns trimmed
with bands of lace insertion and ribbon
bows, and with hat, gloves, parasol
and canvas shoes to match the lace, the
effect is very pretty.
The most correct parasol is pure
white. For morning use it may be of
duck, though white gros grain or silk
moire is to be preferred.
The summer girl who knows what is
what buys one white sailor hat of a good
quality and of the latest shape. Then
she invests in half a dozen different
colored adjustable hat bands that cost
forty cents a piece, and can be put on a
hat in less time than it takes to write
the word.
The really swagger girl looks with
disdain upon the ribbon belt with its
silver buckle, and choooses instead of a
leather one made just like a man’s, In
fact, she buys it at a man’s furnishing
shop, and has it shortened to fit her
waist. A new idea that. she has been
following of late is to wear the belt
rather loose in sailor fashion.
One of the ways to make a belt a joy
forever—which it isn’t at present in
spite of its popularity—is to have the
skirt with which itis intended to be
worn to fasten at one side instead of at
the back. Then have the ribbon belt
sewed fast around the other side and
across the back, and you will rest secure
in the knowledge that your skirt and
belt are not parting company.
mm
A rather vulgar fashion that well-bred
girls will not follow is that of using a
large gold safety pin to hold the skirt
band and outside belt together at the
back. The safety pin is not elegant,
even though it is made of the precious
metal, and looks very much out of place.
An ordinary safety pin worn under the
beit will answer the purpose quite as
well and need not be visible.
The gored skirt is to become still more
pronounced in effect, hanging about the
feet in great organ-pipe folds, and fitt-
ing without a wrikle almost to the
knees. At the same time the all around
full-on-the-belt skirt is going to make a
struggle, the more extreme models set-
ting out in close folds directly from the
belt. This is certain to mean the in-
coming of the Eiizabethan style, with
their enormous fullness of skirts about
the hips and extremely pointed and
long bodices, together with high collars
and profusion of jewels. For poor fig-
ures the style of that period presents
many alluring features, but the Ameri-
can woman has a proverbital good
figure, so it will be a pity if she dis-
guises herself in stomachers and stuffi-
ness.
Small double capes worn for slight
protection when driving on Bellevue
avenue or in longer coaching trips are of
very light tan-colored smooth cloth like
that of men’s box. coats says Harper's
Bazar. They are quite full and short
The lower cape does not reach to the
waist line, and the upper one falls just
over the shoulder tips. They are cut
circular, making great fulness on the
outer edge without requiring gathers on
the upper edge. Bias straps of the cloth
three-fourths of an inch wide are stiched
on the edges of both capes and on the
small turned over collar. This is the
only trimming. One of the prettiest
box capes, which Redfern distinguishes
further as the Ascot, has a lining of
white silk striped very daintly with
pink, green and lavender. Red cloths
in dull and in bright shades are simi-
larly made for yachting capes, and are
much worn with white duck or serge
gowns. Cream-white capes accompany
navy blue or poppy-red gowns.
A smart costume for a young girl is
of gray alpaca, the cape of darker gray,
and hood lined with light tartan silk.
The skirt is plain, gathered full at the
back, the shirt waist of pink cheviot
having a turn-over collar with narrow
black satin bow.