alot
Bellefonte, Pa., December 20, 1901
CHRISTMAS TIDE.
There's a littie oid man with silvery hair,
An’ a long white beard ’at fiis ’in the air:
With twinklin’ black eyes an’ a rosy, red face,
An’ onc’t a year he comes to our place.
An’ our little maid
An’ our little man
Ez anxious to see ’im soon’s they can!
In the dead o’ night when all's asleep,
An’ the cold frost snaps an’ the snow ez deep
With a reindeer team an’ a silver sled
He comes straight from fairylans, "tis said ;
So oar little man
An’ our little maid
Ez anxious to see 'im—they ain’t afraid !
But you better take keer, fer some folks say
’At ef yer naughty he’ll fy away :
An’ quicker’n you kin whistle—phew !
Away he’s gone up the chimney flue !
So our little maid
An’ our little man
Ez tryin’ to be jest ez good’s they can!
But ef your good an’ "bey yer pa,
An’ don’t never ery an’ vex your ma,
He'll fill yer stockin’s with games en’ toys,
An’ nuts an’ sweets an’ all sorts o’ joys.
So our little maid
An’ our little man
Wants Santy to come jes as quiek’s he can!
—New York Sun.
| AFTER FIFTEEN YEARS.
i It is growing dark upon a December af-
[ ternoon and a snow is falling rapidly
enough to conceal all the bare, unsightly
| places in the village of Rainsdale and give
| it a gala appearance for the nearing Christ-
| mas-tide. A country woman, well muffled
in shawl and hood and equally well ladened
with bundles is plodding her way along
from the little railroad station to a white
house at the end of the street. She enters
the gate'and proceeds around to the back
door, where she lifts the latch with neigh-
borly disregard of the formality of a knock.
Martha Jackson and her mother are bus-
ily engaged in sorting a pile of colored
rags preparatory to the manufacture of a
braided rug. Several newspapers are spread
upon the floor to protect from dust and
ravelings the scrupulously clean carpet.
Martha arose hurriedly at the entrance of
their neighbor, greeting her with friendly
cordiality and hastening to help her re-
move her wraps.
‘‘My what a day for you to be ont in,
Mrs. Williams, ”” she said, as she shook the
snow from the heavy shawl. ‘‘Come up
close to the stove and get your feet warm
and dry,” and she bustled briskly about
placing a chair at the oven doorand poking
the fire to produce a better blaze.
‘‘My feet ain’t cold,” answered Mrs.
Williams, as she accepted the warm seat.
‘I drawed on a pair of Jake’s-old socks
over my shoes afore I left the station. I
hev Leen up ter the city ter do some buyin’
an’ I told Jake I'd run up here for a little
spell hein’ as he bad ter go ter the post of-
fice an’ hlacksmith’s afore we can start fer
home. ”’
“My land, hut them big stores is a sight
at this time of the year,’’ she continued a
few minutes later,’’ as Martha hegan gath-
ering up the rags preparatory to setting
the tea-table.” T declare I jist couldn't
git away 'thout spending’ a heap more of
money than I laid oat to do, but arter all,
I got good bargains an’ being as hoth the
children’s a coming home I won’t com-
plain fer we’ll hev a Christmas in the old
house that they will allus remember.
*‘But you would never guess who I saw
in one of the hig stores. Why, Jim Car-
uthers, I'd never aknowed him if he hadn’t
a cotched a hold of me and made me stop
and look at him. ‘Is this the way you
Rainsdale folks treat your old friends 2
be asked, and I vow T was struck so dumb
that I couidn’t speak for a minute. But
we went inter a waiting room an’ set down
an’ had quite a visit. 1 tell you he looked
line. He's growed some whiskers since he
left here and maybe he wasn’t dressed
swell, though. I did not see a man any-
where what compared ter him fer looks.
He remembers all the folks ’bout here an’
asked any number of questions. He was
taken back ter know that you folks was
alivin’ in his uncle’s old house. He in-
quired very perticler ’hout you, Marthy,
an’ seemed sprised that vou wan’t married
per?
3 A dull red mounted to Martha's faded
cheeks and she gave a vicious flirt to the
cloth she was laying preparatory to setting
the tea table.
*‘It’s fifteen years since Jim went away.”’
said Mrs. Jackson, musingly. ‘I mind
that he was around ’bout just the Christ-
mas afore his uncle died an’ that’s heen
over fourteen years ago ’cause we moved
inter this house fourteen years come next
April.”
‘Wal, from what I can guees, be’s made
money some way er ’nother,”’ continued
Mrs. Williams. ‘‘He looked that way, an’
when 1 asked him how he’d prospered he
said he hadn’t no cause ter complain. I
asked him ter come up ter the old place
once more and he said he reckoned he
would. I spose he'll find a power of
changes in fifteen years, bunt I reckon
there’ll be lots of folks ’ll be glad ter see
him. He was allus a mighty fine young
man. By the way, Marthy, you an’ him
used ter be purty thick, didn’t yer 2"
Martha murmured something inaudible
as she tied on an old hood before going to
the barn to feed the chickens,
“I mind that folks used ter say that Jim
was struck on Martha an’ on Lon Bickler
ter the same time,’’"oontinued Mrs. Wil-
{liams. “And Martha treated him so high
{an’ mighty, 1 suppose he thought that
there was no use trying her; an. Lon went
and married that good for nothing Charley
Risel, an’ sorry enough I reckon she’s been
forit. By the way, hev yer heard lately
how Lou was ?”
‘Martha allus goes in ter see her every
couple o’ days,”” answered Mrs. Jackson,
‘and Lou don’t 'pear ter get no better. Ol’
Doc Edwards sez she has the consumption,
an’ I reckon she won’t hardly last the win-
ter out.”’
‘Wal, poor soul, mebbe it’s jist as well.
Lod knows that Charley led her a hard
'nough life while he lived with her, ter
say nothin’ hout his runnin’ off with that
actor woman and leaving her so; mebbe
it’s a mercy if her troubles is cut shors,’’
said Mrs. Williams, piously. ‘What do
yer calkerlate ter do fer Christmas, Mrs.
Jackson,’’ she added, as a change of sub-
ject.
“I reckon Marthy ’1l hev ter be up to the
church helpin’ as usual. There haint been
a Christmas since she was 14 years old that
she haint helped to decorate the church,’
answered Mrs. Williams, rather proudly.
“Theu I reckon that John an’ his children
1 ‘11 be ter home for dinner, so that we'll hev
{a fall day. And I heerd Marthy say yes-
| terday that she was agoin’ ter take Lon her
{ Christmas dinner, bein’ as the poor soul
{ ain’t able to cook much fer herself.’’
i “I tell you, Marthy has been an uncom-
{ mon good girl all of her life,” said Mrs.
| Williams, emphatically. ‘‘It’sallus seem-
| ed mighty queer ter me that she never got
| married.”’ ; :
“Well, taint that she never had no
chances, an’ good ones at that,”’ rejoined
Mis. Jackson, a trifle stifily, for her daugh-
ter’s maidenhood was a sore subject with
her. ‘‘But I thank the Lord Marthy wern’t
vever one of the girls that seem~d to
; banker arter men, an’ I haint never had no
canse ter regret it.’’
. ‘No, I'm most sure you’venot. It's a
good thing fer you, too, that she did stay
ter home, fer you would hev heen mighty
lonesome 'thout her. But I see Jake a
drivin’ in, so I'd better be agettin’ my
things on.” and despite all the cordial urg-
ings for them both to remain for supper,
Mrs. Williams soon took her leave.
It took Martha much longer than usual
that evening to get through with the barn-
yard chores. Mrs. Williams’ sudden men-
tion of James Caruthers had upset her and
made her feel the need of a chance to re-
gain her composure. Fifteen years before,
as had been hinted, this man’s name had
been much coupled with hers, and despite
the good understanding that seemed to
exist between him and Lou Bickler, he had
said something to Martha the day preced-
ing that Christmas, which led her to feel
that the all important question was soon to
be asked. But at the Christmas entertain-
ment the next evening he did not come
near her, and the next morning he left
the village suddenly with no sign to her.
Martha had borne her disappointment in
silence, even her mother having had no
EE
suspicion of it; but after all these years
she was angry with heiself that the men-
tion of his name could =o affect her.
Lou Bickler had been her fiiend froni
the time they sat together in the little log
school house and though Martha's natural
reserve prevented the confidence usual be-
tween girl friends, the friendship had lasted
through the years,aud in the trouble which
came to Lou, Martha’s sympathy and help
bad never been found lacking. "So on this
Christmas afternoon she hastened to finish
her own dinner that she might the sooner
get to the home of her friend.
Lou seemed woise that day, and all of
Martha’s efforts to soothe her seemed inef-
fectual. As the afternoon waned and the
early twilight fell upon the two women
sitting together, the weaker one slipped
her hand into the strong grasp of her friend
‘| and said, falteringly :
‘You have been very good to me al-
ways, Martha, and sometimes it comes over
me that I hain’t deserved it because I did
something to you once that might have
made a difference if you had knowed ahout
je.”
*‘Don’t think that, Lou. Nothing would
have made any difference.”
‘‘Mebbe not, Martha, I thought so then
or I wouldn’t have done it, truly I wouldn’t,
but it was a sin just the same and I can’t
die 'thout telling you about it and I do
hope that you will forgive me if I hurt vou
any, for, remember I always liked you.”?
A violent fit of coughing interrupted the
frail speaker. When it was over she said :
‘Fetch me that little black box from that
top bureau drawer, Martha.’
Martha obeyed, and Lou opened the hox
and produced a letter yellow with age,
bearing Martha’s name wiitten in a hand
that made her heart heat faster.
This letter,” said Lou, as she gave it
to her, ‘‘was writ by Jim Caruthers, and
he gave it to my little brother Dick to give
to you on that Christmas afternoon before
he went away. and I got Dick to give it to
me, telling him I would give it to you my-
self, and, Martha, I kept it.”
With trembling fingers, Martha opened
the letter, and there read the question she
had expected Jim to ask her fifteen years
ago. The letter hinted at fear of a rival,
and asked her if she was heart free to show
it by wearing a red rose in her hair that
evening.
And while she yet read it the door open-
ed and James Caruthers himself stood he-
fore them.
Strange to say, the sick woman did not
appear at all surprised.
‘Oh, Jim,” she exclaimed, reaching her
poor thin hand towards him, *‘I have pray-
ed that you would come back and give me
a chance to undo a wrong I done you so
long ago. For, Jim, all of the stories I
used to tell you about that young preacher
from Jonesville coming to see Martha was
false, and I only told you them because I
wanted you myself, and that letter you
sent to her by little Dick I got hold of and
I never gave it to her until just now.”
There is a silence for a few minutes, the
man afraid to trust himself to speak to the
woman who has kept him so many years
from his loved one, and Martha unable to
realize at first the full meaning of the con
fession.
‘I see you hain’t agoing to forgive me,’
faltered Lou, as the suspense became op-
pressive, “but truly, Martha I thought
that you didn’t care for him. You always
acted that way, and when I first found it
was you he wanted I thought he would
come hack to me. Truly, I wouldn’t have
done it if I’d thought you cared. Martha,
and now I can’s bear it if you don’t forgive |
me before I die. Arn’t you ever going to
speak to me again,” she added piteously.
“It was a mistake,’’ said Martha, slow- |
ly, as she again took her poor friend’s hand
in her own. “Idid care, but I could
not talk about it then so, of course, you
could not know. And I forgive you now,
Lon, so don’t worry any more about it.’
**And Jim, will vou, too?” asked Lou
looking pitifully towards the man.
Jim looked at Martha whose eyes drop-
ped beneath his soulful gaze. ~“‘I guess
Martha may answer for both of us if she
will,”” he said.
And Lon took his hand and laid Martha's
unresistingly within it. ‘Have I made it
all right now ?'’ she asked wistfully, “and
do you both truly forgive me for all the
yeais I kept you apart ?
‘Yes. Lou, it is all right now. Don’t
think about itany more. You did not know
what it meant to us, or you never would
have done it, I am sure.”
“God bless you, Martha, you have given
me the only thing that could make my
Christmas peaceful. All these years when
you've been so good to me I have worried
over it, but it just seemed that I could not
tell you before. And Jim, are you sure
that you forgive me now ? I ain’t ashamed
tosay now that [ loved you then, but, in-
deed, I wouldn’t a come between you if I
bad thought that Martha really cared.”
*‘It Martha will come to me now, I will
forgive you everything,” he answered.
And when they took their departure a
few minutes later the look of peace upon
Lou’s face indicated that Martha’s answer
bad been all that could be desired.
The walk home that Christmas evening
seemed very short to the two who had so
much to talk over and explain, but before
entering the house James paused.
“Martha,” Le said gently, “after all, I
was to blame myself, for I should have
come to you and not trusted to a letter.
It was a case of ‘faint heart,” and I have
been justly punished. But dear, we have
lost fifteen years. If you really forgive me,
prove it by becoming my wife at once. We
have nothing to wait for now.”
So that evening, at the close of the
usual Christmas services, the old pastor
who had known Martha from a child, an-
nounced a special service to which all were
invited. And James and Martha stood up
and were married in the old church, decor-
ated so daintily by the fair hands of the
bride, in the presence of all the friends
who had known her from childhood. And
all the Christmases that came in after years
were the happier for being the anniversary
of their wedding day. ,
MAE RutH NORCROSS.
Tree Decorations.
In many homes elaborate decorations
for the Christmas tree, including a
“Christ child,” or angel, are kept
on hand from season to season. Where
the tree is dressed anew each year, the dec-
orations are usually home-made ani much
less expensive,
Among the pretty and effective trim- |
mings are chains of cransberries, strung
with a needle on a stout thread.
gilded walnuts, cotton snowballs, dusted
with diamond powder, festoons of popcorn,
bundles of stick candy tied with bright
ribbons, gay tarlatan bags filled with nuts
and candy, handsome apples ‘and oranges
and the German almond-pastry cakes
(Marzipan). :
Frost powder may he parchased at any
of the toy shops and strong alam water be
sprinkled over the branches to orystalize.
The solution of alum should be so strong
that it will dry almost as fast as sprinkled.
:
1.
{. "Well. by gosh, it’s a fact. As a gen-
**You want to look out for to-morrow,
Tommy.”
"Not on yer life! None to-mmorrow.!
I’m Loing to eat a big Christmas dinner.”
Tommy, the loom boss, sat on the clerks
high stool and toyed with a round ruler of
ebony. The clerk leaned back in the pro-
prietor’s chair with his feet on the propri-
etor’s desk. The three other bosses—the
carder, the spinver and the venerable fin-
isher, with his steel-rimmed spectacles and
white beard—stood up.
Out of doors the snowstorm was so
great that the air had the vague, pale hue
of the robes of ghosts. The sky could not
be seen. There was only, up there, that
solt pallor, moving twining, like the float-
ing garments of a phantasmal crew, and
lower down the snowflakes, in infinite pro-
cession, falling, falling. The 1iver was
black in the white plain. A man came out
of the distant forest, and trudged, knee-
i deep in snow, over the fields, toward the
{ town. He bad anax on one shoulder, a
little fir tree ou the other.
In the warm office of the Blue Mill the
| men talked cheerily of oysters, minstrel
{ shows, cards, mince pie—the usual Christ-
| mas matters—and now and then they re-
| verted to the loom boss’ abominable week-
| Ly habit of getting drunk.
| “Some Saturday night, Tommy,” said
| the clerk, ‘why not surprise your wife hy
taking home to her, instead of the accus-
| tomed skate, a piece of jewelry, a bunch of
pink roses, or something 2"
| Oh, she wouldn’t— »
| But just then the grave profile of the re-
| turning proprietor passed the window, and
straightway, without a word, the bosses
ran swiftly fron the office before he saw
them, the bespectacled and white-bearded
finisher showing. as usual, the cleanest
pair of heels of all. But the clerk made it
a point of honor with himself to continue
the proprietor’s entrance.
IL.
Next morning Tommy went
church with the three older children.
in the parlor. He sat, very much crumpled,
rather on the hack of his neck than
those parts which mankind usually
| the stool of the *‘pie-anna’’—as we say in
Manayunk. A vast picture of himself
glared down at him from the wall. It was
an enlargement from a photograph, dome
in crayon entirely by hand, which had |
only cost, bronze frame and all, three dol- |
lars.’ The furnishing of the parlor was in |
barmony throughout with this excellent |
work of art.
Upstairs the hoys played some new game Wi
| or other.
Es
| THE LOOM BOSS,
eral thing I get full on Saturday nights.’
to sly | about as aimlessly as the movable glass
took off his coat, shoes and made tie when
he got back and read the paper and smoked |
on !
sits |
{ upon, and his large white socks rested on |
| All sat down and waited. From the
turkey a faint, thin, aromatic smoke arose.
The hungry children surveyed this perfect
Christmas feast and rejoiced. Waiting,
they laughed and joked. The mother,
calm, looked on.
At the end of five minutes the smoke no
longer rose from the turkey and the chil-
dren were no longer gay. All, now, wait-
ed in silence.
At the end of ten minutes little Annie
and her mother avoided each other’s gaze,
because their eyes explained so much.
The boys, with vicious smiles, exchanged
kicks beneath the table. Only the baby
was content, breathing heavily over a mug
of pap.
At last Mrs. Ryan signed to little Annie.
Mother and daughter then began to remove
everything. “We'll wait till 1 o’clock
for your father; maybe till 2,” Mrs. Ryan
explained to the boys, who stamped about
and growled. -‘Everything’ll he spoiled, ”’
they said. .
“No matter,’ said Mrs. Ryan.
VI.
An old saw concerning Hogan's beer was
" that it contained boxing gloves or ladies’
tintypes; that is to say, it created in the
consumer a desire either to fight or make
love. There must have heen tintypes in
the glasses of Tommy’s friends, for these
clever Falls gentlemen nov began to talk
in an odd way about young girls they knew,
and to ponder over the advisability of a
trip to town,
In Tommy’s heer were hoxing gloves.
He said it made him ashamed to hear such
talk considering the speakers’ age and bald
heads, and their wives and innumerable
children,
‘Chop it off,”’ he roared.
He was beginning to perceive that he no
lounger enjoyed bis beer or his cigar, but he
kept on smoking and drinking, in a kind
| of nervous restlessness, hecanse he conldn’t
have stopped it if he had tried. He saw
that his day was spoiled. * * ¥ No use
going home now. He might as well, he
ostentatiously, idle for a little whise after | felt. get drunk.
| He walked with the caution and uncer-
tainty of a hare-legged man in a dark
room full of furniture. His eyes rolled
eves of adoll. His tongue was so unruly
little while, to rebuke someone harshly, in
the stienous effort to pronounce some word
{ he quite forgot what he wanted to say.
The heer choked him. The cigar smoke
| choked him. He stood, emitting growls as
| inarticulate as those of a wild beast.
At last he became so wretched that to
| abolish everything he ordered on the next
{ round whisky. In an immense despair he
felt this burning draught overpower him,
benumb him to the end of his hair, the
tips of fingers, the tips of his toes. A
| black and horrible abyss vawned for him.
* * % He was falling, falling in * * #
{
|
|
ith Hogan’s help they raised him rough-
: 5 | 1y from the floor and put him on a chair
|
Mrs. Ryan and her little daughter in the og : ia : ;
kitchen, labored infinitely in the prepara- | without interrupting his deep Sleep.
| tion of pies, cranberry sauce, turkey, plum |
{ prdding and vegetables. The baby sat |
i solemnly on the floor beneath the tree, in-
! tent uporr a Noah’s ark. Frequently the
| little girl or the mother darted over and
| extracted from its mouth lions or giraffes,
| and there was lamentation for a space.
| From all this business Mrs. Ryan found
| tir.e, now and again. to pause at the par-
lor door and say, smiling at the figure that
read and sprawled and smoked in there :
‘*Well, vou look comfortable, Thom-
as.”’
She only called him Thomas when she
was happy.
III.
A tap on the window caused the stu-
dious loom boss to look up and greet two
men of middle age, who stood out in the
snow and laughed and beckoned to him.
They were brother loom bosses from the
Falls, getting up, they explained, by walk
ing, an appetite for turkey.
‘‘Come on out an ‘hit one,’”’ they
said.
“No I can’t;
soon.”’
‘‘Ah’ come on!"
‘Well, just one, mind—down at the
corner,”’ Tommy said reluctantly. He
dressed, and, from the vestibule, calling to
his wife in an embarrassed tone that he was
going out for a little while. She dropped
everything and hastened to him.
‘Ob, Tom, diuner’s nearly ready. If
you go out—I just know——"°
‘‘Annie, I'll be back in fifteen minutes.
—honest !”’
But she looked at him miserably.
IV.
Hogan's was empty when the loom boss-
es entered and took their places at the har.
They said :
“Gimme a heer.”
“Same.”
‘Same here.”
Hogan set out three thirteen-inch beers
and mopped the bar with a nondescript
something wet and gray—a towel or dish-
cloth perhaps ; perhaps an old flannel
shirt or a trouser leg. The men now
said .
“Well, here’s looking at yon !
“Many happy days!”
‘‘Let er go !”?
They drank thoughtfully their eves ris-
ing by degrees to the wonders of glassware
carved wood, bright metal and odd-shaped
bottles of strange foreign firewater behind
Hogan. Above all, they were impressed
with the lovely winter scene done on the
broad mirror in soap.
Tommy laughed reproachfully when his
treacherous friends proposed another heer.
‘No ye don’t,” he said hurrying toward
the door. They rushed him back, but it
was hard to make him take that second
glass. He took the third much more read-
ily, and the fonrth he proposed himself.
A frightful argument concerning weav-
ing now arose. With flushed faces and
bright eyes the bosses smoked cigars very
fast, tossed off the thirteen-inch beers easil y
and filled the air with queer technical talk
about take-up motions, stripper rod, con-
My dinner’ll be ready
‘I'nectors, twenty-cut warps, picking shoes,
‘guide wires and sweep sticks.
They were perfectly happy, and, know-
Ing this, they rejoiced, and were yet amaz-
ed and moved that such boundless
happiness shonld be theirs. The beauty
and sweetness of living they appreciated
as never before, and they were filled with
joy and pride in the contemplation of
their own excellence in all things.
Naturally, afloat on the deep sea of hap-
piness. Tommy took no note of the arriv-
al of noon.
cov
Mrs. Ryan and the boys brought on the
big and tender turkey, the cranberry sauce
the vegtables and the celery, and little An-
nie put the baby on its high chair, tied its
bib and arranged its tray, and mug before
it. .
The table’s appearance was admirable,
flawless. It represented hours and hours
of work; also it represented an immense
economical and culinary proficiency on the
part of Mrs. Ryan. She sat down now
listlessly, and waited.
os
VII.
| At 2 o'clock the children drew up to the
| table again, and their mother carved the
[dry and tasteless turkey, and helped them
i to the spoiled vegetahles. Suddenly with-
out they heard a chorus of boys’ treble
voices, calling :
“Walk that chalk-line straight ! Hey,
walk that chalk-line straight !”’
Then the door opened. and, smiling
idiotically. their father contrived to get in-
to the room. From head to foot he wae
white with snow, like a snow-man, and he
moved himself along with but little more
than a snow-man’s power. With his wife’s
help he got himself stretched out on the
settee and began instantly to send forth
loud snores.
The children ate on in silence, gazing
with large, awe-stricken eyes at the sleep-
er, as though he were some fabulous ogre
or magician.
VIII. !
The man on the settee slept. His face.
very pale, glistened as with a fresh coat of
oil. His mouth hung open; there was a
pinched appearance to the nostrils, and he
looked very old.
Mrs. Ryan lowered the window; then
she resumed her sewing by the lamp.
He awoke. His eyes fell on the shaded
figure quietly working in the lamp-light,
about which there was something tender
and good—something full of a home life
useful and noble.
Remembering at first nothing of what
had happened, he felt the vague content of
one awakening from a long, deep sleep, and
smiled. Then he moved his head a little,
and at once a thousand sledges began to
hamnier his skull from within, and the
nausea aud unutterable nervous depression
consequent ou his excess, overwhelmed
him. He groaned.
His wife looked calmly at him; their
eyes met, and for some unknown reason he
felt that he must tell her he loved her and
was sorry. He had not told her this for
years. It was so true, he thought. she
knew it without his telling her.
‘‘Anme,”’ he said, in a hoarse, mournful
voice, holding out his shaky arms, “I’m
sorry for this. How could I ‘do it, when
your’re so good to me 2’
The woman started. She smiled bitter-
ly. And then suddenly a paroxysm of
weeping seized her, and she ran to him,
knelt beside him, and, with her arms
around him, r.sted on his shoulder her
head, that shook with violent sobs,
“Why, Annie,” he said, ‘‘you knew I
was always sorry for these things, and al-
ways loved—you more than ever?”
“Ob, no; Tom, how could I?” :
“I was sure you knew it. That's why I
never told you-’’
“No, I didn’t know it. I couldn’t know
it Tom.”
“It’s true, though. You believe it, don’t
you?’
‘Yes, Yes,’ she sighed. !
Nothing to them were the sunken cheeks
the gray in the hair, the wrinkles of each
other that they saw. They had married
young; they had given all their best to one
another. Their old love—a finer deeper
thing than their young love had heen—
their pure and spiritual love could no more
be moved by the change that time was
working in them than a son’s love for his
mother can be moved hy such a change.
‘Over fifteen years,”’ he said. ‘‘I’ve
never regretted it, Annie, but I guess you
have.”’
“No, Tom; never, never. You've al-
ways worked bard. Never, never never.”
That Christmas night the loom hoss went
to Father O’Mahony’s to swear-off. All of
two years ago it was, but so far he has
kept that pledge.
W. B. TRITES.
——Margaret—Matrimony is not all that
it is cracked up to be.
Edith—How can you say such things,
Margaret 2 = Why, there is Carrie Winter-
green. She was married only a year ago,
and now she is divoreed, with such lovely
alimony !— Boston Transcript.
that when he attempted, as he did every |
a,
. Christmas Goodies.
—
CRULLERS.
One cup of butter, two cups of sugar and
the yolks of three eggs creamed together.
Dissolve one teaspoonful of soda in a little
water and add it, and put two teaspoon-
fuls of cream of tartar in a little flour. Add
enough flour to make a very soft dough,
but one that can be handled for rolling ous.
Flavor with cinnamon or nutmeg and cut
with hole in the centre. Fry in boiling
fat.
JUMBLES.
One pound of sugar, one of butter, three-
quarters of a pound of flour, seven eggs,
one teaspoonful of soda, one nutmeg. Make
into small cakes in the hand. Do not roll
thin.
SUGAR COOKIES.
One pound of sugar, half a pound of but-
ter, four eggs, one and a-half pounds of
flour, using part of it for rolling out, half
a teaspoonful of soda, flavor with vanilla.
Mix the batter the day before you wish to
bake the cakes. Bake in a hot oven.
Sprinkle with sugar before putting into the
oven.
SCOTCH COOKIES.
Beat together one cup of butter and two
cups of sugar, and mix two teaspoonfuls of
cream of tartar with half a pint of flour.
Dissolve one teaspoonful of soda in a five
tablespoonfuls of milk. Beat two eggs
light and add them. Flavor with one tea-
spoonful of cinnamon or other spices. Mix
the whole well together and add more flour
from time to time to make into a dough.
Roll out very thin and bake in a quick
oven. These are very good, and are very
much like the old Scotch cakes of which ail
children are fond.
GINGER HORSE CAKES.
Take one pound of butter, half a pound
of sugar, one quart of molasses ginger, all- -
spice, cinnamon and cloves. Add at the
last two and a-half pounds of flour, reserv-
ing enough of this amount to rell out the
cakes. After mixing stand away until the
next day. Roll out very thin and cut out
with a horse-shaped cutter. These may be
bought at any of the house-furnishing
stores and only cost afew cents. They
will surely please the children.
CANDIES.
No matter how much candy you are to
make, make it in small amounts. Home-
made candy may be made very cheaply if
one does not count one’s time. The fancy
boubons that at some places sell for $1.50
per pound usually cost hut 25 cents as to
raw material. Cheap candies are made of
glucose instead of sugar.
PEANUT BRITTLE.
Put oue cup of granulated sugar in a
sauce pan (no water, remember.) Stir
rapidly, as it heats, with a wooden spoon.
In five minutes it will be a dark-colored
syrup. Add a cup of peanuts. Roll them
out on your board quickly. Eitherecnt two
ways quickly with a long knife or run a
confectioner’s cutter (a rolling pin with a
row of knives, first one away and then the
other, making the brittle into inch squares.
All this must be done at a pace that will
leave you entirely breathless. A few
lightning-like moves and it’s over.
Having caught you breath begin to loosen
a knife may have to he used even with a
roller cutter.
Either an aluminium or an iron sauce
pan must be used, as 400 or 500 degrees
Fahrenheit would ruin one's granite ware.
Let it be filled with water immediately,
lest cleaning it be impossible.
The materials for this most wholesome
plateful of candy cost but seven cents. This
is, too, the easiest candy to make.
If the cutting is to be done with an ordi-
nary knife only half the above amount can
be made at once.
FONDANT.
Use good sugar, a very little cream of
tartar and water. To each pound of sugar
allow a half pint of water and a level salt-
spoonful of cream of tartar. Stir until the
sugar is dissolved. Then wipe down the
sides of the pan and boil continuously un-
til the mixture softens in water, that is
when you drop it into ice water, it will
roll asoft ball. Remember, you must not
stir it. while boiling. and you must wipe
down the sides of your kettle carefully.
Now, when the .mixture will roll into a
soft ball when dropped into the water,
turn it out into a large dish or on a marble
slab, and when cool stir rapidly until you
have a smooth, white mass. This may be
flavored and rolled into small balls ready
to dip into chocolate, or orange, or vanilla
covering. Fondant, in a bowl, under a
moist cloth, will keep a week.
FOR. CHOCOLATE FLAVOR.
To a half pound of fondant add two
ounces of chocolate. a little vanilla and
two teaspoonfuls of water. While dipping
keep the fondant over hot water.
FUDGE.
Pat over the fire a cup of sugar, two
ounces of chocolate, a half cup of milk, and
boil. It is done as soon as it will harden
in cold water-
OYSTER PATES.
Into a pound of flour chop three quar-
ters of a pound of cold, flrm butter, until
you have a coarse yellow powder. Have
all your utensils cold. Wet the flourand
butter with three gills of iced water and
with a spoon work intoa mass. Turn
upon a floured pastry board, roll and fold
then roll again three times, lightly and
quickly. Fold and put in the ice-box for
several hours. Roll into a sheet half an
inch thick, and, with a cutter, cut into
rounds, like biscuits. Pile these three
deep and with a small ontter press half-
way through each pile. Put into the oven
which should be very hot-and bake to a
light, delicate brown. The pastry should
be very light. When done, remove, and
lift off the little round in top of each pate.
This will serve as a-cover. With a small
spoon scoop out the soft paste from the
centre, thus leaving a cavity to be filled
with the oyster mixture.
Cook together a tablespoonful of butter
and flour, and pour upon them a cup and
a half of rich milk—half cream, If you
have it. Stir to a smooth sauce, then add
the drained oysters, aud cook just long
enough for the edges to begin to ruffle.
Now beat in gradually the beaten yolk of
an egg; cook two minutes, season with
celery-salt and white pepper, and fill the
shells with the mixtnre. Fit on the littl
covers, and Set in the oven until all are
very hot.
GINGER CREAM,
Put an ounce of gelatin to soak 1n half a
cup of cold water. Take one and one-half
ounces of ginger and cut it up in very
small pieces. Have a pint of double cream
thoroughly chilled, set it in a basin of ice
and whip to a stiff froth. Then stir in
carefully, a little at a time, two ounces of
powdered sugar, then a tablespoonfnl of
the syrup from the ginger and teaspoonful
of essence of ginger. Have the’ gelatin dis-
solved in a cup of hot milk and chilled by
stirring over cracked ice as it begins to
thicken; fold in the cream, at the same
time sprinkling in the preserved ginger,
Turn into a rock mold and place on ice to -
set,