¥ i i E ¥ : £ 3 . # Dew dan. Bellefonte, Pa. August 17, 1906. Silence. Silence! That's the greatest gift Man can cultivate, Sort of thing that's sure to lift Him from trouble great. When you're in the blackest hole, Getting deeper in, That's the time to keep control Of your chin. When you get into a fuss With some other chap, De not add upto the muss With a verbal rap. Hold your tongue right warily, Not a bit of slack, There'll be fewer things to be Taken back. Speeches of the quarrelscme Easily unloosed Raise the Dickens when they come Home again to roost. Nothing's harder to digest Than an acid word— Few can stand it at the best, 80 I've heard. When you sit by her you love, Heart too full to speak, — Eyes like Heaven's blue above, Dimples in her cheek, — What's the use of trying, pray, Feelings to confess, When your thoughts the words you'd say Can't express? So pretend ti. ‘* you are dumb As you w..k your way. Let your motto bright be “Mumm! Nothing for to say!" Let the other fellow show Off his cheerful chin, While in silence deep you go in and win. By John Kendrick Bangs. IDELLA AND THE WHITE PLAGUE. a ei Alive I" exclaimed Mrs. Sparrow, ropping the letter in her lap and holding up Poth bands. ‘‘Well, I never did !" Mr. Sparrow, reclining in the rocking- chair with the burst cane seas, his stocking: ed feet resting on the wooden chair with- out a back, started, opened his eyes, and jan at his wife. Lyourgus Sparrow and itba Sparrow and Edwin and Ulysses and Marguerite and Marcellus Sparrow, scattered here and there about the room,on the floor and the broken down couch, raised their eyes from school books and rag dolls, and looked at their mother. Even little Sbadrach, the smallest Sparrow in the flock, seemed interested. “I never did in this world!" repeated Mrs. Sparrow with unction. ‘Never did what?’ snapped her hus- band. ‘‘Land of love ! Hain’s you got any thought for my nerves ? Here I be a-settin’ and suflerio’, tryin’ to forgis I've got any stomach or lungs, avd you turn loose and holler like a loon. I'm all of a palsy. Youn never did what 7’ “I never heard tell of such a thing in ny born days, and you'll say so too, ashy, when I tell you. What do you 8'pose Idella’s been and gouve and doue?” ‘‘Hain’t lost her job, has she?" asked Mr. Sparrow, anxiously, sitting upright in the rocker, but bolding ou to the arms in order not to ‘‘hear down’ too bard on the broken seat. ‘No, not exactly lost it. But she's gone and—Oh, you'll never guess !' “Well, I ain’ got to guess, Lave I? 'Tain’t a conundrum. I never see sach a woman ! Out with it !| What's she done ?” ‘‘She’s gone and—"' Mrs. Sparrow paused to give the aunouncement doe weight; ‘she’s gone—and—got—married.’’ Mr. Sparrow’s stockinged feet struck the floor with a slap as their owner spraug up. “Married ?" he repeated in a shriek. His wife shut her lips au! nodded solemnly. ‘Married !" groaned Mr. Sparrow, and fell heavily back into the rocker. The remnant of cave ripped across and he eauk floorward, doubled up like a jickkuife. Then, apparently unconscious of his uo- comlortable position, he stared out between his kuees and again muttered ‘Married !" in a dismal whisper. “Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Sparrow, ‘she’s married without sayin’ a word to ue. If that aio’c jest like Idella—iodependence all over. Here, Lycurgus ! why don’t you and Edwin help your father ont of that chair ? Waut him to break his back ?" The two boys sprang to the assistance of their entrapped parent, and each, seizing an arm, pulled and tugged until they separated him from the framework of the rocker. The thanks they received were not effasive. “Leggo 0’ me!" shouted Mr. Sparrow, shoving them to one side. Tryin’ to haul me in ba'f, ain't ye? Look bere, Betsy ! Who'd that girl warry ? Has le got any money ?"’ ‘She don’t say, Washy. She jest writes that she married him, and bis name's Willian: Burke, and she met him last win- | P® ter at a dance of the Carpenter's Union. She —-'! ‘A carpenter ! A carpenter! And now she's got him ww look afrer. That's it! Work and slave and worry voursel! isto the wiaveyard hituging up children aud soon's they git big enough 10 earn some- thing, «ff they go ent marry another man.” “Bur. pa,’ broke 10 Editha, aged eight, “Idella couldn't mary you ‘cause you've got marmer “Be «till, vou sasshox sou! Makin’ fan of sour sick father and your wa vphoidin’ you in it. What's goin’ to become of us without the money that that girl's heen sendin’? What's goin' to hecome of me— me, all hut gone with consumption (cough) av most crazy with varvoos dyspepsy ? Oh 1} Betsy Sparrow hastened to interiupt and ward off the attack of “‘uerves’’ that she koew from experience was at hand, “Io's all right, Washy," she cried. “That part's all right; hetter'n ever, most likelv. Seems her hoshand has got a job buildin’ the big hotel at East Wellmouth, and him and her are comin’ down here to board with ux. Idella says they'll pay good board and she'll belp me with the house and washin' and things. We'll have more money "stead of less; don't you see?’ “Humph !"’ grunted her hushand,pash- ing a child or two out of the way and sit. ting down on the lounge; ‘‘that sonnds lovels—on paper. Weil, go abead and read us the letter Betsy read it. It was a long letter, full of gond humor and cheers optimism. Bot then, Idella had always been hopeful and happy. even when, hy virtue of rank as the eldest of Washington and Betsy Spar row’s tranpe of children, she had given np schoo! at fourteen to stay at home and Washi knew is. any one else. first married he went fishing occasionall and did odd jobs around town. developed in nervous dyepepsia and slow consumption These were sai itating. All day or sat by the fire,and impaired was te. cians bad long scoffingly prescribed a club, and old Penrose guikesed green dren told their teachers that wash “dreadlal things going. Mrs. ADE read ment. Ain't that jest li mother.” casm; “how ’bout her I'll bet there bain’t.” lot about diseases. him.” it (cough). my grave. all I ask is to git through. Think I'm a soy ” The attack news of his daughter's fell asleep on the lounge. again. there was balm in Gilead after all. Aud two days later Idella came. hioged frout gate. the children were all at home. in’ Mis. Sparrow was at home also. The all hut the afflicted Washington. ud by the couk-stove in solitary dignity. at the gate. yuu. haby ! My ! how you have grown !"’ The children blushed and grinned and real store-coat, and new, not cat down aud turned and wade over a ball-dozen times. vew likewise. crirvd Idella. would get here. you too ! Bill, come here, will you ?" Mr. Burke was hig and square-shoalder- ed and sturdy. wife's first call. It was easy to see who was “*hoss’’ in that family. wondered avd envied, carpet bag. Mr. Sparrow, by the stove, did not deign to tarn. **And there's pa!” exclaimed Ideila, running over and embracing him. ‘Why, pa! how well youn luok !" “Well I" repeated the invalid indiguant- ly, “maybe I look well, bus I tell vou-—"' “This is my husband,” interrupted Idella briskly. ‘‘Bill, shake havds with "n Mr. Barke extended a band of propor tiouat - size to the re-t «f him and mashed his father-tu-lnw’s flabby togers within ie He grosled that he was pleased to be “ac: quainted’ to Mr. Sparrow ‘How's the cough, pa?’ asked Idells, Her father gave a tombstone sample of the cough before replying. Then he oh. and he cal’tated it never wonld be, “Oh, yes it will,” affirmed his daughter. “Dr. Saunders has learned me a whol: lot of things. You'll see. Bill, open that have the presents we hroaghs em.” The ward “presents” caused even the invalid to brace up and take au interest in {hife. Ther was something for every oue; | nothing expensive, ol course, but all won. tderfal in thas family. | And now, ma,” said Idella, ‘‘Jest let we change my duds and I'll piteh 10 and help git he dinner. | hope we're goin’ to have hersin's. [ain't hada herrin’ sense 1 left Wellmouth.' That was the begicuiog Before the next week had passed it was evident that there was a new manager in the Sparrow hoasehold and the name of that manager vas Idella. She took charge of affairs at opoe aud began to wake improvements. The children all wens to school regularly, the eldest included. On Tuesdae Mr. Burke began hie lahor= at the new hotel, leaving carly in the moming and retarniog at 81x o'elock nounced that hes washing no more. She might “take in’ the anndry work if she wished, hat then it would be done ot home and she, hesell, veanla help. Mrs Sparrow protested, but i Idetin ealmly «ent ahead, saw all the regular customers aud arranged with them. When he and Betsy were wile made the mistake of going out wash- ‘“Washy’’ began to develop symptoms. He | hearth of the cook stove, took his pi succession atism, , phthisics, and 1 At iden oe uma. - tisfyingly chronic and debil- fy slept or smoked is only function not The town ven him up. Dr. Beer ¥ The ochil- was too sick to work, and Betev informed her eliadidly fuat Me Sparson was poorly. e eved it, too, poor, sell-sacrificing soul,and scrubbed and elved from morning till night to keep the long letter tbroogh, stopping occasionally to com- ‘‘Jeat listen to this,” she cried exulting- ly. ‘I guess my coming home will make ings easier for you, ma. We'll have you playing lady in the rocking chair yit.’ Idella? Ske allers used to say that. She don’t fergit her poor old ‘‘Huh !" granted Mr. Sparrow, with sar- poor old father? Ain’s no bouquets for him, is there ? No, “Oh, she ain’s forgot you nuther, Wasbhy. Here's what she says : ‘Tell pa that my livin’ in a doctor's family has learned me a I believe I can care ‘‘Yes, she'll cute mea whole lot. No, sir ! I've got my never-git-over and I know Well, the soouer the quicker. I'll be at rest pretty soon and everybody’ll be glad. Don’t rag out in no mourain’ for me. Don’t put no hot-house wreaths on I know how you all feel and I'm resiguoed. Git off my feet, you everlastin’ youog ones! | Mr. nerves developed. Mr. Sparrow felt that he and his troubles were in danger of being overshadowed by the marriage, and that i an tie oS to Shfost. He Stouss, fay ls wi and stamped and coughed and groanedgsary and you don't git it bere by the stove. and whimpered. The children fled, re) y > : 4 younger ones to bed and the others to pre- pare them for it. After a while the invalid Mrs. Sparrow sat by the table mending and darving. She took up the letter and read it through Idella was coming back. Perbaps | dren. The depot wagon reeled and bumped through the sandy ruts and up to the little one- It was a Saturday and The allow- ance of washing for thas day being ‘‘taken were all at the door to welcome the arrival, He stay- Idella jamped from the wheel and ran in “*My sakes, ma,’’ she cried, grabbivg Mrs. Spartow about the neck and kissing ber; *‘if it don’t seem good to see And Lycurgus (smack), and Editha (swack ), and Ed and 'Lys aud Nap and Margie (a smack for each), aud there's the stared adwiringly ab Idella’s jacket. A And the gay bat with the red rivhons was “If it ain't fine to see you all again,” “ Basing 2 the Ss user you or die mysell a tryin.’ Oar woodshed Mis Sparrow They went into the hoase, Bill bearing the trunk as il it was no heavier than a trunk, will you please; | want the folks to Ina fortioght Idella an-! mother was to go ond! mend and cook and sweep and tend In a month Betsy actually realized that she while ber mother wens out washing. bad time, light time, to ‘'set in the be obliged to live in Wellmouthpors the rosiiing chairs 2d Qo she mending. Idella year around is, of itself, enough to sour and serubbed and dressed the obil- the most saintly disposition; but to live in | dren. She and ber husband paid board, so Washiogton Sparrow's rattle-trap shanty | there was more money on band than ever in the woods, with the added discomfors of | before. It was wonderful, bus it was true. Mr. Sparrow’s society thrown in—that | At first the invalid viewed all these Idella had done this for years and hadn't | changes with suspicion, hut when be found lost faith in the world is the best possible | that the food was better, that he wasn't key to her character. To give up these | asked to do an, and that, more im- duties and take service as maid-of-all-work | portant than all, his ailments were ap with Dr. Saunders and bis Jamis, first at | preciated and understood, he became re- their summer home at East aod told his wile that he could il for. the children wére in bed. with dreadful hollowness. wanted it." “And lug lamber! and all tore to you want to kill me all to once ?*’ His spasm heartrending to witness. “No,” sal wao's fit to work. I'm going to try.” Don’t you worry about me. me up long spell ago. else.” I’ve got his receipt.” Idella went calmly on. is =o different. consumption ?'’ pocket and handed it to his wife. more. Not by the real doctors it ain't. Fresh air night and day is what's uecces- You ought to live outdoor. Yes, and sleep there, too.” *‘Sleep outdoor? Whas kind of talk is that? Be you crazy or—"' Idella help up a band. ‘‘Don’t screech 80, pa,’ she said. ‘‘You'll wake the chil. Bill, where's that magazine ?"’ Her hushand produced a dog’s-eared copy of a popular periodical and Idella turoed its . ‘‘Here,”” she said. ‘‘Here'sa piece about curin’ the White Plague; that means consumption. Let me read youa little of it.” Mr. Sparrow declared that he didn’t want to hear vo sach foolishness, but bis daughter laboriously spelt out extracts from the article, which epecified the dan- gers of dark rooms and confined atmos. pheres, and described Adirondack sava- toriums and open air sleeping rooms. ‘See, pa,’ she said, holding the maga- ziue hefore ber pareot’s eyes. ‘‘See that picture. That's a tent where two con- years. 'Twas thirty below zero Shere sometimes, too, bus it cored ’em. And see this one. that shanty was, bot —7" “Take it away !"” shouted the invalid. *‘if you expects we to believe sach lies as them you're—="" “They ain't lies. Dr. Saunders bad lots of patients with consumption and he cured ‘em the vame way. Aud I'm goin’ to cure out hack here is jest the place for yon. It's full of cracks and the windows are broken, He came obediently as his | *” there'll be plenty of air suierin’ Bill took the lounge out there au little while ug 3 didn't yon, Bill 2” “I thought I missed that looege !"" ex. claimed Mis Sparrow, who had been lis teutug open-mounthed. “Yes, it's there. There's plenty of bed clothes, ra you'll sleep warms. You can wear your own clothes and Bill's old over- cout and set in the sun deyemes, We'll feten you your meals You mustn't come i the house atall. If von live thas way all winter, why —"" “All winter 1? The alarmed Washington leaped to his feet. “The gal’s gone loony ! She want's to kill me so's I'l Le out of the was. I done stir one step Yon hear me? Not one step’ “Some of Dr. Saunddy’s patients talked thar way fires along,’ observed Idella, “hut they had to do what he ordered. Bill, take pa unt to the shed. I'H canry the mp Mr. Buike rose, squared his mighty served resignedls that it wasn't no betur | ghonlders, and adsaveed toward is father in law. He looked a< if he rather enjoyed the situation. “Betsy. shricked Mr. Sparrow, dodg- ing tnto a corner, “he you in this? Do you want to see me wurdered 27 Mis. Sparrow was troubled. She had implicit confidence in her davghter, but she sympathized with ber husband & infirm- ities Idella,’ she protested, “‘scems to me | wonldn't—Remem ber them nervous at- tacks he's subject 10.” “Nerves, declared Idella, “come from the stomach. [ll "tend to them later We must care his lungs. Bill, fetch him atang.” Mr. Burke's hand settled firmly on the back of the invalid’s neck. “‘Tiot along, dad,” he commanded. Mr. Sparrow fought and hung back. The other hand descend. edd and seized him by the waistband. He moved toward the door, “walking Spanish” like a #mall boy io the school vard, | Idella opened the dour. ‘Nobody can say,’ she remarked with emphasis, “that I let my father die of consumption without tryin’ tooure him, Come on, pa.” “Remember, Washy, it's all for jour Lond," faltered Betsy, wringing her hands. { The procession wosed neross the yard aed into the rickety woodshed. Idella placed the lamp in a sheltered comer on the floor Bill’ stay tl you gitto bed, pa, she | said. “Good night.” on off in peace now because he knew that parison like sitting down | she and the children would be provided Bat ove evening, early in November, his . They were seated ngton Spat was an invalid aod | in the kitchen, Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow, Bill In be knew it better than |and Idella. Lycorgus and Editha were doing sums in the front room. The rest of “Pa,” said Idella suddenly, “I don’t s’pose yon feel well enough to go to work?” Her father, seated with his feet o the rom - | his mouth aod turned an agitated to. ward his daughter. He started to speak aod then, recollecting, coughed long and “I asked,’”’ continued Idella, ‘‘'cause Bill says they need more hands to cat down trees and lug lumber over to the hotel, and be could git a job lor you any time yon . “Cut down trees !"’ shouted the sufferer. What you talkin’ ‘bout ? How long do you cal’late I'd last doin’ that? I'm elipping into the grave tast enough as tis, jest setting bere hackin’ eces with dyspepsy. Do of coughing this time was Idella, ‘I told Bill you Bat, pa, I think some- thing ought to be done to cure you and so “Care ! Hamp ! I'm past curin’, Raster. s give No, all's fh for | some free lunch which served for supper. me is to linger around and die slow. I'll be glad when it’s over and so’ll everybody “Doctois gave you up ! What doctors ? These one-hoss ones down here ? I've heen living for a year with a reel doctor and he didn’t give folks up jest ’cause they bad consumption. No, sir ! he cured em, sod “It ain't no use—'’' began Washy, hut “Your case is kind of mixed up, pa, I'm free to say,’’ she continued, ‘‘ ’couunt of your consumption being complicated with nervous dyspepsy. The cures for the two Bat I've mzde up wy | wharf till twilight he retorned home toa mind ¢) stars in on your lungs and kind of work’ round to your stomach, as you might say. Bill, where's the receipt for urke, a grim smile hovering about his lips, took a folded paper [rom his ““‘Consumption,’’ said Idella, looking at the paper, ‘‘ain’t cured by medicine no sumption folks lived and sleps for over two "Twas l[orty-five below where The woodshed door shat. The agitated sufferer looked at the bare walls, the heap of cord wood sawed and split by Lycurgus, and the loonge, commanded Mr. “Git undressed.” Burke. “Hurry up.” “1°11 freeze to death,” protested Washy. **No, you won't, not yet. Anyway freez- ing is a quick death, so they say, and ['ve heatd you hankering to die quick ever sence I got here. Git to hed ; see?" Mr. Sparrow threw off his onter gar. ments and shiveriogly encamped on the lounge Mr. Burke took up the lamp and looked at him. “Good night,’ ohserved the carpenter. Then he added : “There's one thing more 1 oaght to ray. To-morrer I'll he away io work, but you are not to come in to the house. You will stay outside same as Idel. Ia tells you. If you come in or try any funny business, why—'" he meditatively opened and closed a fi<t like a ham —*'Well, you don’t die of consumption anyhow.” He withdrew ; Mr. Sparrow was alone. The fresh air cure had begun. Next day the invalid, wrapped wn Mr, Barke's tailing ul<ter, spent a lively se- ries of honr« chasing the patch of suoshine as it moved around the exterior of his dwelling. His meals were brought 10 lim by Idella. Betsy had evidently received order« not to interfere. Through the win- dow he ¢uld see the fire in the cook stove and the luxurions rocker that had heen his throne. He begged and pleaded to come iu, had spas of coughing and attacks of nerses, hut his daughter was adamant. “It is all for your good, pa,’’ was her ouve reply. Washiugton was strongly tempted to enter hy force, but the thought of his son-in-law 's fist and the gentle hint with | which it bad been displased prevented his yielding to the temptation. He slept in the shed that night. Tete following afternoon he had an idea. After dinner, eaten on the back steps, he watched his chance and hurried off, tbiough the woods, on a mile walk to the billiard- room in the village. There he found a roaring fire and a comiortable chair ; also When he reached the shed at ten o'clock that evening, he figured thas be had found a way to outwit his guardians. Bas Mr. Burke made a pilgrimage to the ¥iliage ths ues matuisg on his wa a work, when apn opened t billiard room door that afternoon he was received with a roar from the proprietor. ‘Git out of here !"’ shouted the latter. “Git right out and don’t show your nose in here agin. You've got consumption, and it's catchin’. Gis! The discowforted Mr. Sparrow ‘‘got”’ and tried the store. There Le met the same reception. Alter loafing about the picnic meal and the lounge. He stood it fora week, and then au- nounced that he felt enough better to risk a day iuside. But Idella didn’t see it in that light. “I'm glad your lungs feel better, ja.v she said. ‘I cal’lated they would. Bat, of course, you must etay outside this win- ter anyhow. Now, I guess it's time to start in oo the dyspepsia line.” She pro- daced the sheet of paper that bad been the heginuing of her father’s troubles. ‘‘For dyspep-y. pa,’ she said, ‘‘and partic’lar for nervous dyspepsy, which is the wast kind, you bave to diet and take exercise. We'll begin on the dietin.” ‘In severe cases the patient should take nothing but hot milk.” Well, we've got plenty of milk ; that’s lucky.” Waehy spraug from the wash-bench where he bad been sunning himself. ‘‘Do you base the face to tell me,’’ he screamed, *‘that I can’t bave nothing to eat but wilk, Why that's—"' *“Tbat’s doctor’s orders, pa. I'm going by doctor's orders ; and see what they have doue for you already.” “I can’t live on milk ! I bain’t a baby. I bate the stuff? I don’t believe no doctor would ever-—'" “Well, we will call Dr. Bailey and ses what he says. I'll bet he will bask me up.” Mr. Sparrow didn’t take the bet. He kuew Dr. Bailey, and the latter's opinion of his case. “Aw, Idella, please----'" he pleaded. “For your own good, pa,”’ said Idella, “I will fetch you the hot milk.” She did, aquart of its. He drank it be- cause there was nothing else. For a week he lived on milk and fresh air. He tried every Beighbol, and they were few, with. in two miles, but they had been posted aud refused to feed him. Also they told him it was for his good. He could not smoke because his daughter said tobacco was the worst thing possible for both bis ailments. As for the prescribed exercise, | he got that running ahout to keep warm. Aw, Idella,” he pleaded, one Sunday morning when the sky was overcast and the cold wind gave promise of a ncrtheast saow sorm ‘Aw, Idella, won’t you let me have somethin’ hearty ? Only a bunk of bread, say? I've drownded my insides with milk ull I feel like acharn. I can’t keep on drinkin’ the stuff ; it goes agin me eve to smell it. The bare sight of a cow males me seasick.’ | Botit was no use. “All for hi« good,” ! his davghiter said. These wads had be. ! come to him almost as unpalatable as the | milk. i The northeaster developed. By night | the woodshed shook and 1attled like a heo- ievop. The snow streaked in thicugh the oracks and sifted over his nose whenever he | hrought it above the blankets for air. Also | he was tremendously huogrys. {At midnight he arose, desperate, aud shook himself into all the garments on | hand, ivelading the uleter. Then he open- {el the shed door and went out. The | t2ought of Bill and the fist pursued bim like a Nemesis, but he dida't care. He | was going to be warmed aod fed even if : pounded to death afterwards, | He crept about the house, trying every | door ard window. He had tried them on | previous tosturnal exoarsions but bad al- | ways found them locked. This time he | was more thorough, and at last--oh joy! | he found a nail loose behind a cellar win. | dow He worked it back and forth, while | | the snow drifted over his hack. Finally | | the uatl gave way and fell ivside witha {fingle. He waited, breathless, but there was no sound from within. Then he | i squeezed himself thiough the window. | He tiptosd up the creaking celiar staits | and into the warm kitchen. The storm was | | making a terrific racket around the bons: | | and tbat was a Providence for him. He | | held his hands over the stove for a moment | { and then tiptoed to the pantry. i | Heknew where the matehes were kept | | and took some, They were of the ‘‘eight- | ! day'® variety and wciseless. He lit one | ! and by it= light ssw, on the pantry shelves, | | cold bam aud biead and giuger cake | mince pie. Also there wan milk, but he | {didn iook at that. i | Mr. Burke was the first of the family to | [finish dressing next morning. He came | | downstaiis, lamp io hand, and opened the | door leading into the kitchen. Then he | stopped, stared, and went back after Idel- la. He led ber 10 the door and pointed. | There, in the rockiog-chair belore the them. “My soul and body !'’ she exclaimed. Washy beard her and awoke. At first be merely opened his eyes and blinked at the ceiliog. Then he sat uprights and turned around. His jaw fell. “Well, pa,” said Idella sharply, ‘‘what sort of doin’s is thi«? What do you wean ? aren i uit: essayed to speak. e! u his son-in-law’s fist and remained fix- . He said vothing. “The idea !"’ cried Idella. “‘After all I've done to cure you. Roastin’ in this red-hot kitchen eatin’—Is that mince- pie crust by your hand ?"’ Lyecurgus had appeared and gone away again. Now he came back. “Ma.” be said. ‘he’s et every hlessed thing in the the batt'ry. *J—I1—"' faltered the invalid wildly. “I —1 didn’t mean to, hut I was starved and froze and —"’ “Mince pie !"" exclaimed Idella. ‘Well! Now we're in a nice mess, and all wo do over again.’’ “I'm all right now, anyway,’ protested Mr. Sparrow. ‘‘Iain’t coughin’ none and the grub don't distress me a mite. Nos ha'l so much as that dratted milk.” “All to do over again !" repeated Idella. “And I don’t kuow as we'll ever cure you vow. Git outdoor this minute. And you mustn't eat a thing, even milk, for three or four days. Open the outside door, Bill.” Bill opened the door. A howling gust of wind-driven snow swept in. Mr. Spe. row felt its freezing breath and shivered. “I'm all tight, I tell ye!" he ehouted. *Ifeel five. I'm cured. Better'n I ever was, donno's [ ain't.” ‘‘Are youn sure, pa?" “Course I'm sure. Douo’t I know! I'm all cured.” “Well, that’s a mercy !"’ said Idella. “I koew "twas the right receipt, but I didn’t thiok ’twould work so quick. Bill, pa's cured. He'll go with you to take the job at the hotel this very day.” Washington's facial barometer sank to ‘‘clondy.” He choked and hesitated. “Course you mustn't go if you ain't sarely cared, pa,’ said bis daughter. *‘Maybe vou’d better try the shed aud milk for a month or so longer.” The snow danced along the kitchen floor. It reminded Mr. Sparrow of the previous |. evening in the woodshed. “I'll go,” he said, “‘but I'll work kind of easy fast along, 80's—"’ “Oh, no! You must work real hard, 80's to git the exercise, else you'll bavea relapse. You'll see that pa works the way he'd ought to, for his eake, won't you, Bill 1” Mr. Burke nodded. said eententiously. The news of the wonderful cure spread quickly. Dr. Bailey laughingly congratu- lated Idella upon it. ““Yes,' said that young lady, *'I cal’late he’s cured, as lenst for a spell. Anyhow, the ‘Everyhody Works but Father’ song don’t fit our fam’ly no more.” “He'll work,” he Sabbath Observance. Editor of The Democratic Watchman, DEAR SIR : The Bellefonte Ministerial Assodiation is much encouraged by your permission to open the columns of your paper for ocea- sional scripture selections touching the vi- tal interests of the Caristian religion and helpful to the coming of *‘the kingdom of God "I snhmit brief quotations concern. ing Sabbath day observance. “To the law and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this word, it is be cause there is uo light in thew.” —Isa: 8:20, “The Lord spake unto Moses saying: Speak thou unto the children of Israel, verily my Sabbaths ye shall keep; for it is holy unto you; whosoever doeth any work therein that soul shall be cut off from among his people. Six days may work be done; but in the sev- euth is the Sabbath of rest, holy to the Lord,” —Exodus 31:12:16. “And Jesus said unto them, the Sabbath was made for man, snd vot man for the Sabbath.” Mark 2:27. **As his custom was, he went into the syn agogue ou the Sabbath day.”’—Luke 4:16. “To preach the acceptable year of the Lord ""—Luke 4:16. “Leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps.” —1 Peter 2:21. -—=-Mabel —* Would you believe it, auntie, two men followed us down to the pies?” Marian —* Yes, auntie, every step of the way." *Aunatie—'"How did you know?" Mahle—* "We saw them every time we lvoked hack ™’ Martiau—"*'Yes, aunty, and they followed us on the boat.” Aunt— "What makes you think they were following you?’ Mabel — ‘‘Because we noticed them watching us every time we turned oor hivads.” Aunt—"Ah, I thoaght yoar heads were turned.’ No Hurry at All A lazy and leguacious man whose farm lies just outside of Worcester, England, called at a neighbor's house recently. “8itdown, sit down!" exclaimed the neighbor. . of don’t kuow as I onght,”’ replied the farmer, hut, nevertheless, he sat down. After some taik about crops, the farmer said slowiy: ‘I don’e know as I ooghs to be sittin, here: 1 came over to see if | could get on ladder: our house is afire.”’ © Literal. Agues was being burned off to hed at her usoal hour, 8 p. m., despite the fact that there were guests in the bonse. “Why, Agues, you yo to bed with the chickeus, don’t you?'' a visitor sy:npathet- ioally remarked. “No, I dm'e," replied Agnes, resenting hi« reference to her youth, “I go to hed with mamma.’ ——Him—*"Isn’t that Miss Upperton over by the piano?” Her—*Yes." Him-—8he is certainly a bavdsone girl, ne she?’ fer—"'Yes, but she isn't as haudsome as she i. pated.” ———————————E ww *They say that faint heart ne'er won fair lady.’ Yes; hint the lady mi after 4s dark ™ —————————— ww Binge "I"v+ got a soit of clothes for every dav in the week"! Naugs— ‘Yes, | see you have ib on.” Sm Ancient Water Villages. From the Technical World Magazine. Ove of the most interesting regions in the “Old Fatherland’ is the so-called ‘“Spreewald,” the Forest of sitoated not far from the Germau capital, in the province of Bradenbuig. Each vil is a little Venice, every bouse a little is : and these istets are counected hy bridges sufficiently raised to allow under them. byte to yee Most of the houses, with their barns and stables, rest oun pies, and there is geveral- ly a strip of artificial terra firma, either in frout or at the rear of every building. By meaus of these land strips and of the bridges, the slender laud communication is kept throughous she district, but moss of the business aud amnsement is carried on through the cavals, which uot only form the main bighways, hut penetrate and oross and tecrose the whole region. [tis on these lagoons that a!l taffic 1s conduct- ed in boats daring the period from spring, when the last vestiges of frost and ice are disa, until the end of autumn. You see the lester carrier shoot up and Gown the canals, performing his duties in his frail cralt; the police glide leisurely aloug the banks, watching everything go- ing on; peasants bring the products of their toil tothe nearest towns; children go to and from school, young mothers, dressed in their Sanday clothes, are rowed to church, cauying in their arms a small, queer-lookivg bundle, fiom which two large eyes in a ting face stare at the stran- ger in woudermeut—baby is going to be baptized, an important moment with this strongly religious people. I —— TT ———— —— Forcing the youthful wind is a prac- tice no louger obtaining in schools of the best standivg, but not yes obsolete in many of the common schools. In schools which represent the dominant ideas of Sdusation today, stimulation, interest, on prevail, aod driving is avoided. If there has been some loro toward the osaic there is now a fresh interest u stimolatiog the emotions, and a fall realization of the need of many things couventionally not classed among the use- ful. The greatest problem of education unsolved to-day relates to girls. Hereto- fore their education hes been a mere copy of that long ago established for boys. Some day a genius will come along and conceive thoughts which shall form the basis of an education which shall help girls to all their best possibilities, without dissipating their strength on lines of effort established for vatures in some respects entirely dif- ferent.— Collier's. THE SUNDIAL. It Should Be Marked For the Latie tude In Which It Stands. In an old shop in lower New York a man keeps up his trade of dial making. The dials, square, octagonal or circu- lar, are hand chased. They do not re- celve a high polish, and any acciden- tal effect of weather stain or other “tone of time” is carefully preserved if not skillfully added. These dials, fitted with the gnomon, or stylus, are then artfully slipped into the show windows of uptown curiosity shops among a selected debris of Sheffield plate, prism candlesticks, inlaid tea caddies and old blue plates. A visitor to one of these shops asked: “How old is that brass dial over there? It's all hand work, isn't it?” “It's all hand work,” said the proprie- tor, whom we will call Truthful James, . “I can testify to that, for I know the man whose hands made it. It's about a month old, if you want to know. You're like lots of other people—you want an old Scotch or English dial. Don’t you know it would be useless, if vou found it, for practical purposes? Excuse me, but haven't you ever stud- ied geography and heard of latitude? A dial ought to be marked out scien- tifically for the exact latitude in which it is to be set up. So unless you strike the same parallel in the states that the dial left in England it will tell lies from morning till night. You'd be sur- prised how many people pick up a dial that strikes their fancy which perhaps stood in the garden of an old Virginia estate, intending to hurry it off to the big grounds of some place in Minneso- ta: or they'll snatch at some quaint dial from New England, with the idea of rigging it up in Texas. “More people would make the same blunder, except that many haven't caught on to dials. Too bad. Nothing iz prettier than a simple dial at the crossways of garden paths, or by a fountain or on a terrace or at the en- trance of a pergola or near a rustic seat or arbor. You don’t have to hire a head gardener and two assistants to keep a sundial. Marble platforms and pedestals are very grand, but unless you're running a big Italian garden with clipped hedges and yews and statues something simple is what you want. The dial will keep just as good time, once it's engraved right, if it's mounted on a tree stump, with ivy planted round it, or on a bowider, or on the coping of an old disused well, or on a column of cobbles mortared together, or on top of the old hitching post that the Yamily doesn’t use in these auto- mobile days, but doesn’t want to root up and throw away. “You'd be surprised at the ingenuity of some people,” said Truthful James, who himself seemed of ingenious bent. “I mean people who haven't much money to spend and are fond of thelr own old stuff for association's sake. They're the ones who get effects with a piece of junk, a lump of sentiment and a pocket of small change that can't be bought with a blank check. I've known people who used an old milk stone to set the dial on, or who laid a slab over an old stone garden urn, or who saved the capitals from pillars on a house being torn down, or who even rigged up u standard from the bricks of a chimueyr on an old homestead that had meant a lot to them. One family made a sort of cairn out of a geolely collection some ancestor had formed. Another took a flag pole for the gnomon and aid out a dial with pebbles in the grass around the pole. “No, it doesn't require any skill to set up the dial. Get the noon mark for the gnomon on several days, nick it on the slab and then set the dial in a bed of coment. There you are) —New York Post, Wm
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers