En oS Bemorrait fata. _= = Bellefonte, Pa., July 17, 1908. EE ——————— THE LIE. How brave the lie was as she flung it out— Woman's poor shelter in her hour of need; Blackening her lips with laughter none might doubt, To keep her soul unspotted from the deed. Not low enough por mean enough $0 pay Truth's awtul price- lives iwined within her own: Oh, easier far, denying day by day Her soul's high gods that thundered from the throne. And when her time comes to be judged of this By Him who sees life truly, sees it whole, For His eye clean, and bare of earthly bliss Stands one who dar~d to lie to save her soul! —By Grace Duffield Goodwin. AS THEY ARE. My home is where my rugs are,” said Avis airly. She bad just finished tacking a silky dull gleaming old Bokbara against the plastered wall of ber sissing-room aod now stood back to view the effeos. The young man who had been anekil- fully assisting allowed hie eyes to drift y 45- tively over the wausformed I. en he looked back at Avis. ‘‘Under the rug are the soratcoes all there just the same,’”’ be said. ‘“'In cov- ering shem ap you have simply made more holes in the plaster.” She smiled in charming derision. It was an old subjects between them. ‘‘How can you ges back of the poetry and she color, the whole Arabian Nighte of thas rug and see the holes in the plaster ?'’ she demand- ed dramatically. “How can you help seeing them?’ he And then they stood an instant looking at each other; he square jawed, fair-baired, with blue eyes thas held a challenge; she a lighs! creature with blue eyes also thet just now looked as dark as her soft masses of bair. He but avother balf-in- earnest question to her as she stood there smiling. “Since you started out to have blue eyes,” he said, ‘‘why do you half the time pretend thas sbey are black ?"’ She lifted her eyebrows warningly. ‘In another man, she told him, ‘‘that would partake of she nasare of a compliment. You are sure,” anxiously, ‘‘that you are nos ooncealiog the fact shat yon think my eyes are ty ?'* “I am nos,” he returned. ‘‘Neither are you concealing the fact that you think me considerable of an idiot, for which small step toward straightlorwardness let us be thaokfal !"’ Bhe swept bim a curtey which did bot seem at all ous of place, even though she was babited in a linen shirs-waist and a walking-ekirs. Then she apparently for- got bim in trying the effect of a brass-laden tea-table agaiust the Bokbara. “Do you ever make tea ?"’ he inquired, a new accusation in his tone. “Never,” she said ptly, a smile ris- ing in ber eyee. ‘I don's like it, aod it is such a lot of work; bus is looks pretty and hospitable to have she teatahle, doesu’s i?’ Then she brightened to sudden iuter- est. ‘I can make tes,” she eard. ‘Would you like a cup? Please don’s refuse. I'd really like to make it.” ‘‘Bus you said —'’ reprovingly. “What would life be without exoep- tions?'’ she cried. She was the picture of happy dowesticity as she shifted the cupe and drew the hrass kettle toward her. “I don’s like it, either,’’ he said oon- clusively. She leaned hack in her low chair, her red lip? pursed together, her eyes, bloe a8 his own, raised so his. *‘Then why,” she inquired, ‘‘should you bave looked so disapproving at my not liking it?" He was about to explain she real grounds of his disapproval when he caught she glen in her eyes, whereupon he flushed. e had times of realiziuyg that his sense of bumor bad tripped over his principles. ‘Have you heard from she New Maga- zine?’ he asked, dropping the suljeos of tea. “Yes,”” she answered, ‘‘they sent it back.’ She erossed to her desk, and after ocon- siderable rommaging found a note which * she gave him. He read and returned it. ‘Very polite,” be commented. ‘They evidently liked it. But [ can’t quite make ont what the rea- gon is for rejecting is. The editor puts it on the pablic; so much is plain.” “Ob, I know what the matter is,’ said Avis. “Other editors bave pus it in other ways. Yon see, I found it impossible to make the hero kiss she heroine.” He nodded comprehension. ‘‘And with all deference to the charm of your delicate style,” he said, “I think the public is quite right. The mao was either in love with the girl or he was not. Why not make it clea:?"”’ “It is clear,” said Avis. He shook his head. “One feels it isa ibility; that is the most you can say. here isn’t ove fact you can put your finger on.” ‘As if one wanted to put one’s finger on a fact,” she protested. ‘‘You don’t, I know,” he agreed. “Yon painstakingly cover up any fact that you see trying to poke its head out. Bat the public wants to know whether your hero married that particular girl or wheth- er be thoughts better of it and married a red-headed school-teacher.” ‘‘The public is so young,’’ she sighed. “If I were eighteen instead of twenty- eight I suppose I might more easily ges the viewpoint.” ‘I thought women pever told the truth about their ages,” he remarked. *‘They don’t without a special effort. I never accomplish it without two trials. I am twenty-nine." “I am thirty-three.” “I know it. You told me you were thirty-one the first time you spoke to me.”’ Did I? Well, one gets confidential easily on shipboard. Isuppose you put is down to masculine egotism or—-! ‘There wasn’t any ‘or,’ ”’ she interrupt- “You led me on with those interested eves of yours,” he retorted. ‘‘I had not learned then shat thas look is quite as apt to mean that you are not listening as that you are. What else did I tell youn?” *‘That your name was Stephen Ford,and that you were io the lumber business, and how zen liked your beefsteak cooked —'’ ‘Then it was your fauls,”” he said, “‘be- cause thas is one of the su on whioh I am most reserved. And you—I knew nothing about you when She i Japs ere over ex our name, and ti the sy - “Didn’s the mystery make me more in- teresting?” you in ‘Where shall I get the concert seats this year?" “The same place,” said Avis. *‘As least, the same price. My income bas the | ey limits is bad last season.’ He frowned. “I wish—but there is no use opening that discussion, Isa " ‘Not the slightest. [ can’t ind your wish to sit farther forward to the extens of letting you pay for my tickets. I may he wealthy myself another season. I am go- ing to learn bow to end my stories.’’ *‘You can’t do is,” be said conclusively. “They will continue to be charming, clever, interesting conandrums—Ilike your- self. Youoocover ap your feelings as you do your walle.” ‘“*Even if I have to poke holes in them,” Avir said peosively. After Stephen Ford nighs, he wrote: went home that Dean Avis: There is something | want to say to you, but under the circumstances I find it hard to say. Will you let me come up tomorrow? Avis read it twice with knitted hrow. “Dear old Stephen,” she said at last “That is why he bad so many complaints to make of my covering ap my feelings.” She reached for her pen drawing in her breath with a regretful sigh. ‘I knew he was in love with me,” she asknowledued to the listle mirror in her desk, ‘‘Bat] didu’s think be’d find it out wo soon,” with a whimsical smile into her reflected eyes. She bit the end of her pen meditativelv. “I'll bave to write bin,’ she said. “It would never do to bave him come up ex- expecting me to say yes."’ Bo Avis wrote: Dean Syeenex ; If you mean that you mean me tocare for you in any way except asa friend, | am so sorry, but I eannot. Avis. Stephen's answer came oon the return mail. It read : My Dean Avis: You did not guess right, but ni assurance that you donot care for me makes t much easier for me to say what | intended to— that my very sincere enjoyment of your Sompany is not on any sentiment other than nd- ship. You know my views about perfect candor in these matters. I am coming up this evening. Srernes, Avis stood in the middle of ber best Daghestan and looked as Stephen who leaned againet a obair-back for needed sup- port and returned her gaze. “Scorn of my limiwations is in your glance,’’ he said. She looked very tall—she had on a trained gown for she furtherance of shat effeot—and very bangbty. If you thought I was in love with you,”’ she hegan. “I didn’s think that,’ he protested. ‘‘If you thought there was any danger of my falling in love with yon,’ she repeated keeping a merciless eye on his embarrassed il dogged countenance, ‘‘the only thing for youn to do was to let me fall.” ‘ Bat if | conid prevent it ?"’ A very evident desire to langh rippled into she exasperasion of Miss Peyen’s face. Mr. Ford stuck to bis colors which were at that moment yorying shades of red. “You kuow believe in looking at things as they are,’’ he said. “Such an impowible thing to believe in,”’ scornfully. ‘‘Nobody ever does see things as they are.” ‘Because they don’t try. cover ap deliberately——'" His eyes followed here to she sofs-bued Bokhara. “You are so consistent,” she scoffed. ‘You have no scruples about pokiog holes in my sell-esteem so thas your covscienoe may hang comfortably.’ He laughed. ‘‘Bat why should yar self- esteem suffer 2’ he protested. ‘‘It is simply a master of our understanding each other.” “And doyou for an inetant suppose,’ she burried on, ‘that your roshing in would have wade any difference ? People fall in love without regard to the sensiment of the other party.’’ He shook. his head. He was very un- comfortable, being in reality a far from couceited young man, bat he was not pre- pared to back down from hie position. ‘“‘As loug as the element of uncertainty is there, they mighs,’”’ he said, ‘but wish a definite knowledge —" ‘What vonsense !"” said Avis. ‘‘I'vea good mind to fall in love with you, just to prove it." He looked desidedly startled. *‘I think you are quite capahle of it,”’ he said. *‘I mean of tryiug,”’ he put in hurriedly at the second ripple that swept across her face, ‘*hat I assure you it will he a failure, The thing is anpsychological. Look at the lovers of history——"" He came to a stop and broke into smiling. Avis bad sunk into a obair, her pretty shoulders shakiug, the tears in her shiniog eyes. She was lost in laoghter, aud Stephen stood looking down at her where she sat, the exquisite shape of her head in relief against the dulled scarlet and brown and gold of her book-shelves, her slender fignre relaxed. He looked a long time. It seemed to bim suddenly that he bad been looking at her for an eternity, and that he wanted another eternity in which to go or look:ng at her. “You are beautiful, Avis,”’ he eaid slowly, hardly knowing be had spoken. She glanced ap and drew a slender fore- fioger across her wet lashes. “I have never made any effort to con- oeal the fact,’ she #=aid. He frowned. The challenge had gone out of his blue eyes. They had ao astonished, almost awed look. ‘Is just occurs to me,’”’ he said, with a slowness very unlike his usual manner of speech, ‘‘that to the eves of a fool the most obvious things are hidden.” Then he looked at ber again in silence for so long that all the laughter flitted away from her face and an embarrassment came upon her. She started te rise. He pus ont his hand to stop her. ‘‘Avis,”’ be said, “it is only fair for you to know that to me the hem of your gown seems a thing worthy of worship. I sappose I have bad the feeling a long time, only I had it in my mind that it was friendship. Avis!" He came nearer and hie blue eyes were grown very boyish with the pleading thas was in them. ‘‘Yon said yon were going to try to care for me. Will you ?”’ He put his band down almost simidly and touched hers where it lay white and slim on the arm of the chair. He was marveling at the times he had touched it In graming or farewell without auy etheral- electricity taking charge of his entire being. Avis sat very quiet. swept her cheeks. She was wondering why she bad thought that morning that she was not ready. : “Will you try ?'* he asked again. A little smile curved the corners of her red month. She turned ber slender fingers 80 that they met his, ‘‘If you think it would be psychological,” she answered. *‘Avis,” said Stephen somewhat later, with an air of decided originality, ‘‘when did you 0? “I don’t know, Stephen,” she inter. rapted. “I think it was after I got your They even Her dark lashes “Yon dido’s need 353 wyllery to make be . letter sonounciog that yoo did not care for me. He held her soft band against bis cheek answering the deep-down laughter in her ee. “I think," be said, ‘‘that we bave al- ways loved each other ever since she world began.” “How wrong of us to keep it covered up 80 long !" she said.—By Jeanvetsa Cooper. In Ainslee’s. The Man That<dade Niagara. When the tirst suspension bridge was thrown over Niagara there was a great and tumolituous opening ceremony, such us the Awericans love, and many of the great pues of the United States’ assembled to do honor to the occasion, and among them was Roscoe Conkling Conkling was one of the most brilliant public men whom America has pro duced—a man of commanding. even beautiful, presence and of perhaps un- paralleled vanity, He had been called {by an opponent} a human peacock. After the ceremonies attending the opening of the bridge had been con- cluded Conkling. with many others. was at the railway station waiting to depart: but. though others were there. he did not mingle with them, but strut- ted and plumed bimself for thelr bep- efit, posing that they might get the full effect of all his majesty. One of the station porters was so impressed that, stepping up to another who was hurrying by trundling a load of luggage. he jerked his thumb in Conkling's direction and— “Who's that feller?" he asked. he the man as built the bridge?” The other studied the great man a motnent. “Thunder! No.” sald he. “He's the man as made the falls” —-H. Perry Robinson in Putnam’s Magazine. “Is Had a Treat For His Wife. Dr. George Harvey. a local veter- inary physician, was called to a stable not long ago to minister to a horse that was down with colic. It was a serious case, and the doctor saw that the only way to save the horse would be to insert a tube in its side and allow the gas on its stomach to escape. Just because he thought it would star- tle the owner of his horse Harvey struck a match and lighted the gas at the end of the tube. The man didn't say much at the time, but he was prop- erly impressed. He had never heard of using a horse for an {lluminating plant. The next day when Dr. Har- vey came around to see how the horse was getting along—it was all over the colic then—the owner tapped him on the shoulder. “My wife was away yesterday,” he said, “but she's home now. Just light up the horse again, will you? 1 want her to see It."—Cleveland Plain Dealer. Chinese Sun and Moon. In China the sun and moon are brother and sister. The moon is the elder brother. who looks after his rath- er silly sister, the sun. This is exactly the reverse of our legends, which make the sun the day king and the gentle moon lady of the night. One day in China, so the legend runs, the sun asked the moon if she couldu’t go out at night, The moon answered very sternly: “No. You are a young lady. and it would be improper for you to Zo out after dark” Then the sun said. “Rut the people keep looking at me when | go out in the daytime.” So the moon told her to take the golden needles that she wore in her hair and stick them into the eyes of people when they stared at her This is the reason why no one can look at the sun without pain. Idiomatic English. Mrs. Fremont, in a sketch of her fa- ther, Senator Benton, tells the follow- ing story of the French bishop at St Louis at the time of the purchase of Louisiana. She says: It was a point of honor among the older French not to learn English, but the bishop decided that it would be better to acquire it, especially for use from the pulpit. To force himself into the familiar practice of the lan- guage he secluded himself for awhile with the family of an American farm- er, where he would hear no French. The experiment proved very success- ful. Soon he had gained a sufficient fluency to deliver a sermon in English. Senator Benton was present wien it wus to be given, and his feelings may be imagined as the bishop. a refined and polished gentleman, announced: “My friends, I'm right down glad to see such a smart chance of folks here today.” Coleridge's Cloudiness. There is In Mr. Ellis Yarnoll's remi- niscences, “Wordsworth and the Cole- ridges,” a very amusing story of Sam- uel Taylor Coleridge, whose thoughts were sometimes too profound even for poets to follow. Wordsworth and Sam- uel Rogers had spent the evening with Coleridge, and as the two poets walked away together Rogers remarked cau- tiously: “1 did not altogether understand the latter part of what Coleridge said.” “l didn’t understand any of it” Wordsworth hastily replied. “No more did I!” exclaimed Rogers, with a sigh of relief. A Formidable Army. The battle was going against him. The commander In chief, himself ruler of the South American republic, sent an aid to the rear, ordering General Blanco to bring up his regiment at once. Ten minutes passed, but it didn’t come, Twenty, thirty, an bhour—still no regiment. The ald came tearing back hatless, breathless. “My regi- ment! My regiment! Where is it? Where is it?" shrieked the commander. “General,” answered the excited aid, “Blanco started it all right, but there are a couple of drunken Americans down the road and they won't let it go by.”—Argonaut, DESTINY AND THE DOG. By Edgar Welton Cooley. EACON URIAH PARTRIDGE, long. lank and dignified, squat- ted like a half fed turkey gob bler on a limb in Miss Cullen's hack yard, holding up the dangling skirts of his Prince Albert with his left hand and shaking his right fist spite- fully at Miss Cullen's spotted bull ter- rier, crouched threateningly at the foot of the tree and eying him with calm und patient persistence. Uncle Simeon Yates peeked over the picket fence, his smooth, rotund face looking like the full moon just rising above the horizon line, the tears coursing down his cheeks, his mouth preoccupied with an aggravating grin and his fat sides shaking like a cup of jelly in an earth- quake. “What in the world,” snorted Sim- eon, ripping a paling off the fence in the excessiveness of his hilarity— “whet in the world, deacon, are you doin’ up in Miss Cullen's apple tree?” “Now, Brother Yates,” replied the deacon soberly, his wrinkled forehead oozing fce water and his right hand grabbing desperately at a neighboring limb, “1 just clumb up here to see if Miss Cullen's trees had survived the | winter, and the dog”"— But Simeon in- terrupted. “Who'd 'a’ thought, he mused aloud, pulling out his handkerchief and dry- ing his eyes—"who'd 'a’ thought Miss Cullen's bull terrier would have devel- oped into a bird dog? But if he hasn't got a partridge treed this blessed min- ute I'l—-I'lI"— He nearly pulled the fence up by the roots. The deacon's ire kindled. right!” he roared. “Stand there like a grinnin® old hyena and laugh! Didn't you ever see a man in a tree before? Don't you know when you behold a feller critter in distress? Why don't you climb over the fence and drive away that fool dog? D’'ye want to see me killed right before your very eyes?’ “But it isu't my dog.” tittered Sim- eon. “It's Miss Cullen's, and it's in Miss Cullen's own lot.” “l tell you I can't hang on much longer,” whined the deacon. “I've been here for an hour. I've got blisters all over me.” “Well,” replied Simeon, “reckon I'd better go and tell Miss Cullen"— “No! Don't you do it!" yelled the deacon, blushing scarlet. “Don't ye dare do it! I don't want you to tell her. I don't want her to know.” Simeon ripped another paling off the fence. His eyes were dancing as if they were tickled to death. “Why don't ye drop on the dog's back and crack b's spine?’ he suggest- ed. “Why don't ye glare at him with burnin’ indignation and scorch his hide ox?” “You're an Iinsultin’ old wretch” cried the deacon angrily, “a jibberin’ idjit that don't know no better than to stand there and laugh the palin’s off of a poor, lone woman's fence!” He turned to shake his fist, but lost his balance and fell. Desperately he clutched at a limb and pulled himself up again out of the very teeth of the growling terrier. Then he glanced vin- dictively toward Simeon, but Simeon was moving away. “Hey, Brother Yates!" he yelled de- “That's - 4 — I \ 3 Na Ff WE NP F< JONES i SQUATTED LIKE A HALF FED TURKEY GOBBLER. spairingly., “Come back, please come back, Brother Yates!” “I ain't used to bein’ addressed in such endearin’ terms, deacon,” replied Simeon, “and 1 thought mebby my room was better than my company.” “No, no,” vociferated the deacon anx- fously. “1 didn't mean what I said. | was hasty. I am sorry, Brother Yates. Please don't go away and leave me in this tree!” Simeon rested his arms on top of the pickets and gazed at him in pensive sympathy. “Well, Brother Partridge,” he replied solemnly, “if I can be any comfort to ye in your last moments 1 allow it's my Christian duty to re main.” “If you're goin’ to do anything” gasped the other, exasperated by Sime. va's deliberate slowness, “for God's cake do it quick! This limb is crack- in." “lI might turn in a fire alarm,” sug- gested Simeon calmly. *“Mebby If we had the hook and ladder truck”— “No!” ejaculated the deacon. “For Soodness’ sake, please don't do that! 1 don't want everybody in town to know, I want to keep it quiet. They wouldn't understand.” “Well, then,” declared Simeon doubt: fully, “there be only one more hope for ye, Brother Partridge—if you had a balloon.” “0 Lord!” moaned the deacon. “Can't ye quit actin’ the fool, Brother Yates? Can't ye suggest somethin’ reasonable?” Exasperated beyond endurance, Par- tridge shook his fist at Simeon. Crack! Bough, deacon, Prince Albert and piug hat struck the ground in a confused heap. There was a terrified scrambling, a muffled growl. Then something long and lank, with flowing hair and pro- truding eyes, dashed straight for Uncle Simeon. Crash! A section of the pal- fug fence gave way, and up the street the deacon dashed, pale of countenance. bare of head, Miss Cullen's bull terrier clinging grimly to his coattail and fiap- “POOH, PCOH, POOR!" HE PUFPED. ping from side to side like a disabled rudder. “Go it, deacon! Uncle Simeon, jumping up and down Go it, dog!” yelled and swinging his old felt hat. “Go it, blame ye, go it!” Uncle Simeon leaned against the rem- nant of the fence and shook it till it squeaked. He held his two pudgy hands against his ample sides and rolled his eyes In misery. “Won't somebody please come and make me stop laughin'?’ he yelled. “If they don’t I'm goin’ to die. The dea- con—the dog! I'll blow up and bust. 1 can't never live long enough to get through laughin’. They'll have to post- pone my funeral till I stop laughin’. 1 never knowed anybody could move their legs as fast as the deacon did. I—I—he—he!” His strength gave out, and he sank, a gurgling heap, upon the sidewalk. When finally he arose the dog was crawling under the fence, a ragged plece of black cloth in his jaws. At sight of it Simeon was thrown into an- other spasm of mirth, from which he had not entirely recovered when he reached Miss Cullen's door. His knock was answered by the lady in person. She was of uncertain age, inclined to be angular and decidedly deaf. . “Good afternoon, Miss Cullen!” shout- ed Simeon. “I was wonderin’ have you seen Deacon Partridge today, mum 7" Miss Cullen's brow darkened. “No, I haven't,” she said. “He promised to help me beat a carpet, but he hasn’t come.” “Well, mum,” giggled Simeon, “if you'll call your dog I believe you'll se- cure circumstantial evidence of the deacon's good intentions.” But Miss Cullen's deafness prevented her catching the drift of the remark. “Anyway,” she replied. aggrieved, “it seems to me that If a man won't keep his promise to a woman before he mar- ries her he won't do it afterward.” “That's so, mum,” answered Simeon, “But If you'll let me help you I'll be glad to do it. I've just got to beat a carpet or somethin’ to keep my mind off that man’s sprintin’ abilities or I'll be a physical wreck.” “Then come right in, Mr. Yates,” she said. beaming smilingly upon him. “I appreciate your kindness very much.” “Don't mention it, mum,” gurgled Simeon. “Now, If you'll just show me" — “Well, first,” she said, gazing into his eves affectionately, “there's a feather bed upstairs, if you'll throw it out the winder for me.” Up the steps went Simeon, but when he reached the top be heard some one knocking on the front door. Glancing out the window, he saw Deacon Par tridge on the stoop below gazing un- easily about and acting more nervous than otherwise. Catching up the feather bed, Simeon pushed it through the opening and chuckled to himself as he saw it fall squarely upon the deacon's head and bear him to the ground. In another instant a heavy mattress had follow- ed it. “Now, Miss Cullen,” observed Sime- on when he had gone downstairs again and opened the door, “if you'll come and sit on the stoop and rest, mum, I'llI"— He noticed with satisfaction that something was wriggling desper- ately under the feathers, “Oh, you are so considerate, Mr. Yates,” chirruped Miss Cullen, follow- ing him out of doors. “Some men are so thoughtless of others’ comfort. Now, do you know,” she added, setting herself on a step with her back toward the bedclothes, “1 believe that the deacon wouldn't care how hard his wife worked just so he had good clothes to wear and plenty of nice things to eat.” The feather bed was moved convulsively. “Well, Miss Cullen,” began Simeon, “I've always thought that if I had a wife I'd treat her like a wife ought to be treated.” Miss Cullen coughed softly and drop ped her eyes. “Mr. Yates.” she asked presenuy, glancing at him bashfully, “why don't you get married?” “if 1 thought I could get the right kind of a woman,” Simeon stammered, “a woman like you, now"— The bed and mattress fairly rose in the air. Simeon turned his head and coughed violently. “0b, .Ir. Yates,” broke in Miss Cul- ien, Llushing becomingly, “if 1 thought that you would have—that I would make you a good wife”"— She dropped her sparkling eyes groundward. Tho feather bed shook with renewed en- “But I thought you said that you and the deacon”— began Simeon. “Oh, no!” Miss Cullen interrupted. “1 only meant that the deacon “wanted to marry me. Why, Mr. Yates, you've no idee how that persistin’ old hypo- crite has pestered me.” The bedding experienced a sudden terrific upheaval. Simeon acted as if he were going to explode. “Why, if 1 had let him I honestly believe he would have got down on his knees. I know I ain't as young as | once was, but I reckon I know a man when [| see one. Now, you, Simeon”— Again she glanced at him shyly. “Well, then,” sald Simeon, his eyes twinkling, “if 1 should ask you to mar- ry me would you promise to”— “O-h, Simeon!" blushed Miss Cullen softly. “I—I—yes, 1 believe ! would, Simeon.” “Would you promise,” continued Sim- eon. pinching himself to keep from Inughing alond when he saw something under the feather bed behaving scan- dalously—*would you promise to sick your dog on that old idjit of a Dea- con Partridge if he hangs around here any more?" No sooner had he uttered those words than from the midst of that pile of household necessities there came the visible indications of a terrific storm, followed by the subdued but unmistakable sound of ripping cloth and the next second feather bed, mat- tress and deacon arose in concert, and ‘here, in the astonished presence of Miss Cullen, stood Partridge, his arms and legs tangled in the environments of blue striped ticking and his head and shoulders covered with a speckled coating of downy feathers. Feathers protruded from his eyes; feathers vi- brated on the end of his nose; feath- ers waved majestically from the tips of his ears. He couldn't see or hear or speak for feathers. He could scarce- Iy breathe for feathers. “Pooh, pooh, pooh!” he puffed, blow- ing great hunches of feathers from his mouth. “Ahchoo! Ahche-00!” he sneezed. The tears were running down his face, making the feathers stick the closer to his scarlet cheeks. Miss Cullen sprang to her feet, press- ed her trembling hands to her eyes and shrieked. “Well, well!” sald Simeon, regarding him with overmastering hilarity. “Well, well, this is the first time I ever see a partridge runnin’ around half picked. Say, why don't you go out be- hind the barn and singe yourself?” The deacon could not speak. He could not do anything but open and shut his mouth like a chicken with the gapes and go “Cut, cut, cut!” “Why. he thinks he's an old settin’ hen!” exclaimed Simeon, eying him wonderingly. “Shouldn't wonder but he'll be a-scratchin’ up your flower bed next, Miss Cullen. Say,” he added to the perspiring deacon, “why don’t you fly up in a tree and go to roost again?” “I—I didn’t come here to be laughed at,” whimpered Partridge, extricating himself from the ticking and nearly crying with indignation. “I came here to call on Miss Cullen.” “Huh!” replied Simeon, pressing his hands against his quivering sides and regarding the other with austerity. “Huh, d've reckon Miss Cullen hasn't anything to do but to entertain oyster- riches? Why don’t you run away some- wheres and stick your head in the sand?" ‘ “I tell you I ain't goin’ to stand here and be insulted by no squatty old hip- pypotamouse!” shrilled the deacon an- grily. “Ruther be a hippypotamouse than to be a featherweight,” snapped Simeon. “If you're so blame brave, why don’t you flap your wings and crow? Why don't you let folks know that you're a Shanghal that's not afeard of anything in the barnyard even if your pinfeath- ers ain't all grown out?” “I'm a man of peace, Brother Yates,” replied Partridge meekly. “I'm an elder in the church, and I don’t want to get mad, and [ don't want to swear — “May be that you're turnin’ to an an- gel,” retorted Simeon doubtfully, “but you look to me more like a dominicker that’s too thin to bile and too tough to fry. Anyway, you ought to know that Miss Cullen's front yard ain't no place for a poultry show.” “Got as much right here as you have, you old b'iled lobster!” screamed the deacon wrathfully. “Ain't I, Miss Cul- len?" “Well, really, Mr. Partridge,” snick- ered Miss Cullen, looking happily at Simeon, “now that Mr.—that Simeon and me are engaged—of course” — “You see, Brother Partridge,” ex- claimed Simeon, “the lady has decided that she isn't hankerin’ to marry any- body that has a mania for breakin’ limbs off of trees, smashin’ down fences and rippin’ open feather beds. Besides, there's the dog.” Partridge glanced around uneasily. “You know, deacon, when a dog once gets a taste of a bone” — “1 certainly extend my congratula- tions,” sneered the deacon, scowling at Simeon, “and I hope I haven't In- tended.” “Don’t mention it, Brother Partridge,” Simeon grinned. “But, now, If you'll step Into the house and let us finish plekin’ you. Feathers is feathers these days, deacon, and we can't be overpar- ticular what kin® of a bird they come off of.” Her Uncooked Gown. Mis: Fluffigirl—Miss Newthought has gone the limit with her vegetarianism! Miss Furbelow--Why, what is her lat- est? Miss Fluffigirl-She actually re- fuses to wear anything but raw siik gowns now.~New York Press. Time to Be Diplomatic. When a woman shows you the ple- ture of her baby remember that you will get into trouble, nine times out of wn, if yon say exactly what you think, --Somerville Journal. ergy. i . 4
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers