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