Bewoaiatdae.
Bellefonte, Pa., June 25, 1909.
THE WILD FLOWERS.
Little Jack ran away to the woods, one fine
For his mother, he said, was unkind;
In the forest so dark, the fierce Dogwood's loud
Made him shake, though he tried not to
The trinmpet Flower blew a blast in his ear as
The Saapdragon snapped at his toes;
Dutchman's Pipe puffed some smoke in his
eyes for a joke,
Bneezewood tried to tickle his nose.
Catnip pinched his poor arm till he screamed
The Cowslips sll lowered their horns;
The goidenrod beat him, and rushiog to meet
‘‘Say is is the worst attack be bas bad—
be does not know me. Ob, burry, dear
cbild ! barry !"
It may be that she bad never burried be-
fore in ber life, this tall, thin woman with
the sallow, frightened face,—'‘Aaron Jer-
rold’s little girl,”’—who ran stumbling
along the uneven brick sidewalk that led
auder the thick row of maples. A pink
cotton dress, hall-buttoned clung closely
to her lank figure, and a leghorn bas, heavy
with crimeon roses, flopped with incon-
groous coquetry over her anxious eyes.
Alone, breathless, running through the si-
lent dawn, with the doctor’s brown house
at thedim end of the long village street not
yet even visible, the dread of death grew in
ber steadily. Yet knowing nothing, after
all, of the great catastrophe, the terror that
ewam in her brain was a great, empty, in.
flated thing, like a ohild’s painted balloon.
Shielded as she bad been from sane, steady-
ing griefe,she was giddy now from the very
fear of fear, and leaned heavily for an in-
stant against a dew-dampened picket-fence.
Through her hrain thoughts flew dizzily,
him like mad leaves; she could not seize or de-
Were Cudocks and Brambles and Thorns,
The Coltsfoot stamped in wrath by the side of | ¢
the path,
Tne Spidersort crawled in his ear,
tain them. Yet they were crudely elo-
uent, like pioture-writing. They told
t Rosa Jerrold was pot wondering
whether she would succeed in saving her
father’s life : she was shrinking from the
When the cross Cattails yowled and the Dan. | horror of no longer being ‘‘Aaron Jerrold’s
deiion growled
Little Jack wus just frantic with fear!
The Vines ran at his heels as he fled with shrill
squeals
To that same unkind mother, who smiled
little girl.”
Bat before Rosa bad reached the doctor's
bouse and pulled its old-fashioned glass
bell-bandle with all the violence it was its
sullen habit to demand, Aaron Jerrold’e
wife bad already seen that no dootor was
When he sobbed: “I'll be good, mother! Who needed in that big, still chamber. Her
ever would
husband was dead.
They had told ber it
Have believed that wild flowers were #0 | wonld be like this—some day. Yet his
wild!®
= [Camilla J. Knight.
bushy bead and bearded face seemed to lie
S—
THE PRISON OF AFFECTION,
Rosa Jerrold stood idly by ber listle gar-
den—a round patch of earth reserved for
ber each epring, just as ‘‘saucer pies’’ were
on the pillow with a feigned submissive.
ness. His strongly vocal presence seemed
to be deliberately and jocosely dumb. That
carelessly vital personality was irreconsil-
able with death; yes it was death that lay
there under she still sheet, that each in-
stant filled the room with a more and more
still included for ber in the family baking stifling presence.
—and watched ber father swing lazily up
the ebaded strees,
Part of the pleasure of | move,
Susan Jerrold did not sob or speak or
A certain sublimity of those fires
being Aaron Jerrold’s daughter lay in his | moments of ber widowhood held emotion
eeable conspicnousness,
People always | mute.
It is the moment when the only
liked to watch tbat long, leisarely stride, | solace, as the only loyalty, is the belief that
or to linger in the big, shaggy man’s mag: | everything is lcst—when unlovely me-
petio presence. It had always heen so
mories seem only distortions.
A belated
satisfying to be his “listle girl,” to be | bas ineffable understanding, the more insi-
drawn into bis lap and petted with bis big, | mate for being unspoken, seemed to
comforting band, to be teased with boister- between them, the dead and the living.
ous tenderness.
Rosa was now no longer Trembling,she bent low to kiss him, when,
“listle,” as sbe was obviously no longer below, there was the sound of a door hast-
young; bat Aaron was always magnificent- | ,
ly able to overloook the rigidities of faos,
ly flang open. It was Rosa, with her case.
less, childish ways—poor, dear Rosa, who
while bis danghter still swam in the bland | did nos know, who perbape did nos even
sea of utter irresponsibility.
They bad loog ago stopped wondering in
dream —
The widow rose bastily to her feet with-
Farndon Corners whether Aaron Jerrald's | out kissing ber dead hueband. The sound
daughter would ever grow ap. To their | ghat meant Rosa's return bad sufficed to
irritated perceptions it had become fairly | detach her from ber irrecoverable commun-
apparent that she would nos.
contemporaries emerged
While ber!
on. Her supreme moment was forfeited.
from girlhood, | Hastily she placed something over Aaron's
married, raised families, and then paused sharpened face and lefs the room. Ountside
comfortably cn the serene platean of mid- | ghe seized Rosa by the arm.
dle age, Rosa Jerrold remained an elderly
young girl,
Theoretically of a certain | found the courage to say.
‘‘Rosa your father—isn’t so well,” she
*‘I cannot bave
bodily frailness, and guarded always by an you in the room. Come with we, child ;
over-anxiou® mother, she had spent ber life you are pale—"'
in a kind of nursery extension. Neverthe.
*“Who is with him ? You must not leave
less, various dim buds of talent were popu- bim, mother ; you—"’
larly understood to await their due season
of encouragement, and Farndon Corners
‘‘He does not need—"’
There was only a second’s faltering, bot
balf-skeptically awaited Rosa's debut in | Roea understood, and signified her under-
ose of tbe arts, dramatic, musical, or, for | standing ; ber eyes closed ; she sank down
all that anybody kuew, terpsichorean. To
this event Rosa herself looked forward
upon the floor aud screamed.
waye been her way to screaw by way of
It bad al-
cheerfully, but by no means impatiently, | protest against the unusual or the unpleas-
ber thin days filled with the easy and de- | ant.
When ber kitten was lost, or when
oeptive volace of an ambition not sharp and | a dress bad not come in time for a party,
real encogh to be a torment.
She sappos- | Rosa bad screamed, and bad heen soothed
ed that some more than usually agreeable apd petted nll she stopped.
It could only
destiny lay awaiting her, did she only be expected that her father's death would
choose to grasp it; meanwhile she was 200- | elicit at least an equal demonstration ; so
tent to peer with untronhled innocence | that now, while Aaron Jerrold lay alone
from ont the stony sheath of her artificial | gud dead, the woman whom his death bad
youth.
most bitterly bereaved had already tnrned
As her father lightly accepted the mir- | to soothe a shrilier sorrow,
But Susan
acle of Rosa's stationary adolescence, £0 | Jerro'd could not bave understood that ber
Mure. Jerrold—who bad on this score seores
action was unnatural.
It was unthinkable
agonies of misgiving, due to ber persistent | that she should fail to relinquish the luxu.
recollection of her daughter's date of birth ry of articulate griel when
ota demanded
—ocberished as hie: particular fetish the be- | service.
lief in Rosa's beauty. There was not a
Thus they were still together. the moth.
celebrated heroine whom the gaunt and | er and daughter, when Abby Barrows, Sa-
swarthy young woman bad not been taught | san’s sister, whom the little house-servant
shat she io sowe way or avotier resembled, | had gone uosolicited to fetch, arrived, and
and the local dressmakers gossiped freely | arrived firmly, to stay, to ‘‘take charge.”
about the ordeal of sewing week at the Jer- | Turning blindly toward her, Mrs. Jerrold
rolde. It was haid enough to acquiesce in | made swo etatements in what seemed the
the theory of Ro<a’s loveliness; but is was | inverted order of their importance.
degrading, they agreed, to cast aside the
“*Rosa is sick,’’ she said, ‘‘trom too much
the grim faces of ber kindred. ‘“My poor
little girl, my baby, dressed in black ? Is
w kill me to see her. Ges all the
crape you want to, Emma, ”’—she spoke as
Soough her niece were pleading to gratify
b f in some induigence,—‘‘and put it
oo me. Iam old ; I will wear it.”
‘‘But Rosa isn’t"’—Mrs, Barrows awal.
lowed forbearingly a word that tempted
her—*‘a child.”
‘‘She is to me. She was to Aaron. And
you know how gay she has always been,
how bappy. She and her father were so
—I think she bas never cared for anything
but him. Isis the moss terrible sorrow
that could come to her, and you wish to
make it more terrible still? Nobody ex-
pects a youog girl to wear mourning. Em-
ma, you're very kind indeed, but I shink
you will bave to let the poor girl do as she
likes.’
Emma flushed again resentfally, “Is
may be cruel to talk to yon about is, Aunt
Sue, but she hasn’t even a gray dress. Her
dresses are all red and pink!
In her eagerness to defend her daughter,
Mrs. Jerrold appeared to have risen far be.
vond ber own affliction. She continned
patiently, tears standing in ber innocent,
pale-blune eyes: ‘‘But you must remem.
ber that she bas to consider her coloring.
You don’t realize how handsome Rosa's
black eyes are till she gets on a touch of
pink. Her father always said so.”
Mre. Barrows and her daughter exchang-
ed a glance of agreement that maternal fa.
tuity could go no farther. And Emma re-
turned to the Jerrolds that night with but
one moarning dress,
In the black decorum of Aaron Jerrold’s
funeral there was, therefore, a single stri-
dent, scarlet note. A soft, red silk, white.
spotted, was Rosa's ‘‘hest’’ sumwer dress,
and she wore it on the day of somber dra-
peries with a satisfaction that her grief
could uot quite dispel. An arrangement
of cream colored lace was fastened to her
bosom, and a long gold obain suspended
about ber neck a beavy, old-fashioned lock-
et. But ber eyes burned from long weep-
ing. It was plain to her that she was the
same beaatiful, beloved, gifted Rosa that
she bad always been : but she wept for the
loneliness that would come upon her, now
that her immediate world was gone.
The fall season of dressmaking was plan-
ped for as usual, and through recurrent
tears Mre. Jerrold looked long and earnest
ly at hectic ‘‘samples’”’ from which her
daughter's new finery was to be chosen.
For the dreariness and solitude which the
period of mourning meanwhile imposed
apon Rosa her mother felt almost apologet-
ic, and conceived a hundred devices for her
distraction. As Mrs. Jerrold could not see
Rosa leave the house without running to
add some trinket to the girl's toilet, so at
bome she pursued her constantly with lis.
tle cakes to eat or stories to read. Her
master plan was an arrangement with a
‘‘professor’’ in the nexs town to give Rosa
a course in ‘fancy dancing.’”’ Here, alter
all, might lie the opportunity for that pub.
lic exhibition of Rosa in costume for whioh
she had always vaguely sought a legitimate
excuse. Rosa hersell was entirely submis-
sive. Her father’s death had left her what
she had always been, a child. Even when
it became known with cruel promptnoess in
Farndon Corners that Tom Kinnerton had
transferred his limp allegiance, Rosa her-
self, of all her circle of relatives, was by
far the least afflicted. Kinnerton had nev.
er made himself real to ber, and she had
alwas been sleepy when he called. And
what if everybody did know that Emma
| Hardy, with her brood of babies, was a
year younger than Roea,—a lact that Mrs.
Jerrold had so strong a passion to obliter-
ate” Rosa bad always found it easy to
neglect the arithmetic of life. After all, it
was not surprising that her relatives, com-
menting on her father's death and her sais.
or's desertion, declared her an insensible
creature, heartlessly immune to experience,
Nor could they regard it as less than a vio.
lation of decency when Rosa began to take
a cheerful interest in dancing lessons,
They were not wise enough to foresee the
girl’s ultimate contact with the ungracious
mirror that should for the first time show
her to herself without the magic veil her
parents had twined about her.
Some months after Aaron Jerrold’s death,
his widow eat one day sewing magenta
velvet blossoms on a hat for Rosa. The
congenial occupation absorbed her, and she
bummed softly to herself, scarcely noticing
when the outer door closed and a slow step
entered. Rosa, apparently returning from
her dancing lesson, came in and seated her-
sell in an almost theatrical silence, ae
What I bave been until now is a sort of
child. Now I am old. Iounght to wear
black dresses. You know thas | og to
shroud oneself and stay hidden. You said
ou felt is when daddy died. I didn’t then,
t Tar ow. I shall stay at home al-
ways, [—
Rosa had risen from her cbair and bent
ber black eyes unswervingly on her moth-
er’s pale face, as if to make her accusation
strike more deeply. In her passion of re-
sentment and misery she bad a nearer ap-
to beanty than she bad ever had
ore. Her first knowledge that she was
old brought out in her,!rom its very sharp-
ness, a fleeting singe of youth. Her
ism was dead, that artificial self thas
bad a liletimes’s nourishing, bus of her
shorn and bleeding state there was born an
exalting cruelty. Without a throb of pity,
she stared wilently at ber stricken mother,
fumbling blindly with the gay fragments
of her sewing, and left the r Alone,
intangibly bereft, the mother eat and
staunched ber tears, and strove to defend
to herself the long and lavish zeal of her
motherhood. But there came no comfort.
The house of affection, it seemed to her,
was tenantless, the prisoner fled, the gaoler
left to grasp, in lovely bitterness, her in-
effectual keve.—By Olivia Howard Don.
bar, in the Century Magazine.
House Fly Should be Called “Typhoid
Fly."
The honse fly, which we have hitherto in
our iguorance considered as a harmless
creature, or, at the worst, simply a nui.
sance, has been shown, as the result of sci-
entific researches, to be in reality, judged
from the standpoint of disease, a most dan-
gerous insect. Dr. L. O. Howard, in his
recent investigation of! the economic loss
through insects that carry disease, de-
votes a chapter to the bouse fly as a carrier
of typhoid bacteria. The facts brought ont
are so startling, and so vitally affect the
health of the community, that we are pub-
lishing this chapter in the current issue of
the Supplement. Limitations of space pre-
vent anything more in the present notice
than a brief summary of the salient fea-
tures of the repors.
As the outset emphasis is laid upon the
fact thas the term ‘‘typboid fly’’ is open to
some objection ax conveying the erroneous
idea thas this fly is responsible for the
spread of typhoid only. As a matter of
fact, the insect is dangerons from every point
of view, and is liable to spread the bacteria
of all the known intestinal diseases. The
true connection of the so-called honee fly
with typhoid fever and the true scientific
evidence regarding its role as a carrier of
that disease, bave only recently been work-
ed out.
Celli in 1888 fed flies with pure cultares
of the typhoid bacillus, and inoculations of
animals were also made, proving that the
bacilli which pass through flies are virn-
lent. Dr. George M. Koeber, in his report
on the prevalence of typhoid fever in the
District of Columbia, bas drawn attention
to the danger of the contamination of food
supplies by flies thas bave been in touch
with typhoid patients. The prevalence of
typhoid fever in the camps of the United
States army during the Spanish war brooghs
about the appointment of an Army Typhoid
Commission, which found : First, that the
flies swarmed around the sanitary quarters
of the hospital, and Shep visited aga win
upon the lood prepared for the soldiers in
the mess tents. Secondly, that officers
whose mess tents were protected by screens
suffered proportionately less from typhoid
than those whose tents were not so proiect-
ed. Thirdly, thas syphoid fever gradually
disappeared with she approach of cold
weather and the consequent disabling of
the fly in she fall of the year. The final
conclusion was that the fly carries the ty-
phoid bacillus either by the adherence of
infected matter to its feet,or within its own
digestive organs.
In 1899 Dr. Howard made a study of the
typhoid or house fly, in iw relation to
country and city sewage, and be wade a
further investigation of the species of in-
sects that are attracted by food supplies in
houses. In this investigation he found
that the typhoid or house fly constituted
95.8 per cent of the whole number of iv-
seots captared in houses throughout the
the whole country, uader the conditions
indicated above. The importance of this
insect as a carrier of the dreaded disease
in army campe, as shown in the Spanish
war and in the Boer war and in the camps
of great armies of laborers engaged in gi-
gantio enterprises, like the digging of she
Between Cascode and Const.
[Written especially for the Wascnsax.]
Our train leaves Tacoma at midnight
So there is much thas we miss in the way
of scenery, as the train rumbles southward
through Washington. But as the morning
light breaks it shows the rich, deep grass
oo the bill sides, dotted over with clusters
of beautiful flowers; orchards in fall bloom
all over the wide valley, though itis bus
the twenty-fourth of April; the forests
skirted with dogwood in fall bloom, the
first bloom, for we are told it blooms twice
a year here because of the length of the
season. There in the distance, before us
is a broad sheets of water, and soon we find
ourselves gliding over it, for it i= the Co-
lambia river. Shortly after this we cross
the Willamett. This river seems to have
no banks but stretch away into miles of
swamp land which makes very good pas
tare during the dry season.
Bat did you notice the ocean steamers
on the Columbia waiting to be laden with
the products ol our land, as soon as they
are relieved of the burdens they bave
brought with them? Bat here we are at
Portland with just abont enough time to
get breaklast and change cars. A local
train will take us up throogh the Willam-
ette and Umquash valleys s0 we shall be
able to enjoy the scenery to the fall. No
mountain climbing here, but a wide, bean-
tiful valley extending away to the distant
hills. Broad fields of wheat, grass, vege-
tables, great pasture fields in which horses,
cattle, sheep, or angora goats are grazing;
small, pretty looking cottages surrounded
hy beautiful flowers; clean pleasant look-
ing towns. And to relieve and brrigten
all this, can be seen everywhere, even
by the road eide, beantitul flowers,
As the eye begins to tire of all this brill.
iancy, the train glides into a shady glen or
grove, one of nature’s music balls, for here,
bird and brooklet seem to vie with each
other in producing melody. While the
trees loaded with gray-green, hair-like
moss, which grows here on account of the
moistare, form rich curtains trimmed with
silver lace. But this does not last so long
as the average concert for yon are soon
whieked out into the sunlight among green
fields, villages and bloom. As you go
eouthward you notice the absence of a sign
which is usually prominent abous railway
stations viz—‘'‘saloon.”’
And still we keep moving onward
through variations of glen and open coun-
try. At last hill draws nearer to hill, the
valley gradually narrows, until the train
again begine to climb along the mountain
side, and here you come to beautiful
Roseburg resting in the embrace of the
bills, with Mt. Nebo standing guard over
ber. ItisSaturday evening, when every
one ie on pleasure bent; but there is no
appearance of boisterousness, though every-
one seems to be happy and busy. You go
to a hotel and find everyone about the
premises sober, quiet and polite. And is
is all because the people have risen in their
might,said through the quiet bat powerful
voice of the ballot thas intoxicants shall
not besold. And they have the determina:
tion to see that the laws are enforced. And
it is good to remain over Sunday and no-
tice the interest that is taken in church
work. How does this accord with the prev.
alent notion about ‘Shooting up the
town!"
Having spent a few days at Roseburg,
let us board the evening train for Glendale.
Darkness soon settles over the land and
\
we can only try to imagine what the wild abroad, came into the barbor.
Cow Creek Canon must be like. We can
fancy the cougar stalking his prey and the
various other wild animals, each after his
kind, taking part in the tragedies which
thrown backward and inbale the health-
giving air which comes to you through the
branches of the tall fir, aod pine trees; and
you [eel that it is good to be bere—on your
own trusty feet, on solid earth. The resuls
ie that yon ride where she road is level and
whenever the conveyance shows a disposi-
tion to be erratic, you relieve the monoto-
oy by walkicg. When you bave traveled
in this manper for about twenty-four
miles, the canon widens ont into a
beautiful upland valley and the fair fields
of Meadows ranch come into view. Bat,
just look there! Six deer quietly feeding in
one of the meadows! Ab, there they go!
The sound of the approaching team has
frightened them, and, running in a line
across the feld, they clear the fenceata
bound and disappear in the forest.
M. V. THOMAS,
World's Largest Diamond.
For twelve years she Excelsior diamond
enjoyed its supremacy, but on January 25th
1905, the greatest diamond kuvown to she
world was found 10 open-working No. 2 of
the Premier mine, in the Transvaal Colon »
South Africa, and from the finding to the
cutting of this magnificent stone and ite
final dieposal, its history 1# a most romantic
one.
The day's work at the mine was over,
aud Frederick Wells, she surface manager,
wae wakiog bis nsval rounds. Glancing
along one side of the deep excavation, his
eye suddenly caught the gleam of a bril-
liant object far up on the bank. He loss
no time in climbing up to the apos, where
he bad noted the glint of lighs. He had
not been mistaken; it was really a brilliant
cryetal. He tried to pull it out with his
fingers, and as this proved impossible he
sought to pry it ont with the blade of his
penknife. To his surprise the knife blade
broke withont causing the stone to yield.
Confident now that the crystal must be a
very large one, he dug out the earth about
it, thinking for a moment thas, contrary
to all experience in the mine, the stone
might be attached to a piece of the primi.
tive rock. When be discovered that this
was not the case, he began to doubs thas
the object was really a diamond. He said
afterward :
‘‘When I took a good look at the stone
stuck there in the side of the pit it sudden-
ly flashed across me that I had gone insane
—that the whole thing was imaginary, I
knew it could nos be a diamond. Allat
once another solution dawned upon me.
The boys often play jokes on one another.
Some practical joker, thought I, has plant
ed this buge chunk of glass here for me to
find it. He rhinks I will make a fool of
myeelf by bringing it into the office in a
great state of excitement, and the stor
will be told far and wide in South Africa.”
Determined to test the stone on the A
hefore proceeding further, Wells rubbed off
the dirt from one of ite faces with his fin-
ger, and soon convinced himself that is
was not alomp of glass, but a diamond
orystal, apparently of exceptional white.
ness and parity. With the aid of a larger
blade of his konife be finally succeeded in
prying out the stone, and bore it away
with him to the office of the mine. Here
it was cleaned and, to the astonishment of
all, was found to have a weight of 3024}
carats, more than three times that of any
other diamond that bas been discovered.
Before many hours bad passed the tele-
graph carried tidiogs to all parts of the
world that the greatest diamond of this or
any other age had been brought to light.
Mr. Wella is said to bave received a re.
ward of §10.000 from the company for his
discovery.
T. M. Cullivan, founder and chairman
of the Prewier company and one of the
great prize winuvers in the lottery of South
African speculation, named the diamond
after himself ; others have called it the
Prewier, and several different names have
been proposed.
Jenny Lind's Salute to the Flag.
Fifty years ago, when Jenny Lind was
singing in New York, the American frigate
Saiut Lawrence, retarning from a orunise
The young
midshipmen, on the firet night of their
chore leave, went to hear the famous
singer.
The next day the boys, td express the
emotions that her wonderful voice had
decent conventions of the fashion-sheets | crying. And ber father’s dead. You though challenging inquiry. When her | Panama Caval, is obvious. Bas it is cer- | seem to be a Decessary part of patore’s | *tirred in them, called on her in a body.
and construct the barbaric costomes that | kpew 2" wother spoke, she looked np with bright | tain that, even under city conditiovs, the reat system of economy. It is midnight | They bardly expected shat she was so
Mrs. Jerrold dewanded for beauty’s en-| “‘Sasan, you must leave Rosa to me. | eyes and a tightened month. influence of this fly in the spread of disease gram Sy one abe only igs charmed by their youthfulness and ingen-
ent. Haven't you tears of your own ?”” Vaioly | “I didn’t go for my lesson, mother. I [bas been greasly underestimated. Paessen vousness thas when they timorously asked
Aaron Jerrold swung open the cate, and comb ting this more solidly resolute sister, | left the trolley and walked back. I over. In a report to the Merchants’ Assccia- | who have traveled from the lass station her if she would like to see their ship, she
isslammed bebind bim. Immediately, 10 | Mrs. Jerrold was led from her daunghter’s | heard some people talking about me. | tion of New York, based upon numerous | descend from the car, and you learn that, | accepted the invitation. Then, growing
Rosa, the whole inclosure became filled | bedroom. Mother, what good has it doue for you to | observations of the relation of flies to ip- | of thegrade, it has taken two | Polder, they asked ber to luncheon,and she
with him. To ber, ber father was an atmos- | J wish you would give her some aro | keep things from me always, to treat me as | testinal diseases, which was published in engines to bring you to Glendale, a pretty | "°2tP'ed that invitation, too.
e. matic spirite of ammonia,’’ the widow lin- | a child? December, 1907, it was shown that the When, on the appointed day, she came
‘Why, Dolly, your flowers have grown | gered to urge. *‘I meant to bave- I can- | The last magenta bud trembled in Mrs, | Greatest number of flies ocourred in the | little town whinh nestles in the bosom of | on hoard with ber companion, the captain
better than mother’s I" Aaron bad scarce- ' nos think quickly enough. Are you any | Jerrold’s Gugers. “My dear, wha: are | weeks ending July 27th and August 3ed ; | yhe hills at an altitnde of fourteen hundred | 8aw her {rom his cabin and recognized
ly glanced at the pansy-hed, bat it was the | betier, Dolly? Lie quietly, if you ean, | yon bus a child? What do you mean? and shat the deaths from intestinal diseases | , : ber. ; .
family practice to toss off praise to Rosa, | and I will come hack.’ “I am almost thirty-sev—yes, mother ; | rose above the normal at the same time at There is nothing more strict than the
whatever her occupation. ‘‘Come into the | Already the house was filled with soft | we all know. The people on tae trolley | Which flies became prevalent ; culminated | You learn that from here to Anchor you | courtesy observed in ship etiquette among
house with me, young lady.” footsteps and whispers. The doctor bad |knew. They said I bad been—an old | at the same high point ; and fell off with | mugs travel by stage. On this route you | officers of all ranks. Of the three messes—
How well Rosa nuderstood that tove,and | come, and a little later his wife benevo- | maid for years, but that I wouldn’s seem | Slight lag at the time of the gradual fall- get the wildly picturesque in scenery. | {he captain's table, the wardroom and the
bow perfect was her schooling in she ex- |lently followed him. Mrs. Barrow’s | nearly as—ridicalons, it yon didn’t dress | ing-off of the prevalence of the insects. Here is the *‘forest primeval.” It would | tC¢7A8€ mess, where the midshipmen ate—
petted reply ! It meant that her fatber | danghter, Emma Hardy, a vigorous yonng | me as you do.” A certain species of mosquito bas been p » uo officer, from captain down, would make
brought some sweets for her, and | woman of something less than Rosa's own | “Is wasn't yon they were speaking of, | demonstrated to he the cause of the spread | not be difficult to imagine Indians gliding | himself one of a company at another mess
that after he had played caressingly with | age, with fonr or five children at bome, | Rosa. It conldn’t have been.” Mrs. Jer.| of malaria. Yellow fever is cansed bY | from one to another of the bark covered | unless especially biden.
ber for a little, he would draw them out, | came to assume the degree of authority | roid felt her fingers growing icy, and the | another kind of mosquito ; and now we pillats of the forest arches. Aloft in the | . 1D th'® case the captain rang the bell for
aod she would pretend surprise. They | that the village would consider fitting. | bud dropped to the floor. know that the supposedly harmless house a. shade lleries, can be heard the | *"¢.Crderly.
bad played this comedy since she was ten | Faint aud scarcely sensibie as she was, the | ‘They said ‘Aaron Jerrold’s daughter’— | fly is an active agent in the distribution of | green, wy ga h “Tell the gentlemen of the steerage
years old. widow resented the forcible smothering of | and they said things—about daddy, too ! I | intestinal diseases. In view of these facts, | soul-stirring songs of feathered choristers, | mess,” he said, ‘‘that the captain is going
At supper Rosa drank weak tea from a | her activities that these good people con- | couldn't leave the car while they were talk- | Dr. Howard's contention that this familiar | und these mingle with the merry music of | ashore, and that his cabin is at their dis-
pink-flowered cup marked “Baby,” aud | spired in : resented being led to the *‘spare | ing becanse—I felt that what they said was | household ingest should henceforth bel... oi of Cow Creek as they go bound- | Po®al il they care to use it.”
ate a rich kind of quince preserve which | room’ and given strong tea. For hersor- | true. It seemed to me the only time I had | known as the “typhoid fly'’ would seem to The luncheon, however, was eaten in
her mother made for her alone,
Mrs. Jer- | row the others had conventional indal-
rold, a slender, fluttery person, described | gence, hut none for her restlessness. And
the triumph that was being wrought with | there was perhaps a shade of malice in
Rosa's pew pink muslin, and Mr. Jerrold | their tacit determination, now that the
repeated, with plenty of emphasis and in- | hour of reversals had come, to thwart for
ferences always creditable to himself, the | once Rosa's preeminence in the honsehold.
conversations that had taken place in his
By noon Mre. Jerrold had yielded some-
office durivg the day. Once he remember- | what 1 her exhanstiou, and was lying sub-
ed to tease his daughter mildly abouts Tom missively on the bed, guarded by her sis-
Kinperton, the widower whose tepid and | ter, when Emma Hardy came in. The
intermittent suit had been slyly encouraved | youny matron’s always rosy face was deep-
by Mrs. Jerrold.
It was a singularly com- | iy flushed, and she repeated her
phrases
pact and complimentary little family, in again and again as if by way of fortifying
which one pleasantly tolerated, and one | points that had been challenged. She was
ignorantly accepted, and one passionately | at that very moment, she told the sisters,
gave. Each spun his sepazate share of the | on Ler way to ‘‘the city’’ to make the nec-
listle domestic web as though some utterly essary purchases for the stricken Jamily.
n
arbitrary fate assigued it, which was per-
Yet Rosa, whom she had just consulted
baps the case. Her mother worked and | order to spare Aun: Sue's feelings, had de-
strove and schemed for Rosa, and
thoughtless affection in return ; her father
gained a | clined her services utterly.
*‘It ’a no use talking to ber, mother,’ —
ever heard the truth. I have been ‘Dolly’
and ‘little girl’ all my life—to you an"
daddy. ButI am no such thing. I am
old—and vgly—and ridiculous, and you
have made meso. Ibaven’st had any life ;
I bave been defranded of everything—and
it is too late pow. Dancing-lessons !
Dancing-lessons ! You ought to have heard
those people langh about it! Then you
would know what you have done to me.
Daddy didn’t know any besser, perhaps—
poor daddy ! But you're a woman, mother;
you ought to have known.”
Mrs. Jerrold could not meet her daugh-
ter's blazing eyes. She knew thas Rosa
bad spoken the pitifully belated truth; yes
she was distraught with the desire to deny
it all, to wrap the girl again in tender falsi-
ties,
“Dolly,” she began in a weak, uncertain
voice, ‘‘I’ve never known a girl who was
be well made.--Scientific American.
There is a saying that ‘‘a man’s first
right is to be born well.”” It is a constant
reproach to motherhood to see a puny, pin-
ing baby grow to be paling, peevish boy.
It is a reproach becanse proper preparation
and care will give the mother the health
without which she cannot have a healthy
child. The use of Dr. Pierce's Favorite
Prescription ae a preparative for the baby’s
coming gives the mother abundant health.
The birth hour is practically painless, and
the mother rejoices in a hearty child. This
is the testimony of many women who
never raised a child until they used ‘‘Fa-
vorite Prescription.”
——Do yon know where to get the finest
canned goods and dried fruits, Sechler &
Co.
ing over the boulders which form a part of
its rocky bed. But while you have been
the steerage. But alter the pleasant meal
was over the boys proudly invited their
absorbed in the contemplation of these at- | Ruest into the captain’s cabin, where they
tractions, the horses have been attending
striotly to business and have brought you
to where the road winds around the moun-
tain sides, and as the vebiole suddenly
larches forward or leans over toward one
side--always the lower side—you become so
interested in your personal safety that yon
forget all about the beauties of nature,
took their coffee.
‘*Ask her to sing something,’ whispered
the paymaster’s clerk.
“I'll thrash you if you dare!” returned
one of the midshipmen, under his breath.
The wardtoom officers had guests, too.
They brought up guitars and sat on the
poop-deck above, singing “The Suwanee
River’ and other popular songs.
“‘How pretty!" eried Jenny Lind, with
And you begin to wonder whether to place | *"thusiaem, clapping.
When at last she was leaving, she paused
the blame on the moustain, the road, the | op she step between the carved sides of the
vehicle or the driver, and you end by not | gangway.
placing it anywhere.
Then you begin to notice farm-houses
Looking ap at the floating
Stars and Stripes, she sa
‘I wish to salute your flag.”
Uncovering her head and bolding ber bat
with their usual surroundings as you come | in her band, she began so sing *‘‘The Star-
petted her, and she adored him. Emma's cheerful voice was oddly plaintive, | so loved and petted —"’
out of the last us place and per. | Spaogled Banner.”
An evening in Farndon Corners was con. | — ‘js 's sim ly no use talking to her. We| “Yes ; bus I'm nota Gaugeso
bape ycu will get a chance to see a few | AS she sang the first verse every officer
rl now ; I'm old. One Thing not Clear,
strued as the interval between seven and | have said
1 weocan, Mrs. Ware and I.
nine o'clock; but the Jerrold’s, who, it will Rosa says that her mother has never les her
be seen, diverged by ever so little, here and | wear black, not even a black ribbon nor a
there, from the local traditions, dared to | black belt—"*
defer their bedtime on such a night ae this,
“It 's true,” the widow eagerly cor-
with its moist, hushed atmosphere, pale | roborated. She bad risen from she bed.
glitter of fireflies, and cli
perfume of
e. The sweet
honeysuck! pression of it | eons and’’— Emma
returned to stifie Rosa when, at dawn the ite fall effest—**
““‘And that it would make her look hid.
used to give the word
; and that her father
next day, ber mother came to her door to | wouldn't care any more for ber if she did
send ber for the doctor. Aaron Jerrold was | it. ,, She says to ask ber mother if is isn's
#0.”
very ill.
“What chall I say, mother?” asked
Rosa, childishly.
“Oh, she doesn’t need to, does she?"
The widow looked in terrified appeal at
The people who talked about me said I was
old. And I haven't ever been young.
There 's Spustog in youth that I've mias-
ed, Ifeel it. as there something the
matter with me, mother, that you kept me
different ? Look at Cousin Emma ! is
younger th—"’
“Hush, Rosa!" Mrs. Jerrold fairly
screamed. “Do Jou think I would have
you like Emma?’
‘Why not ? Emma ’s bappy. She will
always bave comfort in those stous ohil-
dren of hers. Of course she isn’t young ;
but she was once, in a way. I never was.
Baron R. (who has been explaining the
mechanism of his new motor car to one of
his tenants for over an hour) : ‘I hope you
understand is now.”
eu : “Perfectly ; all except one
Baron R. : ‘‘And whbat is thas 2"
Tenant : ““How it.goes without a horse.”
— Most men fool a 80 much val-
uable time trying to be like somebody else
that they have no chance to amount to any-
thing as themselves,
|
and every man came silently on deck.
digger squirrels or other small “varmint” When she had sung the song to the end,
before you bave cause to look again to eulesiag ehecen tang ont froin fe Saint
possible danger of being deposited at the | Lawrence, were taken n every
bottom of some small ravine. Isn't it | "DIP near by, for all bad been listening.
ers blew their whistles; and
strange how quickly the instinot of sell | yan within reach of that thrilling ei
preservation will make one oblivious of | knew thas he bad heard one of the moss
other things. In this instance you are | inspiring
in the world sung as he
would probably never hear it sun,
seized with an intense desire to get ont Youths 0% aN
and walk. It is surprisiog what pedes-
trian powers you can develop under some
——Do you know where to get the finess
conditions. You walk with shoulders | teas, coffees and spices, Sechle: & Co.