Bruna fia
"Bellefonte, Pa., September 17, 1909.
MY DUG.
The curate thinks you have po soul ;
I know that he has none. But you,
Dear friend, whose solemn self-control
In our four-square, familiar pew,
Was pattern to my youth—whose bark
Called me in summer dawns (0 rove—
Have you come dowa into the dark
Where none is welcome, none may love ?
1 will not think those good brown eyes
Have spent their light of truth so soon
But in some canine Paradise
Yaur wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,
And quarters every plain and hill,
Seeking its master. . . . As for me,
This prayer at least the gods fullfil ;
That when | pass the flood, and see
Old Charon by the Stygian coast.
Take tol! of all the shades who land
Your little, faithful, barking ghost
May leap to lick my phastom hand.
Bt. John Lucas, in St, Louis Globe Democrat,
“THE BAND.”
I think the reason that Philip Barstow
and I get on 20 well together is becanse we
both crossed the prestidigitator’s bridge at
about the same time. Every ope bas seen
a prestidigitator’s bridge—is is the plank
covered with red baize that the magician
uses to cross from the atage to auditorium
when be comes down into the audience to
force cards on us or take rabbits from our
inside pockets or coins from our ears. All
of us bachelors who live long enough muss
orose the magioian’s bridge one day and
take our places in the andience. The lucky
man is the one who makes the transition
willingly and in good season. That time
menally comes about the moment when we
begin to meet young women at dinners
who look just like their mothers nsed to
look twenty years before—twenty years
when they married the other man;
w we give up tennis for golf and insiss
that billiards is splendid exercise; when
the bumps of our youth develop into rheu-
matic joints and the salety-vaive of our in-
ternal machinery is forever sounding a
warning to our appetites.
It is not easy for some of us uomarried
men to make the transition; there are those
—a very few—who, after they bave crossed
she bridge, go back and take up the fight
again—even marry. Bus these are not she
true bachelors, the bachelors who were
born bachelors, who in their youth carry
on most soandalously with every pretty
girl in the village, but, way dows in their
hearts know thas their finish isa trained
nurse and a faithfal body-servant.
Barstow and I used to dine at the same
olab, but we give thas np some time ago.
Now we bave a little side table at Sherry’s
or Martin's or even Reotor’s, where the
stage is amply filled and the actors are usu-
ally well-dressed and often beautiful, and
we can watch their listle affairs, and, an-
known to them, bave our innocent jokes at
their expense. In the other days—the days
at the club —we talked of ourselves, but
that was before be learned that history
was pot fiction, bus fact, and that if ever
we did leave this world, the present social
structure would go stretching on indefinite:
1y and nos come tumbling about the heads
of those who were unfortunate enough to
be left behind.
There was one thing that worried us a
good deal theo, and even now, when there
is plenty of time between the lighting of
our cigars and the hour for starting for the
y, we ocoasionally discuss it mildly. Is
a trifling matter of who is going to save
our conntry and effect a compromise with
she Trus«t Senators jnss before they take our
lass dollar. Of course, we admis that some
thing is going to save our counotry-—there
seems to be a saving factor in our natioual
makeup that always <developes when it
really becomes necessary. Barstow con-
tends that when the time is ripe the old
Paritan bloud, the cold intelligence, aud
the hard common sense of New England
will assert itself and esraighten things ont.
Bat then Barstow was born and brought
up somewhere near Boston, and not very
far from Concord, and be is just about as
barrow es one of his own stone fences. My
argument is that the best life—the life that
produced the ureatest refineraent and oul-
ture throughoat the conutry, the life that
Jot kindliness aud hospitality and brother-
y love above money-grubbiog—was the
lite that wae pretty thoroughly choked ons
of the Southern States during the late an-
pleasavtness, We Northerners certainly
stamped it out as well as we kvew how;
but from what I have seen, there is a good
deal of is left, and when they learn down
there that che war is really over, I believe
the old blood will quicken again, a d if it
circulates sufficiently far, and in enough
different directions, it will do the country
a whole lot of good. Of conree, Barstow
and I bave no sectional feeling, and we
would like to see every monument that
has been raised by either side thrown into
the deep sea. It is only the ultimate effect
of the blood we worry about.
Very early in July Barstow aod I sepa-
rate; he goes to Magnolia, where be meets
nothi but Bostonians, and I go to
Virgivia, which Northerners avoid because
they bave a wrong idea that it is hob.
When we retarn in September we swap
experiences thas are su to bolster up
our old arguments, although we have
done this for ten years, it has not made
suy difference in our views. Bat when I
ges back I am going to tell Barstow my ex-
periences with “The Band” at the Madi-
son Sulphur Springs, which, in way of
apology for all thas I have said belore this,
was only made possible by the fact thatI
had long passed the agian 's bridge and
was regarded by “The Band’ as a mere
looker on.
The Madison Sulphur Springs is not
one of those vnmerous summer resorts in
the Soush which have been rebuilt or re-
stored. Itis, in all ways, I imagine, very
much as it was long before the war. There
is the main huilding— big and spreading in
all its proportions, with a broad porch and
high flnted pillars. At one end there is
the diniog-room, square and severe, with
whitewashed walle. Napkino-rings are still
in favor and the colored servants, by wav.
ing long paper fans over your head, more
or less successfully shoo away the flies
while yoa eat.
The door at the other end of the piazza
leads into the ballroom, which isa little
smaller than the dining-rooms, bat equally
severe in it? lack of decoration. The botel
is surrounded by a wonderful lawn studded
by splendid oak trees, and at the left of the
lawn there is a semicircle of listle white-
washed cottages devoted to the bachelor
guests, There are no modern improve-
ments of any kind, but the rooms are im-
maculately clean and fresh, and the colored
servants are the kind who courtesy to you
| if they are women and if they are men
| throw their bats on the ground belore they
address you. There are no tennis courts,
aud itis too mountainons for a golf conrse;
the sports, such as they are. consist of a
croquet grooud and a shuffleboard. The
social relaxation is supposed to coosist in
polite conversation ou the piazzas, an oc-
and dancing at night in the baliroom. No
cimpler life can be found anywhere, and a
man who bires a runabout for an afternoon
drive over the mountain roads is consider.
ed agood deal of a spendthrils. And yet
clear blue skies, avd the bomely life that
calls the same people back year after year
to this little botel hidden away in the
Virginia mountains. Some of the cabins
which once held the overflow of the hotel
have been turned into servants’ quarters,
while others have crumbled into utter
disuse; and this wonld seeia to bear out
she testimony of the oldest guest that The
Springs was once the scene of a greater
social activity. Bat be that as it may, the
youager generation of Southern girls still
come there dressed in a simple finery,
which, I fear, is often paid for alter much
eaving throngh the winter months. Bat
the Southern daughter of the old school
wuss still bave ber month at The Springs,
and there the young men still go to pay
ccurs to their fotore brides.
With the exception of two summers, she
music at The Springs, during my day at
least, bad always been furnished by a vio-
lin and a piano. However, during one
season of great financial ty, a cor-
net was added, and ounce the orchestra con-
sisted of four young boys, but as they were
just learving to play, the music that year
was perhaps a little worse thao usaal. Bus
whatever the number of the instromental-
ists, and however great or small their
ability, we always called them ‘‘The
Baud,” and so during the past summer,
when all the music was supplied by one
young woman, we still gave ber the same
sitle as her predecessors. The real name
of “The Band’ was Miss Helen Glenbam,
which fact I gathered after considerable
questioning from the guests who bad pre-
ceded me at The Springs. Her contract
demanded that she play the piano every
morning in the main parlor from ten notil
eleven, and again in the ballroom at night
from eight until eleven. I hope it was not
on account of the quality of the music, but
it is, nevertheless, a fact that this seemed
to be an off season for the dancing at The
Springs. Occasionally the young people
wandered into the ballroom, and on Satur-
day nights we organized several rather in-
formal cotillions; but for she most part
‘“The Bauod'’ played to an empty room. I
must say, however, thas she was moss con-
sciensions in performing her duty,and dar-
ing the appointed hours remained laithiully
at ber post. Whether the ballroom was
crowded or empty, one cvuld always hear
through the open windows ‘‘The Band,”
with a most fearful regularity, first baog-
ing ont a waltz and then a two-step, then
a waltz and next a two-step.
The firss time I saw her, she was resting
between numbers, ber hands lying idly on
the keys. The piano was placed in the
corner with the keyboard side next the
wall, so that ‘‘The Band'’ sat facing the
room, and I could see shat she was looking
out of a window into the night, and that
her thoughts were very far away from the
Madison Springs. And then, I Suppose she
heard us talking in the doorway, for, with-
ous looking up, she mechanically took np
a sheet of music which lay as ber side, and,
putting it on the rack, started to play
again. She was a rather delicate-looking
girl, fairly tall, with big brown eyes aud
beavy lashes and varrow ached brows, a
fine sensitive month, and a nose a listle
taroed ap. This, with a rather high color,
gave her almo<t a suggestion, I should
say, of diablerie. Had there been a little
mote of avimanion aud less of a certain
tired look in her eyes, she would certainly,
#0 far as heauty went, have outdistavced
any of the alleged belles of The Spriugs.
Her bair was piled bigh on her head—an
arrapgement as unbecoming as it well
could be—and she wore a simple taffeta
dress, which, while well enoogh made,
was modest, indeed, as compared to the
ciothes of the young women for whom she
played.
Later in the evening I was introduced to
her, and her maoper was, to say the least,
bus coldly polite. Indeed, I think she
rasber resented the face that I bad made a
int of meeting ber. To my somewhat
orced snd formal remarks she slowly nod-
ded her well-poised head, or spoke in
moposgliables, for which I was sorry, be.
cause her low, even, Soathern voice bad
a great charm for we. On several other
occasions I made an effort to talk to her
while she was resting between a waltz and
a two-step, but my success was not more
copspicuous than at the time of our first
meeting,avd for my pains I was well laagh-
ed at by wy fellow guests. They, too, it
seems, bad tried to be a little sociable with
*“The Band,” but failed as ignominionsly
as myself. To some of the women who had
asked her to take walks or to drive with
them she had been to the men who mes
her, but, so far as I knew, she bad accept-
ed po invitations of any kind.
“What she does with hersell all day I
don’t’ know,” said Mrs. Simmons ove
evening as we stood at the ballroom door.
Mrs Simmons was a whole-souled, stousish
lady, who wanted to mother the evtire
and was osoally granted the priv.
ilege. ‘“One never sees ber aboot any-
where. Surely she must go ous of ber
room sometimes except to go to the ball-
room, bus I certainly can’t catch her, and
is isn’s because I baven’t tried.”
“It’s her wav of playing the part,” I
**Well, I don’t like her way,’ Mrs. Sim-
mons snapped at me. “‘She’s a lady born
and bred- at least she looks it—and, be-
gides, I've heard she was. Bot just be-
cause you're a lady is no excuse for being
a mystery, and piling op your bair on
your head jusé to make yoarsell look like
a sighs, is it? I'd like to take her in hand.
I'd drive one or two of these young things
in their all-lace dresses back to their Motile
homes, Only last night I asked her to drive
over to Bowl Rock for tea this afternoon,
and she hesitated for at leass a minute, as
if she were running over her engagements,
aud then she swiled sweeter than anything
[ ever saw in wy life, and said: ‘You're so
good to ask me, Mrs. Simmons, but to-
morrow its just impossible.’ I could bave
slapped her, and all the time she kept on
smiling and picking out a waltz, You
know that droop she bas to her mouth
when she smiles? I never felt so fat and
uncomfortable in my life. Idon’s say she
wasn's nice and pleasant, because she was,
bat when she started to out that
waltz, while I was still standing there, I
was greatly tempted to tell her that there
was no better blood in Virgicia than the
Simmonses. Bat I dida’t, because I knew
she wonldn’s care, so I waddled ous, and
I could feel her eyes going right thr
my back. I certainly will never ask her
to another party of mine. Just look at her
\
\
Y
casional game of whiss in the botel parlor, |
there is something in the wooded hills, the |
fo —
‘now. Why, with that dollar-swenty shirt-
| waist and that dock skirt, she makes those
| girls of pinmage dancing round there look
i like scallery maids, I'm crazy about
ber.
' I bad been at The Springs perhaps ahont
a fortnight, and bad quite given np all hope
| of knowing “The Band" at all, when quite
| by accidents we became slightly acquaint.
ed. It was warm, and I was walking
‘slowly, bat in band, aloog a rather uonsed
! monutainous road, when I saw a white
| #kirt in the shade of a large boulder some
| listle distance from the roadway. [ knew
{that the white skirt must belong to
one of the guest: from the hotel, apd I
kuew that [| most know the wearer, bhe-
cause I knew all of the hotel guests. So I
olimbed the spake fence, which separated
we from the boulder and approached
cantiously.
“Good afternoon,’’ I said from the far
side of the rock, and before I bad discover-
4 the identity of the lady in the white
skirt.
‘Good afternoon,” said somebody,
whom | knew by the voice to be no other
thao “The Band.” A little disconraged,
I walked ahout the rock and found her
sitting with ber back against the hounlder.
io ber lap there lay a novel, and ber sailor
bat bad been tbsown aside. At she sight
of me she smiled, nos brightly perbaps, but
with the same lovely droop to one side of
the mouth tbat Mrs. Simmons bad spoken
about,
“Oh, it’s you, is it?" she said.
Of course, there are several ways of say-
ing: “Ob, it’s you, is it?’ but the way
“The Band” said 1, it sounded to me
as though, while she was not thrilled with
the sight of me, she was glad it was pot
one of several others, Somewhat embold-
down. With a nod of ber pretty head she
granted the request. We both sat tailor-
| fashion—she against the rock and I facing
her
“Wouldn't yon like to smoke?’ she
asked.
As a matter of fact, I had just finished a
rather heavy cigar, and did pot feel par-
ticularly like smoking again, but her re-
mark was #0 nnosoally buman and uopex-
pected thas I promptly pulled out my
cigar case.
“I really feel,” I said, ‘‘as if I bad you
at a terrible disadvantage—as if yon were
quite 10 my power.”
The girl locked up and down the desert-
ed road and beyond to the unending ridges
of hills. The mouth drooped into the
wavering little smile again ‘‘Yes?"’ she
said,
‘‘You see you have no piavo to protect
you now, no high piie of waltzes and two-
steps to look over, no keys to run listle
scales on while I am trying to tell yon bow
well you played the last dance.’
For the first time since I bad known
her, the girl laughed.
‘Noone was ever brave enough to tell
me that,” she said. ‘‘Why, my playing
has killed dancing at The Springs.’
“The piano is not the best in the world,”
I suggested.
*‘No, I suppose not, but it isso much
better than the one I was tanght on.”
*‘Who taught you ?”’ I asked.
“My mother—that is, she taoght me all
she kvew.”’
“How long bave you played—profes-
sionally I mean ?"’
The word brought a smile to the girl's
lips. ‘‘Prolessionally,” she repeated, ‘‘I
have been playing three years. Bas is
seems—'’ then she sto . “Oh, I don't
koow how it seems. by should I talk to
yon like this ?"’
“Becanse I'm old,” I replied promptly,
“and pronahly becacse we get ou so fa-
mously. You were goiog to say those three
sears ssem an eternity.”
“Those three hours I play in the ball-
room seem an eternity, il you insist on
kuowiog jose bow [ feel. You can’t
imagine bow sweet and pretty my little
bedroom at the top of the bouse seems after
those three bours. And yet, it's a very
bare little room.”
room,” I suggested; ‘‘at least no one ever
sees yon out of it, except at the piano and
in the dining-room. by aren’t you more
sociahle.”’
“Wny ? Why, becanse I'm ‘Tbe Band.”
“That's foclish. Iso’t is respectable to
he a band ?’ I asked.
‘“This a perfectly respectable band,’’ she
said smiling. *‘I'm just as respectable as
the clerk of the hotel, and that other very
fresh young mav who sits at my table aod
who rune the livery. We are all hopest
workers and are much more respectable
than the young men who don’s have to sit
at oor table, but who aresapposed to dance
instead of paying board. Asa matter of
fact, [ suppose they would earn their bed
and hoard a little more honestly if they
could persuade any of the women to dance
to my maosic.”’ She opened the book which
she bad been reading when I interrupted
ber, and carefully turned back both covers
until they touched ber kuees. Then she
sulle at me and really locked very beau-
ul.
‘‘I want to tell you," she said, ‘‘that I
only play for abous four months each year.
The rest of the time I live in Hodgenville
aloue with my mother. We are all that is
lett of the Glenbaws,and indeed there isn't
much more left of Hodgenville. Hodgen-
ville is a very small place in Virginia,
where two trains stop going north every
day and two trains stop every day going
south. Fortunately for Hodgenville, there
is a tank there where the engines take on
water. Nothing ever gets off at Hodgen-
ville. Was there anything else you thought
- Bexisg me ?"’ She was still smiling cheer-
y.
“I thought of asking yon to walk back
to the botel,’’ I suggested—‘‘that is,after a
while.”
man,” she said, ‘“‘to
“You are a brave
offer to walk down that bill and up the
hd to the hotel with ‘The Band.’ You are
a brave man even to make the offer, and I
admire you for is.”’
I put on my bat and slowly arose.
“Good-by,” I said, ‘‘you’re quite impos-
sible. ’ i »”, she
0, you're wrong again’’-- t out
two long tapering fingers, which Lipy mo-
ment rested in my bardened band : “I'm
not impossible—it’s ‘The Band’ that’s im-
possible.”
I shook my head by way of protest, but
she did not see me becanse she was already
deeply engrossed in her book. So once
more I turned reluctantly, and with creak-
ing joints climbed the snake fence. I sat
on the top rai! for a moments to rest, and
then I tarced to look back at her. She
must have foreseen my action, for at the
same moment she too glanced up and wav-
ed a delicate hand to me. Bat neither in
the manner ol the salutation nor in the
smile that played about her lips was there
an invitation to retarn to her, and so I
climbed to the ground and went on alone
to the hotel.
We never mes again during the remainder
ough | of the summer; tbatis, away from the
hotel. Iam sure she took good care theve-
after to hide behind rocks where she wonld
ened, I asked her permission if I might sit
“You seem very fond of your little
be wholly concealed from re-hy. Sev.
eral times I spoke to ber during the even:
ing when she was at the piano in the ball-
room, but she seemed to have forgotten our
little talk entirely and was, I think, if any-
thing, more unsociable than before. And so
the summer rolled on and I sat on she porch
with the old ladies and listened to “The
Baod’’ hanging out the two-steps and the
waltzes with the same fearful regularity.
It bad always been the custom at The
Springs to discontinue the music after the
1st of September, and a few of us men had
each vear arranged some little benefit for
the mosicians juss before their departure.
Is was usually a concert, or amateur thea-
tricals, but the style of entertainment really
mattered very little so Joog as there was an
admission fee charged. It was just a week
now to the 1st of September, and the gues-
tion psturally arose as to whas we coonld
doin the way of a beaefis for Miss Glenbam.
“You can’t do anything,” said Mrs.
Simmons decidedly. ‘‘The girl may be as
poor as a chorcb-monse—and I am quite
willing to believe that she is the sole sup-
port of her mother—but I'm sorry for the
committee which bas to offer her the pro-
ceeds.”
And there the matter rested for the
night. The next morning we sat about the
porch and talked it over and over again,
ontil I hit on an idea which met with
everybody's approval. It seemed to me
that, as long as the girl had been playing
for other people to dance all summer, it
would be a good thing to bave ove night
when she conld dance and the rest could
play. We chose the evening just before
she was to leave, and started in at once to
make the plans. Old Howard Kinney, who
bad led all the fawous cotillions at The
Springs for the last twenty years, was, of
course, to lead with Miss Glenham ; Mrs.
Simmons was to arrange the supper, and I
was to get the favors. There was a big
committee chosen to get the flower: and do
the decorations, and I have never known
av event at The Spriogs which the crowd
tock np with such real enthusiasm. That
night Mrs. Simmons aod several other
Indies went into the ballroom after the last
dance was over and officially asked ‘“The
| Band” to come to her own dance. Mrs,
Simmons told me later that the girl didn't
seem to quite know just what they meant
at first, bat when she did understand she
looked from one woman to the other and
then threw her arme out in front of her on
the piano and baried ber face in them ; so
they never did bear her answer. As Mrs.
Simmons said, they should bave known
better than to talk to the girl when she was
tired out after playing all the evening.
morning for breakfast; so the plans for the
dance went right along.
It was the first intention to have several
of the ladies do the playing, but it was
decided afterward to hire the band of four
pieces from the Alum Springs from over
the mountain, Some of the people from
the Alum Springs heard what the ball was
all about and followed their band over and
gave the dance quite a foreign flavor. The
oldest guest admits that there never was a
dance just like that one—and there have
been some pretty famous dances at The
Springs, too. It seemed as if every inch of
the old whitewashed walls had been cover-
ed with flowers or green boughs. There
were great masses of asters avd phlox and
dablias hung about everywhere, and over
the old fireplace they bad made a sort of
canopy of cedar and fairly smother-
ed is with golden rod. ‘‘The Band” stood
under the canopy with several of the older
ladies, and we all filed solemnly in and
were received with greats formality, just as
it we bado’t separated on the poroh five
minates hefore. She lookad a little pale
;at fires, but in a few minutes the high
color came back into her cheeks, and the
tired look went ont of her eyes, and all
that evening they fairly shone on all of us.
She bad arranged ber bair differently, too;
pow she wore it in soft rolls and coils in-
stead of piling it high on her head and she
wote a decollete dress that showed the deli.
cate throat snd well rounded arms, and
bow wonderfully her head was set on her
shoulders. It was a nice wimple white
dress she wore. with just a dash of hiack
ribbon about it. [don’t know much ahout
women's clothes, but I thought she was
quite as well dressed as any one in the
room, hut at the same time 1t seemed to me
that I bad never seen the other women
dress a0 simply before. The music from
the rival Spriogs sounded really pretty
well, and the favors which I had bad sent
on from New York were a great sncocess.
There were hig hats, which bad been trim-
med with enormous hows of rihbon and
shepherdess’s crooks and wands for the
girls, and for the men there were little
bundles of cigars and imitatiou decorations,
and for the final figore we bad favors made
of real silver. Of course, Miss Glenham
danced all the time, and her favors were
piled many feet high against the wall hack
of her chair. I never saw any one have a
better time, apparently, and after the way
she had treated us all during the summer,
it was wonderful to see how gracions she
could he, and what a wonderful charm and
splendid poise she bad for a young girl. At
last the band played ‘‘Dixie’ and ‘‘Home,
Sweet Home,’’ and we all marched out to
the porch, where we bad a moet elaborate
bot supper, including a fine olaret cup,
which Mrs. Simmons had brewed herssIf.
I bave never known a party to go off with
more go and zing to it, and it was two
o'clock in the morniog belore we said good-
night. ‘‘The Band’ shok bands with all
of us, men and women,and even now I can
gee the tall, lithe figure of the girl as she
walked up the staircase of the hotel, her
head slightly bent above the beautifully
rounded throat, a big bunch of red roses
held in the white arms, and balf a dozen
men following carrying her favors with
them. She left us the next morning, and
I supposed it was to he the last time that I
would, in all probability, ever see her, be-
cause I knew, as “The ,"? she had not
been much of a success. Bat just before
she left she came to me and said that she
bad a great favor to ask of me.
‘‘When you go North,”’ she said, ‘‘yon
will have to through Hi ville
about five o'clock in the morning. I should
like to ask you to stop with us, but for
certain reasons I fear that that is impossi-
ble. Bat the train stops there for about
ten minutes to take on water. If you conld
let me know the day you are coming, and
think that you could possibly get up that
early, I conld meet you at the station. It
would only be for ten minutes, but there
is something that 1 should like to say to
you, and I could say it so much better
there.”
When at last the time came for me to
start back to New York,I wrote Miss Glen-
ham and told her the morning that I should
through ber town. As wedid not
eave The Springs until ahout eleven
o'clock at night, I lay down ob my berth
with my clothes on, and told the porter to
be sure to wake me at least half an hour
before we reached Hodgenville.
The train finally came to a stop, sod I
think it must bave been the last of a long
series of jolts that wakened me from a
But she came down, all emilee, the next |
beavy sleep. I turned in my cramped
berth, and with drowsy eyes looked oat to
learn if I could see how far we had gone on
our journey. Bus one window was raised,
and that only so high as to admis of the
narrow wire soreen which one finds in all
modern sleepiog cars. The window shade
was drawn down to the top of the screen,
and so my vision was limited to a frame,
baps six inches high and two feet in
ength. There was a little station wade of
clapboards, which at one time must have
been painted red. Over the door there was
oa kerosene lamp held in a rusty hiacket,
but the lamp was not lit, and, indeed, so
far as [ could see, there were no signs what.
ever cf lile ahons the place. There was a
parrow wagon-road, which ran by the other
side of she station, and beyond thie a high,
uneven grassy bank, acd then a field of
oats, which stirred slowly in the morning
breeze. Beyond this field shere must bave
been another road, which I could not see,
because there, to all appearances, stood the
town. The sun bud soarcely risen as yet
above the horizon, but back of a circle of
high pines to the east the sky was a bril-
liant scarlet, which faded toa pink rose
color, and theo from a pearly gray into the
deep blue of the passing night. As the end
of what I took to be the village street there
stood a little low brick buildiog, and on
the ledge of one of the green window [rames
I comnld distingnisb a lettered tin sign,
which showed that it was the office of the
town’s attorney, or the local medical man.
Next to the hrick office there was a square
building, which mighs once have been the
Manor House of the place. It was purely
colonial in ite lines,aud it was a home that,
from its proportions, should bave been sar-
rounded by great lawns and spreading
trees, but now it was shut in by the other
buildings, and the dignity of it was alto-
gether gove. Its every line sagged, the
capitals of she porch pillars were missing,
the steps bad well-pigh rotted away and
the walls, which had once been white, were
now gray aud warped and weather-beaten,
Then there came two old brick houses, very
high and narrow, with many balconies
highly wronght ironwork. Beyond these
prisonlike places there was a coliection of
low whitewashed buildings which looked
as if they were used for a livery stable.
And this was apparently the extent of the
town. Be$ond I could see only untilled
fields, broken bere and there by clumps of
pine trees.
And then I was suddenly shaken roogh-
ly by the shoulder, and a very scared and
balf-awake porter told me we were at Hod-
genville. I harried out of the car and found
her standing waiting for me on the bank
just beyond the station. She held out both
ber hands : “It was go good of you to
come,” she said.
She wore a shirt-waist and a short duck
skirt, and her eyes were as bright and her
skin as clear and cool as the fresh morning
breeze that blew little wisps of bair across
her forehead and ahout her ears.
‘‘And so this is Hodgenville ?”’ I asked.
She nodded in the direction of the five
honses. ‘‘Yes,” she said, ‘‘that is Hodgen-
ville. The big house that used to be white
is our home.”
“‘And there is nothing beyond ?"’
“Nothing,’”’ she said, ‘‘but a few big
farms. I wanted you to see Hodgenville,
#0 that youn could understand just what yon
did for me—just how much that dance
meant to me aod always will mean to me.”
“But I didn't give the dance,” I
ed. But Miss Glenbam insisted thas [ sog-
gested it and did most to make it a success,
and, looking as she did shat morning, it
was very difficult to deny her anything.
“I only wish I could take you to the
house show you how we have decorated
the hallway and the parlors with all the
favors, and my dressing-table fairly groans
pow with all the silver things I got. It
made my mother so happy, and I was so
glad so tell her it was a Yankee who did it
all for me.”
I suppose I must have looked a little
surprised wheo she nsed the word Yankee,
becanse she at once tried to explain, and I
think she found it very diffionls.
‘You see mother lives so far from the
world and has heen ont of things for such
a long time, and then you know it is not
easy for very old people to forges. This
bank we are standing on used to be the
first terrace on our place.
I instinctively glanced up at the wreck
of the old house. The girl nodded.
“They used to call it Glenham Hall. It
was quite € showplace then —the lawn ran
way down there to where you see the oreek.
It was a kind of park, and here where we
are standing mother says there used to be
peacocks strutting about and young deer.
I think it must have heen lovely theo,
don’t you ?”’ And then for a few moments
there was silence. The sun was peeping
over the pine trees now and the sky and
air were fairly aglow with a warm yellow
light. There were insects buzzing all
about ue, and many little hirds were chirp-
ing a welcome to the warm sooshine. It
was che who was the first to speak.
“Do yon—do yon have holly in New
York ?”’ she asked—*‘] mean at Christ.
mas ¥'’
“Oh, yes,” I said. ‘‘It comes in wreathes
with a large red bow on each wreath.”
“‘Ours isn’t nearly so grand as that, bot
mother and I thought we would send you
some about Christmas time——that is, if you
would care for it. The woods about here
are fall of it, and there is so Jittle—"'
She did not finish the sentence, for just
then the whistle of our engine sounded and
the porter come hurrying around the sta-
tion to warn me that the train was about
to start. From the car I saw her
standing there on the bank waving ber
baodkerchief to me. Back of her were the
ruins of the old weather-beaten house, and
at ber feet were the chickens soratohing at
the ground where the peacocks used to
strut. Bus as she stood there that morn-
ing, clothed in the golden smnlight of a
new day, a smile on her lips, and her head
aay, he outd Jou wi
ne, just as , a8 ter
ber own e, standing on her own ter-
race, should bave looked.—By Charles
Belmont Davis, in Collier's.
Crying Spells.
There are some women who have ‘‘ory-
ing speils,”’ which seem to be entirely un-
accountable, and are generally attributed
in a vague way to ‘“‘nerves.”” A man hates
to see a woman ery under any circumstan-
ces, and these bursts of tears awaken very
little sympathy in him. They would if he
unde all the weakness and misery
that lie behind the tears. Dr. Pierce's
Favorite Presoription bas brightened many
a home, given smiles for tears to many a
woman just because it removes the cause of
these nervous outbreaks. of the
delicate womanly organs will surely affect
the entire nervous system. ‘‘Favorite Pre.
soription’’ cures these diseases, and builds
up a condition of sound health. For ner-
vous, | women there is no medi.
Site to compare with ‘Favorite Prescrip-
tion.
— Subscribe for the WATCHMAN.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT,
All who joy would win, must share it. Happi-
ness was born a twin,
-~HBryoa.
When piece gowns are worn, separate
coats become necessary ; consequently the
prevalence of this style has resulted in a
great variety of fall models in separate
wraps. Incidentally these new coats are a
revelation of the tailor’s art, so exquisitely
fashioned and baudsomely trimmed are
some of them. Plain designs are also de-
cidedly smart, deriving their character
from she finished lines and superior work-
manship.
For present wear nothing is more popu-
lar than circular capes, in many OT.
tions, as well as the conventional shape.
Of these the military is most practical.
It, however, this model that displays the
high collar that does not meet ander the
chin is selected is will be more comfortable
and style will nos be sacrificed.
These wraps are always of cloth or serge,
pever silk or satin, and are almost devoid
of trimming, with the exception of a
collar and battons for bo This is the
strictly military.
Then there is a modification in a wra
for afternoon or evening use in cars. Th
should be trimmed with buttons, braid and
sometimes embroidery.
For more pretensions occasions the new-
est ciroular cape is cut with a deep round
yoke fisting the figure as far as the elbow,
It is cut in pointed scallops all around,
then handsomely trimmed with braid the
color of the cloth.
The points are Iree, giving a double cape
effect. Developed from sofs old rose cloth
and lined with peau de oygne the same
shade a wrap on this order would be ex-
quisite.
A new [feature of the latest coats isa
lining to match or contrast. White, so
of | long a favorite, bas been abolished, for not
a single wrap among the new models dis-
plays a white satin lining.
Only a few years ago white duchesse sat-
in lining was ‘‘correcs.’’ Now the prefer-
ence is for colored peau de cygne exclusive-
y.
Colored broadcloth separate coats for day
wear are few. When a color is preferred,
then the circular model is boughs. :
Lightweight tweed separate coats are
smars looking, plainly tailored and in up.
obtrusive colorings. For business wear over
a thin drese these coats answer admirably
when the time comes that snoh protection
is needed.
One sees a touch of velvet on many of
the new garments. A coat shown in one
shop, for instance, was a rough frieze,
thick, but not heavy, made in a kind of
ulster, suitable for steamer or automobile
wear, and was finished with a large sailor
collar of black velvet. It was odd looking
and scarcely a practical trimming.
Mme. Lillian Blauvelt, who, at the age
of 80 years, is still teaching mueio, said at
a musioal breakfaet tendered to ber prior
to ber departure from New York for Earope
recently : ‘‘There are many reasons why I
should advise all young girls to sing. Not
the least im t is that it is good for the
hysical health. I bave known persons to
ve been saved from covsunmption by a
course of singiog lessons, which tends to
establish the correct use of the voice as
well as stimulate the npatural love for
music. In everyone there isa germ of
power to a) the finest music, and
the easiest way to express that apprecia-
tion is with the voice.”
The Parisian vow wear ever so simple a
little frock, but she spares no expense on
the accessories thereof. There will bea
dashing bat in one color effect, preferably
the deep, blnish-violes parme shade, or one
of the how fir or willow greens, and this
stunning hat will be matched by parasol,
silk stockings and bavdbag, and ueually
there will be delicately embroidered gloves
in the same shade drawn up over the arm.
Saratoga is agog at the new fashion of
corsetless women, which the boxes at the
races have shown to be the latest departure
in tbe smart set. From shoulder to hip an
almost straight line existe in this pew, un-
bound figure. A braissiere alone confines
the curves on any weil-developed form,
and the princess lingerie gown is made to
suggest rather than to define the poing
which a trim 2 inch belt formerly adorned.
Take care of your kid gloves.
It somebody sends you six pairs from
Paris do not get them all into use at once.
Cleaning is likely to injure the soft kid,
and once cleaned white gloves yellow very
quickly.
It is much better to wear a few pairs nun-
til they are worn out.
Finegloves pot in nse should be kept
wrapped in waxed paper.
This keeps them from discoloring.
It aleo helps to preserve the original soft
pliable quality of the leather.
For Salad Dressing That Will Keep.—
Beat four tabiespoonfals of butter until hot,
stir in one of flour until smooth, add ove
oup of cream (either sweet or sour), and
les boil, then set the saucepan into bot
water. gobi on By yolks of three
eggs, one sugar, one tea-
spoonfal each of salt and dry mustard, add
one-half cap of Vinegar, then stir into the
other mixture until it thickens. Bottle
and it can be kept for weeks, ready for nee.
It 3u0 thick, add a little cream or vinegar
to thin.
Nothing relieves the sting of mosquito
bites or the itching of hives like batbing
them in a weak solution of carbolic acid
water,
The long scarf, stencilled, embroidered
and painted, will be one of the most pop-
ular fashions of the year, but this time it
will appear draped on the bodice and skirts
of ball gowne,
A few handsome buttons on a suit are
considered richer and smarter than many
inexpensive ones.
Almost every home bas a dictiovary in
which the meaning of words can be found.
It ia far more important for every home to
yo Br
ng of symptoms exp! .
Dr. Pierce’s Common Sense Medical Ad-
viser is a dictionary of the body. It
answers the questions which are asked in
every family concerning health and disease,
Other dictionaries are costly. This is sent
JSree on receipt of stamps to pay expense of
mailing only. Send 21 one-cent stamps for
the book bound in paper, or 31 stamps for
cloth binding, o Dr. R. . Pierce, Buffalo,