Adrift, adrift in the blue of the sky.
On dauntless wings of white and gray ;
Adrift, adrift as the hours go by,
The languid hours of the summer day ;
Adrift I see him, the hoary king
Of craggy castle and mountain peak,
‘This bird of the height, of the vision bright ;
This monarch of birds, this ruler and sheik.
Ah, he calls and he calls with a hoarse deep
cry, .
Above inthe dome of the boundless day ;
And he faints on my sight, as into the light
He speeds like an arrow shaft away.
And the sea beholds with its surge and roar
The fisher bird with its talons brown ;
And it I!fts its arms, its lace-draped arms,
To welcome the airy wanderer down.
The crag is steep in the distance far,
But it holds a nest of rush and reed ;
And the pine, where it leans o'er the seas
gray bar, .
A hermit lone and old, indeed,
Hears oft the flutter of strong swift wings
That come from the mist and the dashing
spray ;
And it knows, and it knows, this was old pine,
Ha you would expect him to pick out for
act.
The spring had come late "up State ;”
and though a sunlight lay in the
spe hollows of woods in _scehted
there was a boisterous wind
£
:
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:
|
£
5
common nature of all cloth; and he walk-
ed like a self-moving frame of bones—a
frame of bones held together by sinews
and covered with a weather-tight integu-
ment of leathery skin.
He was a "buckwheater" in that Sart
of the lower Catskills—only a hun
miles from New York City—where the
So Power cual ao Evesh
e was
. an alder pole and a rusty can of earth-
;
His companion evidently did not intend | bunch
to fish. As became a man of position in
life, he wore black broadcloth and clean
linen; and he walked, head forward, his
shoulders high, every now and then shoot-
ing a keen glance sideways among the
trees as if to surprise some one watchi
him. He was gray in the face and - | asked
a Jeatie. tiff pore Sova digni his
ing sti stiff-arm wi ity.
“That house of yours,” he was saying,
“with a gate and no fence—and a door
with no steps—is a disgrace. Why don't
you build yourself a home fit to live in?”
Matt did not look up from under the
brim of his felt hat. “My house
's my own, I guess," he said mildly. “Any
one that doesn’t like it needn't look at it.
The other had eyes of a cold blue, pinch-
ed in wrinkles. The wrinkles tightened
on them now-as his hand Xiginned on
his walking stick—in an nga t repres-
sion of his contempt. * t's not the
question.”
“Besides, I don't need a fence there.
The fields are fenced, an’ the dog’s always
‘round the front door. He keeps out the
cattle. I never got round to makin’ steps.
We don’t need ‘em anyway.”
"You ‘get round’ to going fishing."
They were following an old “wood
road" that led through a second-growth
forest of beech and maple. It was a wood
3 pay tree-trunks and green
of fairy vistas, where the sunlight was
caught in a net of low-hung branches
and tossed among enta leaves.
Matt looked at the glimmering streak
of water among the trees ahead. “I pro
ised the missus I'd get some perch fer
supper,” he len “if they'll bite. The
water's cold yet fer perch.”
“Here!" the other cried. “I didn’t come
all the way up here to fishing!" He
had thrust his stick into the soft loam and
stood anchored. “My time's valuable, if
yours isn’t. Ihave somthing to say to
you, and I want you to hear it.”
Matt had turned slowly. “Well ?" He
hat and ran his hand
ir. (It was a thatch
black hair like the hide of an
wl
heer
isi
;
i
HELP
=E
5
723
1
ke
be
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mated the mental activity
Matt, in fact, was known in the .
suicide | borhood as a bit of a “character.”
Of the earilis electric cur-
of his brother.
same punt in which his father was now
had tripped on the edge of the
ed wharf; and his gun, caught
as he stumbled, had been
into his side.)
He rowed tediously, beaten from his
course by the gusts of wind and recover- | in town. They told me your wife was as
ing it without a word. He did not look
at the bursts of sunshine that were
own across the lake, in sudden glori
clouds. He seem
t that this was his broth-
er in the boat with him—until he had
dropped his anchor-stone off Alder Point.
Then he raised his eyes from his can of
bait and examined the
regard
“Been doin’ well, Ben
The Honorable Ben
litician with a
mly,
whatever gu was
ing worms. “Boys grow-
Vi thought it over. “Huh !" he grunt-
“What're they goin’ in fer?" Matt
. pped impatiently: “Deviltry !
Matt cast his line and meditated.
His brother did not answer. His eyes
were on the cold expanse of the clouded
water. They focused
were about to speak. Then
himself, blinked in the sunlight, looked
at his watch, and asked in a harsh tone :
“Well, what about the house? What
u want ? Money ?”
1 fix the house,” Matt assured his
fishing-line, “if that’s all the trouble.”
“Well, it’s not all the trouble!”
voice was a bark of irritation. “They're
it up to me for letting one of
y live here in this sort of way.
is it ? What's the matter
? you care how you live ?
I'd think your wife 'd want to do better,
if Wolter te
tt without any apparent re-
sentment: “I didn't have your luck, Ben.
money.
“If you think I'm living on my wife's
money-— She's given more to
than she ever had when I married her."
After an interval of thought—during
which the politician had relapsed
scowling thoughtfulness again—Matt ob-
“She's took to religion, uh? . .
that’s better than rum.”
The brother snorted contemptuously.
Matt looked up at him. “Are you what
you'd call happy, Ben ?”
“What's that got to do with it ?"
“Nuthin’, Nuthin’.
like the way I'm livin’ here—an’ I
woutlating what you're gettin’ out o’
did not reply to this absurdity. He
pulled his hat down upon his brows.
i
i
g
8
5
2
Fig
g
Matt nodded.
complained to your wife one day
about that wharf of yours. She said it
you
| never finished anything you started and
never started anything
She said she was ambitious when she :
married you—a girl of good education— |
po ai 10 bs 2 Scio) teicher 00 vate
studying then, at night, thought
Jou were ing to be another Abraham
incoln. You were studying law. A lit- |
tle later you were rea medical books. |
Thea Jou took to g newspapers
and
politics. You studied every- hows
Et Ded did everything but the
attend to your work. When you moved
got to the wots here; She gave up hope.
saw 'd never escape from poverty |
: | unless the boy pulled her out of it. And |
| him eps him at hod, and Sayed for
m and pushed him and let you
{ do as you liked. . . Well 7
Matt looked up, withthe gaze of a man
whose thoughts are turned inward upon
himself and his past.
The brother clenched his hand. “That |
tripped on your wharf and shot him-
boy
self ! On your wharf—the wharf you
were too lazy to finish. He tripped on
|one of the stakes you were too lazy
to even off—and killed himself ! Those
e told me about it when I saw them
good as crazy—that she went around like
a mad woman, stone dumb—that she nev-
es, | er even shed a tear—that you'd killed the
boy and worse than killed her. They
found out that you were related to me,
and they asked me to come up here and
try to do something for your wife.”
He sat back with a contemptuous ges-
ture of withdrawal from the di ion.
“You tell me I'm a failure. You!”
Matt said hoarsely : “You don’t un-
derstand. She don't either. I've been—
All my life—" He looked down at his
feet, cl in their cowhides. “The boy
a TI
anyway.” He n
great hands. “A woman isn’t responsi-
ble for what she says, like that."
It was as if he found his tongue as
clumsy as his feet, as fumbling as his
hands, and within himself fu-
tilely, without expression, bewildered by
this new and terrible view of himself as
a criminal failure in life. He had always
thought of himself as above his circum-
stances and better than his neighbors, as
a thinker and a superior man.
He looked up at is brother pathetical-
ly. “I couldn't do the way you did. I
couldn't go on workin’ except I knew
what I was workin’ fer. I didn't want to
live like acow. I wanted to know what
we were all livin’ fer. I didn't want to
| make money just fer the sake o' makin’
money, like you fellas in the city—"
“ here,” the other interrupted
fiercely, “I want you to understand that I
went after money because I had brains
enough to see that no one could live a
healthy life without it. I saw that, 1
know all about that talk of gaining the
whole world and losing your own soul.
But you can't save your soul by losing
the whole World Sither, oe — It
was poverty that your boy, because
you hadn't money enough to build a de-
cent wharf. It'syourpoverty that makes
your wife despise yon. You want money
—that's all. You're a failure because
means to live on.
Matt shook his head, humped over his
“What is it ?” He straightened
up suddenly, his face working with emo-
tion. “What's the matter with things ?
Why'm I what you think I am,
when I tried to be what I did? Why are
uwhat are, when you used to be"—
e choked up—you used to be Benny?”
That fond little name of their child-
iF
i:
Af
gi
he
li
to see them on their
way to school—hand in hand, Matt, the
a t the green
e
edge of Alder Point. “That's got noth-
in his line, lifted up his an-
and th
| took his oars. They
oucan’t buy what ain't for sale. You | ter
| can't buy respect from your wife—nor | bro
happiness fer her. You can't buy back | “I wan
Jour 3a sos from ruination. Youve ; and I' hel
so busy makin’ you've left
| everything elso go to smash-everythi g | heed down, Matt replied: “It ain't that.
worth more than money. You're | There's somethin
Ben. I'm sorry fer you. That's don't m
around. His
under cover of the action :
t you to help my family now, Matt,
yours.”
Pp
forward in his stroke, with his
g wrong. If a man
ake money, he kills his children.
if he does, they kill themselves. the
see what they
ot man starts
ight thing—an’ can’t.
wrong with things.”
used to think it over, shook his
and concluded, in a toneless resig- |
"It's too much fer me. Too
much fer me.”
Ben rubbed his hands t
: by the wind.
| tient of this moral
i Let's look at
{ want you to buy it for me.
the money—and more too—but
t my name to appear in the matter
at ail, for reasons. Understand ? I
could put off. | ant this to be between us alone. Who's
fer you.
Is that ro eto A ’
t took up his rod again. “That'll |
me. . | out in life to do the
"Good." He stretched out his arms to | There's something
his wrists, like a man about to deal He
| cards. “Now,” he said in a cold passion, | he
| “listen to me. There were some people | nati
| over on the iake last summer. They used
ito rowover here to get milk and eggs |
- jam » forth—from you. Do you remem-
The boat had swung around to point
its ncse toward the home shore again.
There was a man in a topcoat and a der-
: by standing at the landing.
“Who's that ?”
A note of alarm in the voice startled
| Matt to attention. He caught the direc-
Brother's eyes and turned in
e man was a stranger to
[him “I dunno,” he said. "What's the
Ben reached a hand back to the tail
et of his coat and said quietly: “Wait.
ait a minute. I know him.
Don’t row in.
Understand ?”
ckage of bank-bills, the
strapped with elastic
bands. He stooped to conceal his action
from the man ashore, and threw the
| money along the bottom of the punt to
his brother. It struck Matt's boot.
“Whatever's left over I just want you
to put away safely for me. I'll trust
u. ”
“What's the matter ?”
. It's just the financial strin-
ere's been a run on the bank.
will be tied up for awhile.
t land for me.
He drew out a
size of a bric
you to buy the land. Just put it in your
pocket and say nothing about it.”
Matt looked down at the money with-
his stiffened hold on the
“What's the matter.
you buy it yerself ?”
Ben glanced at the shore. The wind
ng them slowly toward Alder
“I'm ina litttle diffi-
That's my wife's
Point, SA :
culty—for the time.
money. I've saved it out of the smash.” .
tience fluttered in his voice.
fool enough to
derstand? I want ycu tobuy the land for
her, and keep what's left over until I see
Matt drew back his foot from the pack-
age.
Ben said, anxiously : “I want you to
work the place for us on shares. “That's | With
what I came up here for.
need to fix your place u
up. Make your wife happy.”
Matt did not move.
“Listen! I can’t keep that money my-
self. The bottom's dropped out of the
market. I've lost everything but this.
They'll take it. They'll take everyth
I want you to use this for Mary and the !
boys. I'll trustyou. We'll all go in to- |
too old to work.
ve it up. Un-
1 see that you ‘os
can't touch me. I'll get outof it, I guess.
But they'll pluck me to the last cent. I
want you to keep this for me. Take it.
LR
| Torchon lace, remarkably inexpensive,
isettes. The
Say, Matt. Look here. For!
It’s all we have. Every-
thing's gone to smash. They"
watching me while they—they've been
going over the books. That's them
at the landing. He's come to—Matt !
Take it. Don’t let them get it. Matt !”
_Mattshook his head, without raising | in other seasons, for yokes are more shal-
Their progress had put the Point be- |
tween or and the landing- The Hon-
orale Eefjamin, seei
ed, half-risen from his seat, grasping the
thwarts. “D—it I” he cursed in 3 Berce
undertone, “aren’t yougood foran
Won't you even save yourself and all
rest of us from the poor house now that |
§ ‘chance ? That man—Matt! |
ide it ! Hide it !”
Matt did not move. Ben looked back
over his shoulder at the lake, reached one
hand toward the money, and then said to |
himself desperately : “It'd float !" i
There was a long
that he was hid-
e wharf, crouch-
use and silence. |
branch
few yards from shore—with a smali for-
in bank-bills lying in
feet.—By Harvey J.
ny
~If a colt is allowed to run down and
e poor, no aftercare can quite
overcome the injury done. i
Watercress and should be
conveyed to the he with a fork.
Corn from the cob is properly eaten
holding the cob in the hand, unless little
silver “corn stickers” are served with it.
When eating celery hold it in the fin-
gers.
Itis not good form to cut salads. When
leaves are | each should be wra
ped about the fork before taking from the
plate.
Tomatoes may be cut with the fork.
One should not eat meat from bones.
Oranges are usually eaten with a
spoon, cutting the fruit across in the mid-
"dle, so that each section is severed.
Grape fruit is done in the same way, |
up when it is not taken from the skin be- |
fore being brought to the table.
chipped off the top, is an English custom.
In this country eggs may be broken into
a cup and stirred.
Porterhouse Steak With Mushrooms.—
Broil a thick porieriouss prake. Mel: aud
brown one tablespoon tter,
one tabl ful of flour; stir until
smooth brown. Add one cupful of
stock; stir until it begins to thicken, then
add onehalf can of mushrooms. Stir
until the sauce thickens and the mush-
rooms are heated through. Take from
the fire; season with one teaspoonful of
Worcestershire sauce, salt and pepper
and pour over the steak.
Strawberry Sherbet.—Wash one heap-
ing quart of hulled berries, drain and mash
to a pulp, adding at the same time one
pound of sugar. Let stand four hours,
then add the juice of a lemon and three
pints of cold water. Stir thoroughly and
strain through a coarse cloth, pressing
hard, so as to extract all of the juice.
Taste to see that it is sufficiently sweet,
- asall berries vary in acidity; set on ice
until chilled and serve with alittle crush-
ed ice in the glasses.
Although in Paris the collarless corsage
is being refused by many elegantes, it is
so tempting to a vast proportion of wom-
en that many are taking instant means
to beautify their throats.
The throat that has been attenuated
and marked by a high collar worn too
tight will benefit immensely by the free-
dom and play of air afforded it by uncov-
wile it altogether, and the good results
will be very apparent when evening dress
is worn.
Jo improve the Jock at 6 thin it is
a safe excellent to massage it
with almond oil every day, using upward
strokes. Should there be any tendency
to that bane of the woman who wishes
to wear the collarless corsage, a double
chin, the chin should be stroked upward
with the palm of the hand moistened
warm water and simple tincture of
benzoin, which is useful for its astringent
| properties.
With a repetition that ap ches the
trite, the subject of your chemisette is
again taken up, but then that part of the
costume Jueapihedrs with noticeable insist-
ence, and deserves a careful consid-
eration. When looking at it with an eye
for the proper fit, it were wise to place
the lace or linen yoke and collar upon a
| foundation of lawn cut to fit as a cor-
(set cover. When the lower edge is
| attached the upper part of the lining can
be cut away and the seams edges
and
| Bhished neatly. The beh on this lining
Note sai motion his on the | ures an unwrin surface at the front
money, as if he did not hear. The water |
lapped and chuckled
punt maliciously as a pu
and back and ts the em
a untidy slipping out of the lace
e
makes -looking chem
strips uld be joined hand with
| strong linen thread and whole fin-
| ished at the back with wash buttons and
| just as much sanctioned as ever.
The chemisette need not be so dee as
low. Any line for the lower is ap-
proved, while color can be introduced on
the lace in various ways. Hand embroid-
, ery, beads or narrow pipings of color and
{ Black are the means to the decorative
Remember that perfection of fit is the
first requisite, and soimportant is this fac-
tor that when present in a chemisette of
i ve lace a distinction will be the
is said al
about the expense and care. Remember
it takes money and work to run any busi-
ness.
that they want to earn big pro
her field isa good preventi
measure in such cases. *
—One of the most convenient remedies
poor fe=der. His stomach is too small to
contain enouge feed to serve him from
one meal to another. When put into
P- | hard work he generally has a fagged-out
appearance.
tofore issued by Prof. ace, and letters
have been recen received
whether this is Rly Socehv Ting
The following answers to seven queries in
one of these letters, in regard to the use
$4 formal n, were made by Professor Sur-
face:
I. Yes, itisa 1 tive for
practica preven
Eating boiled eggs from the shell, first | Sut Of Wheat and oats.
‘ tao one pint of commercial
ormalin (forty cent. solution of for-
maldehyde) in yu water,
3. Immerse the seed for at least forty
minutes.
4. The best way to do this is to put
the seed into a bag, and let it stand oe
barrel of formalin solution, and when you
wish to dry it spread it on the barn floor
anil shove } over vecesionally:
strength is gradually lost
evaporation when it stands open, but =
quickly lost.
6. You can dip any number of sacks
in the same vessel as long as you replen-
ish it with the same per centage; or, in
other words, return what is carried away
by the previously removed sacks. You
can keep the undiluted formalin in stock
as long as you desire.
7. The diluted liquid is not at all danger-
ous to handle, and the unused seed
not need to be washed after it is dry, as
it really does not poison it, as it merely
kills germs that are upon it. After it is
once dry it is safe to feed it to stock or
otherwise use it, if not used for seed.
—Many misleading statements are made
Jegarding ihe pigeon business. Too much
ut the profits, and too little
The great difficulty with many whe
start inte rearing pigeons for Jeon, is
ts from
the start. If this does not materialize,
they become discouraged. Many also
start with a meagre capital, forgetti
that time means expense, and should ne
seen delays occur, a small amount will
not suffice. Capital, good ju ent and
ination to succeed are the essential
qualifications.
your business as you go along ;
invest slowly and surely.
3 Squash rziser of Illinois has special
feeds for each day in the week. One is
given in the morning and one in the even-
ing, in order 2s follows : Sunday, hemp,
peas; Monday, Kaffir corn, wheat; Tues-
day, wheat, cracked corn ; Wednesday,
millet, wheat ; Thursday, Kaffir corn,
wheat; Friday, cracked peas, cracked
corn; Saturday, Kaffir corn and wheat.
“Eternal vigilance," as cne of our vet-
eran breeders puts it, is indeed necessary
in the pigeon loft.
The squab industry, like any other, re-
quires a great deal of business sagacity,
patience and perseverance to bring suc-
cess.
With the scarcity of game birds, the
squab must retain the popularity it has
gained as a substitute for these birds.
To those wishing to start in the bus-
ness there are always reliable breeders
who will sell a few geod birds at fair
prices, without resorting to those dealers
who never see a bird lay, or a pair drive
for the nest ; and from these reliable
breeders
the novice will get courteous
treatment aswell as many points leading
to success.
The market now demandsal squab,
so that many of the breeds used five years
ago are now ont of use.
The breeding season begins again about
the last of this month.
While continually cleaning the lofts has
a tendency of greatly disturbing the birds,
still there is no excuse for filthy ¢
In that excellent publication, “Pigeons,”
E. R. B. Chapman gives some valuable
pointers for beginners.
He says that if properly kept, pigeons
are Succapiitle to but few diseases.
Ailing birds should be placed in a light,
arm, airy room, away from the o
Unlessinherited, no disease comes from
Within, bot always from contact with out-
t that amply repays the maker for | side
! the time and trouble expended in its con-
| struction.
The most fashionable separate coat for
dress wear is pongee, shantung and rajah
weaves, made in loose effect, long, of
course, and lined with foulard printed in
t
Parasols will be this season to ac-
centuate the color scheme of the cos-
tume. This will be as orna-
mental as useful, ang will 10: hema
flame out in all the brilliant colors that
have been the fashion since the era of
EE a In.
red is mentioned first be-
ly ah ct ny
a t
against a white, a black and an ecru
gown. It shows up the natural toes
ut pongee and shantung, which are so
B
E
j
8
Bg
ew colors can, and
admirable way. It |
|
5
mouth with this, gently all af-
| Fe tae ching, all af.
| suuart a little of the solution up each
—*“Is your new maid capable?”
“Yes, indeed. She can tell callers I
when used against black it forms 2 cer- | don’t want to see that I'm out and make
——Subscribe for the WATCAMAN
them believe it."
——An advertisement in the WATCH-
MAN always pays.
Sas