Bemoreai, Watcha Bellefonte, Pa., September 16, 1910. EE —————— THE CHILD MUSICIAN. He had played for his lordship’s levee, He had played for his ladyship’s whim, Till the poor little head was heavy, And the poor little brain would swim. And the face grew peaked and eerie, And the large eyes strange and bright, And they said—too late—""He is weary! He shall rest for, at least, tonight!” But at dawn, when the birds were waking. As they watched in the silent room, ‘With the sound of a strained cord breaking, A something snapped in the gloom. *Twas the string of his violincello, And when they heard him stir in his bed; “Make room for tired little fellow, King God!" was the last that he said. —Austin Dobson. THE BROKEN WATER. We had come for ducks—that is Larra- and I had; Gai loosely, gun across knees, hoping might get ashot at something;and also ing that if that shot should be his, it be a miss; for Gaines liked to shoot, but did not like to kill or wound; aomaly that some understand, and some not. It was a day of early March—a gentle, Kisii: Sve Snel the unf us tang o sea, ragrant odor of the overgrown, seeping and sometimes, from the islands that we skirted, the scent of jasmine. From time to time a Silver flocked ill, or agli tering carp, would leap out of water be- fore us, with a shimmer of iridescent ; through the maze of channels, now skirt- ing the bank closely, now holding to the centre of the lagoon. ... It was quiet— very quiet—and restful. The sound of the engine seemed like the beating of a heart, and did not offend. . . . Wh FouTuie a sharp bend; three ducks, ing e sedge edge, rose spatter- ingly from the water, low at first, then gathering the momentum that enabled within easy shot. Gaines, though he saw, laid not even a hand upon his ham- merless. ... We wa them, wings flashing, disappear into the eye of the sun. Another turn, and we faced the open sea—shimmering blue water stretching to where it met the soft blue sky. “Where are you taking us, Tom?” queried Gaines at | lazily. answi : “Spade Island. Nobody ever goes there. Good water, shade, and a bully sping place, gener- ally. . .. It's well out of the way of every- Slip ever) the Alggers | haven't found t and it’s a t ing-ground.” Yow far is it 1 queried. “Only a mile or so,” returned Larrabee. | - “Be there inside of ten minutes.” We were skirting the shore, now, at perhaps an eighth of a mile to sea. It was a flat shore, with a wide, white beach whereon hundreds of gulls were feeding. Beyond was the tangle of the wilderness with here and there a palmetto-tree rising amid the green. Came to our ears the gentle whispering of the breaking waves. Larrabee at | spoke. “Look,” he said; “isn’t that a cabin?” “Where?” I asked, bending my gaze in the direction in which he was looking. “There,” he said. “Between those two tallest palmettoes.” Gaines was looki “Doggone it ail!” he exclaimed. “Some one else is here ahead of us. And I t vey Have the place jooureelves. . . . Funny-looking sort of a hut, though isn't it? look like a tent; and it i a nigger cabin. ... Now what the I saw it now. It was a little, square, white thing, nestling in the shrubbery be- tween two stolid-looking trees. were a door and two round windows in the side facing us. Larrabee gave a quick turn to the wheel; the boat responded; her bow swung swiftly around. When it pointed directly at the little cabin, Larrabee swung the wheel back again. “I'm goingin to have a look,” he said. day. Came to. . It was but a short distance to the cabin | “I don’t know,” We walked carefully, | hat we ikl Anon, t avoidi y pears. mount- op Dd lng SK of the cabin. wood was torn and splintered. “Hello!” hailed Larrabee. home?” There was no answer. “l say!” he called again. “Cabin, i" “Anybody | fe g it THE E : : 82738 ibd ath g ] g Esdeiin: i Gaines was as a leaf in a whirlwind. I spun around and fell full length upon the trod- den sand. Larrabee’s gun was from his grip; he was picked up in great, hairy hands and thrown bodily through the air against the far wall. And Larra- bee was champion all-round athlete of the Seventh, you know, and weighs one hundred and ninety, stripped. And then followed a battle that I think of, sometimes, in my sleep, and wake, shivering. And I was at San Juan—but that was different. It is confused in my mind. I saw the huge, hairy thing leap- ing upon me. I thrust up my arm. Lar- rabee, from his corner, sprang forward, foot extended; and the man fell uponme, his white-circled savage, blood-lusting eyes night at mine, his hot, foetid breath in my face. . . I felt sick, weak. . . I closed my eyes, within them the vision of his face and a vague picture of Larrabee, lying on his belly across our foe, tearing with frantic hands at his head, and Gaines, with the blood running down into his eyes from a great gash on his brow, beating with the stock of a gun the hideous, hairy head so close to my They were pouring water on my face when next I knew anythi «st un- a I complained, peevish- y. . . . Thenl realized. a sat up. o was outside the cabin, in open. My eyes were pointed toward thedoor. . . . Just inside, prone up- on the floor, was he who had attacked us. His matted black hair was wet with blood. His white teeth still showed like those of a panther in anger. Around pupils of his eyes were white, glistening rings. . . . [looked away. Larrabee, pale of cheek and of lip, was tying a wet, reddened handkerchief the | man. evenly, “Don'tlie. . . . Tell me the name Or Dow, 1 sellayer. He dol A yer. e e still , and without resentment. “I can’ I didn't have time to find craft. out. We was wrecked right after I ship- “From where did you ship?" “I don't know. I was drunk—drunk as hell. I'd been drunk for a month. The water sobered me up—when we struck.” “Who is she—inside?" “She was on the yacht, t00.” “Her name?” I don’t know." “You must know." “No. . . . What th’ hell difference does it make, anyhow?" He asked the question with neither anger nor interest. Whers are the rest of them?” “All of them?” “Yes. Except us. “Where did she go down, this yacht? i Month b " time ago. onth or two—meb- be three. Struck on the reef out there.” He jerked his head a little backward. ‘Hell of a night. Wind blowin’ an’ a heavy sea runnin.’ She struck hard— tore a big hole in the port bow. Then the breakers sent her over on her beam “Where were you?” “Drunk in my bunk at first. The wa- ter brought me up all standin’. I run out on deck. She,” nodding his head in ” the , They was all prayin’ an’ yellin’ like hell —'cept her, She was smilin’—like she is . 1 was still drunk—but the water | ing, At length he said, slowly, almost sav- ly: “She's mine! She b'longs to me, I tell yer! . . Where'd she be now if it wasn't for me? Out there with the rest of em.” He jerked his head toward where we could see, a mile out over the blue water, the soft gleam of broken bil- lows. “Dead ashell. . . . Some day, mebbe she'll— But if she's taken away, how could I ever see her again—me, a dam’ bilge-rat of a Soul passer!’ His jaws set; his eyes glitte and, glitter- danced from one to the other of us. ‘This is my bus’ness,” he hissed. { “Dam’ yer, you keep out. D'yer hear? You keep out—all o' yer!” He rose, wiping the knife on the palm of a rough hand. Gathering up pot and ep, he went into the cabin. or a long moment Larrabee, Gaines, and I looked at one another. At length Larrabee said, very quietly, “There's no choice.” Gaines nodded. “None.” he said, simply. Larrabee broke his gun and examined the cartridges. Gaines, with his thumb, cocked his hammeriess. There was 2a heavy round stick on the sand beside me. It looked like a part of a spar; from the ' marks upon it it had been used as one of the rollers by means of which the deck- house had been brought to its present place. I picked it up. It occurred to me to go back to the boat for the other gun; yet it seemed that four charges of buck- shot in two guns held by cool-headed men woud be enough against a single unarm- oe. At length Larrabee locked his gun and cocked both barrels. He turned to us. “Ready?” he asked. Gaines and I nodded. “We must shoot to disable, and not kill, unless—" He did not finish; but we un- Then we entered the cabin. . . He was kneeling beside the couch upon which she into the ne ‘ie 1 clawed out an’ got to ge, T was 8 in’ on to each other an’ yellin’—all ‘cept | derstood. her. . . . She was the only one worth savin'—I see that. . Igrabbed her around the body. The boat slid off'n the reef, into deep water, an’ went down. . . .. was all holdin’ on to each other an’ yellin’ like hell. : He " ?" prompted Larrabee. “Nothin’ much. [clawed my way to shore, n’ her. When I got there she was like she is now—asleep. [work- ed over her for four days. But it didn't no good. . . . The deck-house in, an’ some other wreckage. I rig- up a tackle an’ some rollers, an got the house up here. . That's all. There was a long pause. He spoke ‘MN 2 - | got to be fed." “Will you promise to behave?” “Yes. T “Understand. . . got two guns, each one with two loads of buck- shot in it. The first move you make—" “Hell!” Turn me loose. She's got to be fed, I tell yer!” Larrabee handed a gun to me and one to Gaines. Then, stooping, he cut the rope that bound the great form upon the sand floor. The man rose to his feet, stretched his great limbs, and stood for a moment, gently rubbing his left wrist struck | with his right hand. He said no word; he noticed us not at all. Going to the corner of the house, he took from a heap of thi that we had not noticed a tin pot anda heavy knife with a short blade. We held our guns full on him. Taking the coatful of oysters, he car- ried them down to the of the water and there washed them clean. He came back. Sitting cross-legged on the sand before the door he opened a dozen or more, dropping them into a pot. This done, he walked around the corner of the cabin. : Anon he returned; there was water in the pot. He set it down and, gathering some dried and a few sticks of wood, drew from his pocket a box of matches. , . . He fed the fire in si- lence; and when at length there were coals, he set the pot upon them. Going jn he cabin he got out pepper and salt in little paper Larrabee asked: “Where did you get those things— | matches—pepper—salt?” ! He answered, laconically, ” “Jim Island. “James Island!” cried Gaines. "iEifty,” grunted the big “ hoy n ig man. “You ¥ony no boat," I said, half in question. He shook his head. “Fifty miles of mud and marsh and water!” exclaimed Gaines. i en Waks an’ I can swim,” said the “But why not other food?" questioned Larrabee. “No money,” returned the man. “Be- sides, there ain't nothin’ better'n oyster “Sixty around Gainse's head, while Gaines him- | stew. self with weak fingers was wiping off, as they fell, the drops of blood that trickled from beneath the bandage. . . . Lar- rabee sat erect. “Good God!" he cried. “The woman.” We looked. There at the far side of i the cabin she still lay—still slept peace- “If we're going to have neighbors, 1 want | to see what they're like, for if we don't like em, we can go on. The day's still Joune, and there's a lot of coast between and Florida.” All three of us kept our eyes on the little cabin over the bow. “It's a Sock House, Sad Lasfabee at length, “The -house of a yacht. . .. Isn't it?” Gaines laid his gun down upon the it ing 0 es,” he agreed. “That's strange. wonder how it got there.” We were not far from the shore now. A not inconsiderable swell was running. “Better not try to beach her,” counsel- led Gaines. “Isn't that a creek—there— alongside that third tree?” Larrabee nodded, and swung the wheel over a little. ," commanded Larrabee caught up the anchor, and with it jumped to the mud. soil of the higher bank. “Come Better bring the gun, Jim. Some of these beach-combers are hard nuts. Bring Tossing Caifies a lif 3 dozen cartridges taking as man for ses, Hallows him to - up the Larrabee. 1! fully—rounded breast still rising and fall- ing evenly, chiselled nostrils moving in almost imperceptible rhythm. “If that didn't waken her—" began Larrabee. He did not finish the thought. He rose to his feet and went to the door. The glaring eyes of the man n the floor followed his every move. rrabee wheeled suddenly. “Do you talk ish?” he demanded. The fierce eyes gazed up at him. “Do you talk English?” he asked, again. “We mean no harm to you or to her. We are hunting; we saw the cabin and came merely to investigate. . Do you talk ish?” Ne a nl bling “Yes,” came inly, in rumbli t- tural, from beneath the bared hte teeth. “We don’t wish to do oe harm,” said ou are beaten. Larrabee, “or any one. Will you behave?” The was gone a little from the eyes. tion, reason, were begin- ning io replace it. ill you promise to behave?” asked Larrabee, i {1813 : shed We waited and watched. The stew at length was done. He added r and salt. He poured some of the liquid into a he went inside the cabin. cup. We followed and watched. Passing his arm beneath the head of the girl, he rais- ed her shoulders a little from the couch. Then, parting her lips as gently as a “But it's , “I don't give a dam.” pont you want to get her well?” lay. He looked up. Larrabee said to him, very quietly: “We have decided what we 1 do. We are three armed men; you are one, and unarmed; and if you try to interfere, we shall kill you.” His white teeth bared, slowly, between his hairy lips; one great hand went slow- ly around to his hip, closing upon the haft of his knife. We could see mus- cles of his huge arms and broad, deep chest grow tense. Larrabee said, quickly: “Careful! An arm or a leg with one barrel! Save the other!” i The stooping figure crouched. The | eyes glittered like knife points. The | white, even teeth gleamed from a face distorted out of all semblance of human- ism, Yet lower De stonched, supple, nuous, as a pan about to spring. And then— In the absolute silence came with dis- tinctness the sound of a quick, indrawn breath. It came from the lips of the girl who slept. The glittering eyes, so near the rounded, delicately modelled face, turned full upon it. And to it, as well, turned the eyes of the three of us. . There was the slightest quiver of the out- stretched body—so slight that one might | scarce be sure of it. . . . Then there was ' a movement—a movement slight, yet be- doubt. ... One hand—the right d—turned a little. + It rose slowly—very slowly. It went to the forehead, palm out, and for a mo- e another ex- Jalacion from beneath the curved red i ment fay there. ... Cam arm fiercely. “Good God!” he whispered, tensely. And then, with the puzzled, inchoate uncertainty of a child arousing from deep slumber, she sat up, suddenly. ... The movement brought her face close to that of the crouching man. It was very light. We could see quite plainly. er eyes were upon that face so close to Bars = upon that hairy, distorted, bestial visage with its gleaming teeth and glittering eyes. And then there came slowly into her own an expression of such utter, utter horroras I have never seen, and pray to God that I may never see again. Her body seemed to shrivel. | ! Slender hands flew to cover staring eyes. With stricken suddenness came from be- tween her lipsone long, wild, ear-shrilling scream. God! that scream! . .. the utter silence, as she crumpled back upon the couch. There came from the man, crouching there beside her, a wolfish moan. He fung himself forward, upon her, placing hie Jand over her heart, his ear close to erlips. . .. We stood there. It had all been so sud- den—so utterly unforeseen. Had we known what to do, there would not have been time in which to do it. But at length Larrabee found himself. Hestart- ed forward. But now the man had risen. Before his expression had been that of ferocity. Now it was even that of a maniac. H sharp white upper teeth were cu into his lower lip. Already the bl had sprung forth, to lose itself in the dense- ness of his beard. His head was sunk forward; his arms were bent; his fingers twitched. Yo es doa he sergeched, “Dead! ou've ki er!” , screeching again, in utter abandonment of bestial fey he leaped upon us. ! What a nightmare of pure horror was the inferno which foll ! Larrabee fired. Gaines fired. 1 swung my club, bringing it down with all my force upon the tangled mass of sun-bleached hair there right before my very face. 1 felt it strike. I saw the hair part beneath it to reveal a streak of jagged red. Then the club was wrenched from my hand and 1 went burned my flesh and the concussion tore my ear-drums. Gaines's second barrel 1 did not hear; but I saw the flash: and I i, re ay Tole, 50 Duck and an t, t appear suddenly in the great thigh not a foot from barrel end. pressed. My searching fingers closed again about the piece of spar; and then, ly, unreasoningly, to where, in a haze, I could see the huge figure that was our enemy; and coming near, I swung blow after blow upon it, wherever, however I might strike. I saw Larrabee crumple limply as a great fist struck him full on the jaw. But, almost subconsciously, I struck on again and n, trying to fend off the great was holding it by the barrels: the broken and hung sidewise at a ridic- e. I remember wondering whether he were trying to strike with it or with the barrels. And then he was ps. Gaines's left hand clutched my right down. pri . As I fell, Larrabee’s second barrel went off so close to my face that the powder for- | disease ' gone. Again I struck—again. ... And ! then tee arkness came. | Idon't know how long that darkness |lasted. ... I know only that when I | opened my eyes the pain made me close | [oem Jgain for moment. . i: At ength I opened them once more. I man- | aged to rise on my elbow. | Larrabee was lying, spread sickeningly upon the floor, motionless. Gaines, face , contorted in agony, was holding his left i shoulder with his right hand. Even as I | looked he sank gently to his knees, then toppled sideways, across the prostrate | Larrabee. i 1 turned, fearfully. There, ten feet | away, stood our enemy. A quarter of his scaip hung drippingly over his right ear; | the blood from the wound had reddened | that side of his face and kis shouider. From the great ra hole in his thigh the red blood bubbled. There was a - ' er gaping gun-shot tear in his shoulder. And there were other wounds too hor- rible to tell of—of which it were too hor- rible even to think. I recall wondering, , vaguely, how a man so hurt might stand ; upon his feet and live. . He had forgotten us, I think. At any | rate, he gave to us no notice. His batter- ied lips were parted. He was muttering | to himself, his eyes the while upon the figure of the girl of whose salvation we | had made such sorry work—of the girl ' who lay there even now almost as though | in sleep—no less wonderful of beauty. | “She's dead,” he muttered. Again and ain he ri ted it. “She's dead. ... ! She's dead. ...” He said it dully, monotonously. Then there came to his face a different expression. He mumbled | slowly: ! “I got her from the sea. By God! I'll take her back.” | He went across the room. Stooping, he , placed his arms beneath her y. He | swayed a little as he lifted her. | Holding her to his breast gently, he | turned. To ushe paid no heed. . . . Just I what was in my mind I do not know. | Perhaps to save at least her body for | those she loved. . . . I tried to stagger | to my feet—to reach club or gun-barrel, I was but little more than half conscious | at the time. | He stopped. He waited, still holding her against hisbreast. ... Things grew i dark again. . . | When in the light came I was alone | in the cabin save for bee and Gaines, | who were as I had last seen them. My | face was toward the door now. I sup- pose I had fallen that way. My eyes ! d look out over the broad reaches of Ol vp Aime. 1 pug Bi A or a long time I sought him... At Jength I saw his head, far out toward the en water. He was swimming. I saw his arm rise from the water fall | agin Behind him the sun, for an in- stant, flashed as from a mass of ed gold. . . . Her hair was of gold, you know. . .. I watched. . . . less even now. But he was not far from | the broken water. . . . The air was very clear that day. One could see far and . . distinctly. . . . The tide had gone down, , and in one spot the reef lay bare. . . . It was for that spot that he was making, apparently. ... At length I saw him throw his head back a little. . . . Then he found his feet. He turned. He rose erect. He held her body in his arms, and ' gai | the sun gleamed from the gold of er hair. stood erect, plainly outlined | blue of the sky and the white en water. Then, slowly, carrying her, he | walked onward. . .. | Itwasa tiny Spot that was bare—it looked no r than the palm of one's hand. And it was scarce above the sur- face of the water. . . . The water rose about him now—now to ankles—now to knees. . «+ .. It found his waist. . . . Still he walked onward. . . . . Now it was about hisbreast . . . Now to his neck. He did not hesitate or stop. . . . On hewent, slowly. . . . It was above his chin now; yet he went on. . . . Then for a brief second I saw his head— I saw the sun gleam again on gold. . . And that was all. . . . Just before sundown I succeeded in bringing Larrabee back to consciousness. Together we worked over Gaines, re- suscitating him—patching up his shatter- ed shoulder as best we were able. Some- how we got our boat started—somehow we made our way back to civilization. To all those who should be told—to all those who might care to know—to all DE ry mh —we at w ppened. We sought of yachts that had been lost, and found those who had known their owners and the friends of those owners. Yet we learned nothing. Sometimes I wonder if, in it all, we did wisely. Sometimes Iam sure that we did unwisely. If only—Ah, but that were useless. For the “ifs” of all this world belong to God.—By Porter Emerson Browne, in Harper's Weekly. Paris Fashions for Americans. Special Number of The North American Comes On September 18. The American woman has now reached the pass where she never buys her outfit for the season without first being sure what Paris has decided upon as the fash- ionable thing. Following its usual custom, inaugurated several years ago, The North American, will, on Sunday, September 18, issue its ial Paris fashion number, it being an t- section in connection with its Tegular nday paper. Paris styles represent the ey latest in dressmaking art. e designs ited were chosen fom She best show. ings e representative ers o fashionable garments. After seeing them the woman can form her own idea and make her own choice of the American goods that are offered. She can make sure that she is getting up-to-date gar- ments. There is always a big damand for the North American's special fashion { number. It is advisable to order of the agent or newsdealer well in advance. Every seventh year, so science teaches, the vitality of the body is at its lowest. It is then most liable to be attacked by and less able to fight off such an attack. Just watch the record of deaths in your newspaper columns and note how a of years. This is the climacteric period of human ‘life. There is no doubt that the body ‘may be fortified against disease, and | physical vitality increased by the use of . Pierce's Golden Medical A Thousands have proven the truth of statement and have declared that they ." Dr. Pierce's Pleasant Pel- lets are ective in the body of accumulations which pro- mote the development of disease. stock | owe their lives to Dr. Pierce's wonderful “Discovery. The strokes seemed : I A oon, FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. To harbor fretful and discontented thoughts is to do yourself more injury than it is in the power of your greatest enemy to do you.—Mason. There are many things which can be embroidered or gatirely made by the clever aunt or best friend of the new arrival's mother. Usually they should be in white, though pink for a boy and blue for a girl are also sanctioned. One of the best gifts is a carriage cover of union linen, embroidered in a flower design and with a huge bow of ribbon at one side. Then there are carriage of Is finer linen or batiste, with LB i ruffles and ribbon beadings. And little linen bootees, washable, with an edging of valenciennes lace and a rib- bon bow below the embroidered strap. Battles may be crocheted around with thick silk, to keep them from hurting baby when they fall. Be sure the color is absolutely fast, as babies put every- thing in their mouths. Soft towels for the bath have a line of drawnwork or hemstitched and the baby’s own initial embroidered above. Baby armlets or sock garters of ribbon elastic with gathered lace are easily made and very pretty. Pincushions galore will suggest them- selves to auntie as she looks over her scraps of silk and lace and velvet. And, of course, there are always dresses and caps and underskirts and bibs, of which no baby and no mother can have too many or too pretty examples. How few women there are of whom one can say “her glory is in her hair.” The hair of a woman can be so beautiful, and Je it rarely is. The woman whose hair s well cared for and glossy presents a more attractive appearance than the wom- an whose tresses of gorgeous Titian red, blonde cendre or chestnut are dull and unkempt. It is most Recassary that the hair be kept free from dust. To this end it should be washed at least once a fortnight in summer and once every three weeks in winter. Soap should never be rubbed directly onto the hair in washing it. A good way to shampoo the hair is as follows: Have plenty of warm water ready, not hot. Put about a quart into a bowl with half a teaspoonful of borax; add enough soap jelly tomake a good lather; then plunge the head in and thoroughly rub the scalp. Use a second lot of this mixture, and rinse the hair in luke-warm water to which a pinch of borax has been added. This prevents the hair from get- ting harsh, as it slightly softens the water. Rinse, rinse, rinse and rinse again. Dry the head and hair thoroughly, but not before a fire—in the open air when For a moment, still holding her, he! gang the | of the brok- | the sun is shining is best. i The furry felts are already appearing with knots of fur cr fur formed into twist- { ed bows upon the front or side as sole | trimming. Others have a cravate and twist of ermine, petit gris, or sealskin; and bearskin and skunks border the high Russian toques that will again be worn this winter. Some of these toques are entirely made of the breast feathers of various birds, of the pretty speckled plu- mage of the pea hen being largely employ- ed. Furs are making their appearance, and broad scarfs of breichzanz or seal or edged with skunks or Russian bear are handsome. The large flat muff has a turnover or + | V point in front. The assemblage ot the astrachan and the deep brown of the skunks is very agreeable and rich-looking, employed side by side. Seal and chin- chilla and sable and ermine are most el- egant, and will probably be much worn by our wealthy elegantes. The fur scarf will be the novelty of the co! winter, and will ace the satin scarfs lined and tasseled, tbat are the rage at present The oF are wi have uare or pointed en possibly passe- win motifs and tassels will be em- There can be no two opinions ployed. i . the coming of the bolero, both eh — without sleeves. It is never seen togreat- er advantage than when in alliance with a jabot of lace and high collar band. In its most novel guise it may be de- scribed as similar to a man’s Tomine coat, as it is provided with a basque whi is of so elaborate a character that it par- takes of the nature of a tunic. Sleeves at the moment may be divided into two distinct those reminis- cent of the Renaissance period extending in a point well-nigh to the knuckles those finished with a gauntlet cuff just below the elbow, with under-sleeves of brocade or other fabric to harmonize with the waistcoat. As for dress wear the modes are about the same, voile over soft silk being a rival to the heavier Party dresses are likely to be mousseline, or kindred fal over soft silk of a delicate shade. To wear under them there's a princess slip (comprising petticoat and drawers) all in one of the soft-tinted silk, fussily trimmed with lace. Mothers are more than busy just now buying or making fall and winter clothes for little daughters. Just now one must give to the school frock. pl model for a girlie of from 10 years of age is in the skirt and long bore and though cut separately, they are united by a n3OW band of the » furnished chea buy furniture which is oil-filled or painted. serviceable.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers