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Bema
Bellefonte, Pa., June 9, 1911.
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‘Thornbury mon
om sot bel shed the Huth
sudden spirit, m ng
a way that Mrs. Birch-
1 mean to carry out all her wishes. I am
bound by the most sacred obligation— |:
her trust in me.”
“Her trust in you! It's incredible—put-
ting a fortune into your hands like t,
away from her natural heirs forever!”
“Why not? The house where she car-
ried on a great work—"
“Pauperizing a set of lazy men and
women who ought to be out in the world
making a living!”
Electa’s faith in her work made her
careless of the sneer, but she longed to
justify the dear old friend who had trust-
ed her. “You know,’ she said, “how
strongly Miss Thornbury felt about the
right and wrong use of money.”
“Oh, I suppose she told you that my
husband was a gambler,” the other in-
terrupted hardily, “because he took risks
and lost money on the Stock Exchange!
Vell it's true. I don’t blame him—not a
it.
“She thought that he should have been
content. You had enough—"
“What did she know about enough, or
you either? Does one ever have enough
when there are five children? Oh, it's |
too much; I can’t bear it!” Lucy sprang
up, passionately striking her little hands
together. “You shut yourselves away
from the world, you see nothing as it
really is, and then you attempt to judge
the rest of us; to decide what we need
or don't need. I'm not afraid to tell you
what I believe! I believe a family is the
best thing on God's earth, and family
claims come first, every time. I want my
children to take the place my father and
Jrenatatier had before them, I want
to be well-educated, well-dressed,
well-established, to live with their own
sort, to be proper figures in the world
they belong to. That's their birthtright,
and you've robbed them of it; you've
schemed to get it away from them. It
takes money, and lots of it too, to keep
one’s place in the world; there's no use
Frolending anything different. I’m not a
ypocrite; I say what I think. I want
my children to have their place. That's
my duty, and it's my religion, too!”
ecta had risen and stood looking down
at the little hard, hot face and trembling
hands. How could she feel anything but
love and pity for this blind, starving soul?
Her arms went out in a movement of ten-
ess.
“Oh, my dear, how unhappy you must
be! Don't you see how small “they are,
how worthless, these things that you are
ving for, that you want for your chil
n
Lucy drew back, ignoring the reaching | 9
hands. Perha;
she felt a touc
itual a
its own.
flinching eye.
They may be small, they may be
worthless—the things I want. But, such
as they are, I mean to get them!”
beneath the tenderness
of that unconscious spir-
nce that can see no way but
Six months later the case of Birchfield
versus Cragin was under way.
“Single women aren't fit to handle prop-
erty,” declared Mr. Sheldon, of the law
firm of Sheldon and Hollister, as he and
his young partner went up the court-
house steps together. * ‘re the nat-
ural prey of the fakir, and the better they
are the quicker they get fooled. Women
seem to lose all their common-sense un-
less they are tied down ha husband and
babies of their own. Now this Miss
Rachel Thornbury,she was the salt of the
earth—"
“Oh, it's a perfectly clear case,” John
Hollister assented; “the sort of thing that
happens all the time. But I confess I'm
pussied by he other woman, this Miss
n. I can't quite make her out. A
fanatic, of course—"
“Fanatic fiddlesticks! An adventuress—
after the money from the start. Don’t be
fooled by her Fra Angeiico face and
skimpy dress."
“Not an adventuress,” said Hollister.
“I can’t believe that.”
he faced Electa with an un-' afl
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had gone from y. Could
She ever explain? Could she make them |
see :
“No,” she told herself. “My own words |
will be used against me. cannot |
understand." i
So on this second day she walked into |
court as to an ordeal of which she alone
Lucy Bre rt he
t, calculated to t the
exacting tailor, and
own primness.
. e SHactive io be different,”
rs. Bi cynically whispered to
Hollister; then flushed with annoyance
at the warmth of his assent.
But calm as Electa a; she found
it hard to breathe in atmosphere of
antagonism and resentment. Yet she had
never once doubted her right to fight for
her inheritance. All her life she had
flamed with a longing to help and save,
and she accepted the fortune as a myste-
rious fulfillment. She had the martyr’s
ardent moments when she felt herself
chosen to uphold the life of faith before
a mocking world, to fling the divine chal-
lenge to the forces of evil, and her eager
imagination transformed even her attor-
ney to an appointed instrument in this
high warfare,—though to the uninitiated
he would seem but imperfectly adapted to
spiritual ends. This ramble-jointed per-
sonage now walked back and forth in
front of his client as he questioned her,
his hands in his pockets, his manner a
m of jocularity and assurance.
But he soon proved hi
Quickly and easily he drew forth Electa's
story. The girl told how, some six years
earlier, she had given up teaching in a
public school that she might devote her-
self to evangelistic work. She had always
meant to be a missionary. Her very name
bestowed upon her by a Scotch father
who had brought the deep religion of his
rugged hills to a Pennsylvania farm, had
set her apart for a life of service. She
spoke very simply; one could see that she
was too inexperi to realize what her
own courage had been in throwing aside
a bread-winning occupation for the sake
of a conviction and facing the world with
faith as her only asset. She told of her
meeting with Miss Thornbury, who had
immediately urged her to help in the es-
tablishment of a mission at Thorndale.
At first she had hesitated. “I had to wait
for a leading,” she said, and on her lips
the worn phrase no flavor of cant.
Pollock, the lawyer, dexterously showed
her thro! ut as the trusted adviser of
her old friend, careful never to abuse this
confidence, never to take the initiative.
Intant only upon the truth of her answers,
she was scarcely aware of the court-room
and of the favorable impression made by
her testimony. Once she began an eager
explanation in reply to a question con-
cerning the nature of her teaching when
a sudden “I object” from the counsel for
the plaintiff cut sharply across her elo-
uence.
“Irrelevant and immaterial,” said John
Hollister.
Electa fell back, her cheeks helplessly
ame.
“There's fire there—and a heart,”
thought Hollister in an unprofessional in-
stant.
Electa finally testified as to the clear-
ness of Miss Thornbury’s mind when her
last will was drawn, stating that she had
not been present and had told noth-
ing whatever in regard to it. Mr. Pol-
lock then yielded to the counsel for the
plaintiff. Electa had a wild impulse to
run. She felt that a relentless machine
was opening to entrap her.
John Hollister drew his chair forward
for the cross-examination. Their
n the face, marked as it was with
eariy lines of decision and
There was nothing ter in his de-
hi queics and is nt te knowledge of
mal
her life astonished Electa. Gradually she
2
But this grave, clear young man
pursued his tactics
“You knew that there had been an
earlier will in favor of Miss Thornbury's
relative, Mrs, Birchfield?
“You knew also that she had made a
later will?"
“N-no, I didn’t know,” she answered
“1 did not know it. No one ever told | dared not raise her eyes during Aunty’'s
me.” Electa's face whitened. “But”— | cross-examination. The old woman show-
She mopbey a Women, then Wipes outied a shrewdness in her
guide Aly—ryes, 1did suspect, I did know, of the main issue. Bland and uncon ped,
never wavering, never contradicting her-
The court-room rippled with surprise. | self, she stuck persistently to her state-
“You knew and you did not know. | ments. Even Hollister couldn't help join-
Please be more definite.” ing in the general laugh when she foiled
“No one told me,” she repeated.
“You mean then that you were morally
certain?"
“Yes.”
And why had you this moral certain-
“ knew her feeling about the work—
Sbout money—that fey Woney was not
own to spend or ueath—it was
dedicated.”
0 SHE this money $0 you she was, sO
out urposes?"
pak, Carry so—yes!"” Bera lifted
“You shared her feeling about the use
money
“I shared it.”
“Was her conviction on this point fully
before you went to live with her?
“I don’t know—how can I tell?” she
faltered. “Her convictions grew—we
talked things over—"
“Her religious convictions were partly
the result of her association and conversa-
tions with you?”
“She would always ask me what I
thought and Bee yap”
“And your thought and belief always
had weight with her?”
She hardly heard her own answer,given
blindly, stammeringly, for she was very
tired. The air of the sunny court-room
had grown stifling, steamy with needless
heat, and she seemed to be trying to push
her vay. through a substance invisible
and baffling. A window had been open.
ed, letting in clinging, jerky sounds
the street which hurt her like blows. The
white-haired, quizzy-eyed judge rocked in
his chair with singular indifference. On
her left sat the jury, their faces like
twelve plates in a row; the court stenog-
grapher wrote scratchily, and she felt
every stroke of his imperturbable pen;
out of the assembly, which swam before
her, she could detach Lucy Birchfield's
face alone, looking back at her with nar-
rowed eyes and remote smile.
People began to move. It was the noon
recess and the room emptied quickly.
Electa stumbled a little as she s
down from the witness stand and Pollock
put out a steadying hand.
“Good, Miss Cragin, good!” he said in
a loud whisper. “You held your own;
yore a first-rate witness.” And Lucy
irchfield’s smile became less sure as she
overheard. Her son, a lad of seventeen,
was standing beside her. “Don’t worry,
mother; it'll come out all right sure,” he
said as he threw his arm about her shoul-
ders and led her from the room.
Electa suddenly felt alone. No sympa-
thy was to be expected just then from
her disciples, that was plain. Having
brought lunch baskets to court, they were
v
and piles of thick sandwiches. Electa
turned from their homely banquet with a
shiver of distaste.
Struggling in the swirl of new impres-
sions, she to the open window
and stood gazing out over the roofs at
the ragged crest of hills beyond the river.
Then earth and sky grew black and she
dropped to a chair, her eyes closed.
Instantly some one was at her side,
holding a Slass of water to her lips.
“Drink this,” said the voice that had
pilloried her, and she obeyed. The giddi-
ness over, she looked up at John Hollister,
and flung a quick little cry.
“Oh, don't yon know that I'm in the
right? Please say you believe in me!”
He set the glass carefully down on the
window-sill before he replied.
“I can't discuss the case with you—you
must see that it isn’t possible. And I
can't say that you are in the right. But
I do believe in you.”
ects I Bweke that ght. ae.
thing was happening, something t
didnt understand. Never before had she
experienced this creeping, chilly self-dis-
trust. She had always sure. And
what did this other thing mean? This
aching sense of the common life of the
world with its warmth of human ties?
Strong, real, compelling, the things she
had always denied rose before her, and
the traditions—yes, even the sacrifices
and services—shrank back and dwindled
like the Goode Deedes in the morality
play she had once seen. She tossed until
the November dawn began to glimmer
through the bare apple boughs outside
her window. Then, as she lay quiet, at
last an answer seemed to shape itself out
of the stillness in old familiar words:
“Forego desire, and thou shalt find rest.”
On the third day the oners of
Thorndale were called to the stand, and
one after another they offered the same
eStimony: the mental competence and
indepen ence of Miss Thornbury up to
the day of her death. The accumulation
of ence brought no comfort to Electa.
For the first time she found herself trying
to realize the event from Lucy Birch-
field's point of view. What did it prove,
this examination of witnesses? Gradually
she lost consciousness of the progress of
the case in her tense inward effort to
find the soul of truth in the confusing
array of facts.
An old negress, for years in the service | then
of Miss Thornbury and now doggedly at-
ached to Blects, was called ugg on
t
concerned with hard-boiled eggs | th
him two or three times by her blank
reiterations. She had been thoroughly
drilled. She left the stand, feeling her
triumph, and halted for Electa’s : pproval,
but the girl sat drooping.
Humiliation wrapped her as in a flame.
How could the lawyer think that she
would descend to ing and quibbling?
And did Aunty know her so little after
all these years of her teaching? A crumb-
ling tremor shook the foundations of her
life. Somewhere there had been a fatal
flaw. The court adjourned, bustling.
John Hollister was at her elbow gathering
up some books from the counsel table,
but she did not look at him. He made a
movement as if to speak, then,
ing the silence of misery, he left
with only a backward g!
A hand tell familiarly
the Toom
ance.
on her shoulder,
insensible to her recoil.
‘Come, Miss Cragin.” said Pollock,
“don't be downhearted.” He bent over
her. She felt his breath on her cheek
and sickened. “It's all going our way.
The jury is with you to a man, I'm keep-
ing back the best witnesses for the last.”
At that she found words. “No more
witnesses for the last.”
At that she found words. “No more
witnesses!” she cried. “This case must
not go on. I don't know how to stop it,
1 don't know the legal method, but it
must not So on!”
“You didn't like calling the old darky?
Oh, 1 see! Well, perhaps that was a mis-
take. We didn't really need her. Our
case is strong enough.”
Her hands wrung a protest. “You don’t
understands. It's more than that. I'm
wrong—I won't take the money! Now
do you see?”
“Good God, girl, you are clean crazy—
that's what I sce! You won't take the
money! I like that! What about me? Do
you s'pose I've gone into this thing for
charity?” Ha pounded his meaning into
the table. “Why, we can't stop! le
with the law like that? Make a fool of |
the court? Besides, the other side's got
no case. It's you who are in the
He ignored the dumb shake of her head.
“Of course you are right. Undue influ-
ence! They've proved nothing! It was
kindness, care, attention—nothing that
can invalidate a will. She meant you to
have her property. You know it!”
“Because down in my heart I meant to
have it!”
He shifted ToughiY, “S'pose you did?
‘Lhat's legitimate. e all get what we
can. She wanted you to have it; that's
the point that concerns us. It was her
free will.”
“My will was hers. She thought what
I thought, believed as I believed. And
e secret wish of my heart— O, God
help me!” Her hands went up to
her face.
He scowled down upon her, then tried
persuasion.
“Come, come, you mustn't give way.
We'll talk it over after you've had a bit
of lunch. You're all tired out now. That's
what's the matter — you're nervous!”
And he believed he had the clew to all
feminine caprice.
When the case was resumed at one
o'clock there was a general impression
that the defendant had vindicated her
tion. It was apparent, however, that
iss Cragin was not in triumphant mood.
The contest had wearied her. But her
attorney’s swagger betrayed his exul-
tance. The Birchfields were losing
Tom whispered disgustedly to his wife:
“Take a pretty red-headed girl with a go-
to-the-spot voice and put her onthe stand
before twelve men, and you can bet on
the verdict evvry time.”
“Oh, you men! That's the worst of it.”
Lucy dejectedly admitted the perversities
that sometimes control human affairs,
but she was plucky and meant that no
one should suspect what the loss of the
suit would cost her in disappointment
and actual financial worry.
“You're game, Lucy,” murmured Tom
with an appreciative vivacity.
Electa sat in a trance-like stillness
while the remaining witnesses were call-
ed. A black-bearded apostle from Thorn-
dale offered some conclusive evidence,and
the case became so one-sided that it ceased
to be interesti People began to won-
der why it had ever occurred to the
Birchfields to try to set aside so unequiv-
ocal a document. The apostle acquitted
himself neatly and was leaving the stand
when Electa rose.
“Your honor, please, I must be heard.”
Her voice rang out through the court-
room.
Every eye was turned toward her. Pol-
lock was on his feet, interposing quick-
ly.
YeYour honor, I ask indulgence for my
client. She is not well. May I have your
permission to take her to the consultation
room.?”
"Your honor,” said Electa, “can see
that I am perfectly well. My attorney
has refused to speak for me. I ask your
leave to speak for myself.”
The j looked at her searchingly,
assent.
“We will allow the defendant to be
heard.
In the quivering, expectant hush of the
court-room she spoke. It seemed quite
y | simple. She had only to tell of what
had passed in her mind. Now that she
knew her way and could speak in utter
sincerity, not a presence embarrassed her
—not the judge, p! witu the dif-
ficulties in legal ure she had thrust
him; not balked and non-
ussed; not the ie dumb in be-
wilderment, nor ury straining for-
nor the spectators, assured at last
full meed of sensation. In swift,
she laid bare her conflict of
At the end she spoke more sl
would have been different
1 had different,” she said. “I can
see that now. I'm not so sure that I've
always been right. I don’t know! I only
Jenow that I can never touch that mon-
Bulioc: cut in with to the
court for her conduct. is what
ies, Jou: hugo, $row dealing Witki Ye
old Mr. Sheldon arose and ad-
dressed the court.
ti"
i
her claim
She should
course, and
vor she must be made to see that
a legal right to every penny. She
, it appears to me, a misconception of
legal significance of the word ‘un-
2’ ”
Electa faced the old lawyer unmoved
i
gu
had the large full look of one absorbed
by the inner vision.
“That's only the letter of the law,” she
said softly.
John Hollister, sitting at the other side
of the counsel table,lifted his head for the
first time. His eyes met hers in a lon,
clear look that was like the scattering
mists. The inner light seemed to come
to her face in color, and with new cour- |
age she spoke in the voice that admits of |
pig» full possessi f
“l am in on of every
faculty. know what I am doing. I have
t and prayed. And I beg your
honor, in the interest of justice, to in-
struct the jury to bring a verdict in favor
of the plaintiff.”
After the case had beendismissed Lucy
Birchfield came swiftly across the room,
her face broken and softened, and the
two women clasped hands without a
word. Mr. Sheldon held open the court-
room door to let them pass out t:
Then he turned to John Hollister.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat of
an unusual obstacle, “I was wrong. But
who would expect a woman to give up a
fortune for an abstract principle of jus- |
tice?”
You'd have expected it of a man?” ask-
ed John.
“Oh, you know it's quixotic,” bluffed
han it is—living
“I suppose it is—living up toone's prin-
ciples—it's so seldom done.”
“That girl's as clear as crystal,” pur-
sued Mr. Sheldon. “It’s not enough for her
to see what's right, she does it. Well, she
sha'n't suffer. e must keep an eye on
her till she gets started at something;
we must make it our business to look
Swat the fly.—Screen all windows and
doors,
after her, eh, John?"
“Yes,” said Hollister; “I really thing
we must.”
He tried to speak carelessly,
Sheldon knew that he was
vow.—By Elizabeth Moorhead, in
ner’'s Magazine.
Our Correspondents Opinions.
This column is at the service of those of our
who desire to their views on any
ng a
Scrib-
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| inno wa
| author a
| i , but will be withheld
publication when the request is made.
pany
Jrom
| A Bellefonte Lady Writes of Rome.
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| room.
S.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
Religion is no leaf of faded green.
Or flower of vanished fragrance pressed be.
tween
Of love it springeth, watered by good deeds,
—John T. Trowbridge.
The smart new lingerie blouses that
have just made their appearance have
armholes and long small sleeves finished
at the wrist with an ornamental band of
a turnover cuff. Suddenly, out of the
clear sky, it is not considered modish any
more to have an everyday blouse made
in kimono fashion.
No doubt you will continue to wear
them, as one else will, but the un.
written word forth in some mys-
terious way that the return to the blouse
of another day is desirable. Therefore
the new waists of striped silk, voile, ba-
tiste and m isette are made with the
conventional ulder seam and the small
armhole.
The startling new thing abroad is called
the harem blouse. It is cut on the kimo-
no pattern with the long underarm seam
and it fastens down the top of each sleeve
from shoulder to wrist. It is a queer
looking garment. but fashionable, and
when it is on it looks as conventional as
all the others.
The fastening may be with buttons and
buttonholes, or a a eyes under a
band of lace, or tiny silk cords, or satin
fastening may be as demure or as orna-
mental as one
Nearly all the blouses now have de
* tachable stocks, with short yokes, which
' can be used whenever one
covered.
to have
the neck This necessitates a
rather high neck in the blouse. The kind
that is cut off exactly at the collar bone is
not artistic, and is usually avoided by all
women except those who are extremely
young.
The best line is alittle low in front and
slightly rounded out at the back.
7
can be finished off with a sailor collar or
a round Puritan one, or a pi with a
yoke and stock above of net. latter
is the preferred for separate stocks and
collars for certain kinds of blouses, al-
though white chiffon cloth is preferred
by the dressmakers for gowns that have
any weight.
especially the kitchen and dining-
but even FOOm.
Keep the flies away from the sick, es-
pecially those ill with contagious diseases.
ill very fly that strays into the sick
is body is covered with disease
germ:
' Do not allow decaying materials of any
e sort to accumulate on or near your prem-
| ect ' ises.
of keneral or local indercel, J The Watchman: wi | All refuse which tends in any way to
st accom. | fermentation, such as
bedding, straw,
per waste and vegetable matter, should
disposed of or covered with lime or
kerosene oil.
Screen all food.
Keep all receptacles for garbage care-
| Keep
PENSION HAYDEN, Rome, Italy, May 29 | fully covered and the cans cleaned or
| To the Editor Democratic Watchman.
i The only way I have of returning your
' loved visits is by letter, you make no vis-
| its personally. Visits received with such
| delight to me, and read from start to fin"
| ish, and then all over again, leaving you
hide quite haggard, but carefully placed where |
. woe betide the person who disturbs your
| resting place.
Tell you a little of Rome!
| touching a few of the places and things
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| most interesting. First, my favorite paint- |
|ing, the “Savior's Transfiguration,” by
Raphael, in the Vatican gallery; I feel
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| before that picture almost as if I were in |
the living presence, it is so full of life and
sprinkled with oil or lime.
Keep all stable waste in vault or pit,
screened or sprinkled with lime, oil or
other cheap preparation.
Cover food after a meal; burn or bury
all table refuse.
Screen all food exposed for sale.
Don't forget, if you see flies, their
breeding place is in nearby filth. It may be
behind the door, under the tableor in the
| Fuopidor.
indeed I will, | If there is no dirt and filth there will
be no flies.
The following are different ways in
which milk may be prepared for children
who dislike to take milk:
Beat the yolk of an egg light, add a
teaspoonful of sugar and a teaspoonful of
lemon juice; fill the cup with milk, stir
spirituality. The most interesting por. | well and call the mixture snow lemonade.
trait in Rome is “Innocent Truth,” by
Velasquez, in Doria gallery. Guido Reni's
“St. Michael,” being another. I was in-
terested in the resemblance between the
!
|
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Heat a cupful of milk, but do not let it
boil, sweeten it and flavor with a little
cinnamon and pour from a tiny teapot,
calling it cinnamon tea.
Put a cupful of milk and the white of
authentic features of the Pope above {one egg into a glass jar; add a little
mentioned and Guido's fiend. It was
probably a spite portrait.
room of the Vatican are wonderful. There
is really no end to the collection of paint-
ings. If one were here a year one might
see them, but just now I want to do the
outdoor things that are so delightful.
Pagan Rome interests me most. The
Forum, where I spend hours walking or
sitting amongst its ruins of temple, pil-
lars, etc., over all of which roses are now
hanging in heavy clusters from walls and
colums, surely there can be nothing more
beautiful than theseruins. Then the gar-
dens. The Borghese is my favorite. Its
deep woods—pine and ilex—through
which the winds, even in warmest days,
whistle. Its poetic vista of fountains and
temples, seen through leafy avenues, the
wide spaces and emerald lawns, the dis-
tant views of churches and villa-capped
heights; the “popolu" tramping along on
foot, the rows of carriages passing—it is
all so entrancingly enchanting.
Quite close is the Borghese gallery, one
of the finest collections (private) of paint-
“Pauline—Femme of Canova,” and the
chef-d-oeuvre of Bernini, “Apollo and
Daphni,” truly lovely.
I could write on indefinitely, but must
not send you too long a letter. Just let
me add that I have surrendered without
reserve or condition to the spell of Rome.
Please tell my Bellefonte friends I hold
them in loving remembrance, and ask
that they do not quite forget me.
With grateful wishes,
LUCINDA L. BURNSIDE.
a fortune of $50,
£
ings in the world. Here is that exquisite |
sugar, screw down the top of the jar and
shake until the ingredients are thorough-
ly blended; flavor with orange and serve
The Pinturicchio frescoes in the Borgia | it as orangeade.
Cocoa made with milk is liked by most
| children and is even more nutritious than
'
i
i
t
|
the milk alone.
The hanging panel! at the back of the
skirt is being exploited on cloth suits and
on linen frocks. It is becoming, easily,
applied and covers the fastening of the
irt.
Many of the Eton jackets have large
revers. They are either the supple, fold-
ed satin shapes or the straight flat ones.
They can be of contrasting color, em-
broidered and beaded.
Softest satin is now used for all petti-
coats. It is a fad of the season to have
the petticoat for a street suit match the
e of the lining of the coat. Colored
linings rather than white are fashionable.
Except in tailored costumes, one scarce-
ly ever sees a single skirt. Nearly every
one hangs over a second one, which is in
turn often split to reveal still another
skirt, simulated by a panel of lace, silk
or embroidery.
What summer girl does not wish to
have dainty shoes and stockings to match
her evening gowns? Even the girl whose
spending money is far from plentiful may
yet boast of these pretty accessories if
she cares to take the time and trouble.
White canvas pumps may be “blued”
or pike or Savenderad® with applica-
tions of a prepara! to be gotten at an
shoe store, and afterward oD
Another method is to paint the shoes with
a sojation gt gaoiline and oil paint, a very
small portion o paint being necessary
to give the desired result. Old satin or
kid sli of whatever color may be
with several coati
lar bronze polish, and fi
fot house weal) be
course, te stockings may be dyed
almost any shade. Faded -
ings and others of t shades are satis-
factorily dyed dark or black.
Table decorations for a June luncheon
are Jrenty in the
following : the with a
cloth of white damask, then lay
over it a work of pink satin
ribbon. structure is made of rib-