Srmiliad
Bellefonte, Pa., June 28, 1912.
YVETTE'S|GHOST.
{Copynignt, 1911, by Associated Literary
Press.)
“Are you a ghost?” little!
Yvette. i
The ghost smiled. “Now you know
as well as 1 do,” he told her, “that.
there are no ghosts left—the sensible!
people haave killed them all” :
“What I can't make out,” pursued;
Yvette, unheeding, “is how you got!
in here, and why no one else seems:
jo see you—this morning, for instance,;
when 1 was sitting with my auntie in;
the morning room. The windows were:
shut, the door did not open, and yet:
all at once 1 looked up, and there you,
were standing smiling. And auntie
got up suddenly—she said she felt a
change—and left the room without:
seeing you?”
“Now, I ask you, do I look like a:
ghost?” sald the handsome man in the’
well fitting tweed suit, as he rose from
his chair and made a leisurely inspec-
tion of himself in the glass over the
asked
mantelpiece. “Do I clank? All re-
spectable ghosts clank. Do I appear
at midnight and point a spectral
finger? Not a bit. My entrances are
as you have justly observed, noise-
less. The latest visit I have ever
paid you was well within the conven-
tional calling time. No, Yvette, I am
too respectable to be a ghost.”
He dropped back into his armchair.
Yvette crossed the room with a pleas-
ant little rustle of silk skirts, sat her-
self down on the sofa facing him,
and considered him gravely.
“It's six months since you've been
coming and going like this,” she said
reflectively. “The first time you came
I remember you nearly frightened me
to death. It was a winter's afternoon.
1 was sitting by the fire reading, and
all of a sudden there you were sit.
ting in the same chair staring at
me."
“Well, you stared back at me,” re-
marked the ghost. “You looked so
pretty, too, with your flushed cheeks
‘and the flame light dancing on your
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hair that I wonder 1 didn’t kiss you
then and there.” His merry eyes
danced as he noted her rising color,
"Alas, that ghosts don't kiss, Yvette!”
‘he finished whimsically.
“And when I asked you how you got
in,” pursued Yvette, pretending not to
hear, “You told me you were a relative
of the people we had just taken the
house from, and had lived here so
dong you couldn't keep away. You
said, too, you came to look for some
thing; but you never told me what it
Was."
: “Perhaps it was only a memory,”
sald the ghost; and suddenly, though
dt was a warm afternoon, the room
seemed very cold, so that Yvette shiv.
ered and was glad when a long streak
of belated sunlight came gliding sud.
denly across the floor.
“And then you asked me not to tell
any one I had seen you"—she return.
ed bravely to the attack, though the
fading day had stolen the sunshine
back. “You said you knew a secret
way of coming and going, and that
no one but me would ever know you
came,”
i “Well, no one does,” retorted the
ghost, “though I will admit I've had
one or two narrow shaves. This morn.
ing, for instance, if your aunt had
looked up before I slipped behind her
I'd have been caught sure.”
“Why, of course; how stupid of
me!” cried Yvette joyfully. “That's
how you arranged it, and auntie is
short-sighted. Then you aren't a
ghost after all. I'm so glad. Be
cause sometimes, you know, I've been
frightened about it, and wondered—"
“Foolish little Yvette,” said the
ghost tenderly. “Haven't I warned you
not to take me seriously? No man, be
he human flesh and blood and not
merely dust and bones, is worth tak.
ing seriously. Smile, Yvette, and let
ime see how blue your eyes are when
they look into mine. Love is short as
life, Yvette; we must make what use
of it we can.”
“Have you ever loved?” asked
Yvette, her white firgers pulling rest-
dessly at the lace of her blouse.
' “Heaps of times,” replied the ghost
promptly. “Some for a week and a
day others for an hour. Once I loved
itill—" a frown creased his brow—*"but
flet us talk of other things. Had I a
lhetrt left, Yvette, I would give it to
Mw, but the worms have sucked the
#fy Zrom it. I'm nothing but your
' , Yvette—"
:
‘1 covered?
There ‘came a clatter of high-heeled
thoes. The door flew open suddenly,
tnd the ncise of a gay voice tumbled
'iato the rom.
| “Dreaming in the dark, as usual,” it
| ralled, while its owner stood hover
lug at the threshold. “Shall I come in
und disturb you?”
“No,” said Yvette,” scrambling hur
tiedly to her feet, almost stumbling in
lier eagerness. “I was just coming
down.”
She passed her arm beneath that
of the intruder, but her heart was
luttering still as they descended the
stairs. Supposing he had been dis-
She needn't have troubled.
tad she glanced back into the room
as she came out she would have seen
that anybody entering would have
found nothing but the twilight and
emptiness.
Some few days afterward Yvette,
chancing to be in need of some quaint
garments to help in the dressing of
some quaint characters she was get-
ting up, persuaded the old housekeep-
er to let her rummage in an old attic
at the top of the house, where all such
treasure trove was to be found.
Yvette was repaid by the rare spoils
brought to light. Yvette’'s laughter
and chatter filled the somber room
and deadened the sound of the rain
outside. But presently the laughter
stopped, and only the rain beat loudly
on the «ill
“Who—who is that?” asked Yvette,
white lipped as she held out a dnsty
photograph to the staring housekeep-
er, the photograrh of a tall young
man in tweed, with an exceedingly |
merry smile, |
“Why, bless me,” said the house |
keper, “if it isn't the picture of the |
young squire—him who owned Fox |
Craft manor. He was killed out huni- |
German Folklore.
Germany is the familiarity one soon
noting the types immortalized by
brothers Grimm. Indeed it would
quite as difficult to imagine
without Mother Hulda, Goldilocks, Red
Riding Hood, the Brementown Musi-
cians, Hansel and Gretel and the rest
of the company of dear familiars, as it
would be to think of old London with-
out the Pickwickians. German paint-
ers, sculptors, musicians invariably try
their talents of portraying their ideals |
among the children's fairytale folk, |
and it must be a fine bit of work in- |
deed that passes the muster of Ger |
man criticism. One of the strongest |
bonds that holds the German in the |
characteristic grip of loyalty to the |
fatherland is this very pronounced |
love of children and fairy tales.—The |
Christian Herald.
Sleep.
Investigation by scientists of the
nature of the sleep of persons in nor-
mal health shows that it varies ac-
cording to the dally diet and the dif-
ferent hours at which sleep is begun.
Altogether, the ideal hour for retiring
is ten o'clock. The sleep of a person
going to bed regularly at approximate-
ly this time gradually augments in in-
tensity for the space of an hour. It
then suddenly becomes very profound,
reaching its maximum intensity at
about eleven-thirty o'clock. Within
five or six minutes from this time it
has been found that the sleep begins
to be less deep. In an kour the sleep-
ing—a terrible stir it caused in the | ©F I8 again in the same condition of
countryside, 1 remember.” i
“How long ago was this?” asked !
Yvette dully, i
“Let me see,” sai the housekeeper, |
pondering; “a matter of 20 years or |
more, 1 should say. 1 was ‘tweeny' |
maid in those days in this very house. |
Many and many a time have i seen |
him come riding up to this door. He |
was engaged 10 our young lady—a fine |
young lady she was, too—he was fair |
get on her. It seemed as if he was fair
Yieep away from the house. She took |
on terrible when he died.” i
“Is she dead, too, then?” queried |
Yvette, still in that pale, small |
voice. i
“She married a London gentleman |
afterward,” sald the housekeeper, “and
had seven children. But | have heard |
she wasn't happy. She's been dead |
these four years or more,” she added. |
“Why did you think it necessary to |
lie to me?” usked Yvette very coldly |
of the ghost that evening.
The ghost, who was lounging coms
fortably in his favorite arm chair, sud- |
denly sat upright. His dark eyes lin- |
gered long on her white face, i
“So, little Yvette, you've found me |
out at last,” he sald quickly. “Well, I |
had meant to ring down the curtain’
myself on the little comedy long be- |
fore this; but I was a coward. Yvette,
afraid to face the dark, for I shall be
very lonely, little Yvette, out there, all
‘alone in the cold and the never ending |
night.”
“But it wasn't me you came to see,”
said Yvette, standing before him, slim
and drooping, in her white apron; it
‘was that other girl—the one you were
engaged to.”
The ghose rose suddenly and came
and stood beside her.
“I came to see you always after the
first time,” he said softly. “This first
time I admit it was to revisit the spot
where I had spent my happiest days,
but afterward— Ah, Yvette, no one
has eyes so blue as you. They make
it hard for me to say goodby.”
“But why should it be goodby?”
cried Yvette, sharply, and moved to-
ward him with extended arms, “Ghost
or no ghost, 1 love you!” She strove
I clasp him, but gently he eluded
er. ;
“No one may love the dead,” he told
her gently. “The dead are beyond love,
they are beyong life. My little Yvette,
it must be goodby.”
“Then if that is s0,” cried Yvette,
weeping, “ah, kiss me once before you
go! Only to feel your arms around
me, only to feel your lips on mine, will
comfort me in all the empty years.”
She stopped. A strangled cry broke
from her, a great gulf of cold air seem-
ed suddenly to envelop her. She was
frozen, frozen to the bone; then a mer-
ciful darkness came upon her, and she
fell forward on her face.
In after years Yvette married, and
was happy in her choice, but she
never loved her husband as she had
loved the ghost.—The Sketch.
Snowstorm in London.
There is always a touch of incongru.
ity about snow in London. Gilbert
White, who visited London on January
22, 1776, in a snowstorm, was sur-
prised at the changed aspect of the
city. He journeyed “through a sort of
Laplandian scene, very wild and gro-
tesque indeed. But the metropolis it-
self exhibited a still more singular ap-
pearance than the country; for, being
bedded deep in snow, the pavement of
the streets could not be touched by the
wheels or the horses’ feet, so that the
carriage ran about without the least
noise. Such an exemption from din
and clatter was strange, but not pleas-
ant; it seemed to convey an uncom-
fortable idea of desolation; ipsa silen-
tia terrent.’—yondon Chronicle.
mm—.
Nothing insurmountable.
Nothing is impossible; thére are
ways which lead to everything; and
if we had sufficient will we should al-
ways have sufficient means. —La
Rouchefoucauld.
| attacked the garden hose to the gaso-
| captivity. A farm of twenty pairs of
| grown foxes should produce from 40
slumber as at about a quarter after
eleven. From that time until after
two o'clock the rest is steady and |
light; from two until four it aug- |
ments and then it consistently di- |
mintehes until it ceases at the cus- |
tomary time of rising.
|
{
Filled Icehouse With Hose.
According to an ageount included in
a letter received here from the north-
ern part of the staie, the farmers up
there are not going to be bothered
about ice prices this year. The let-
ter was recounting the conditions of
the exceptionally cold winter. “We
filled our Icehouse easier this winter
than ever before,” the letter zaid.
“When the cold was at its height we
line force pump, and turned the water
into the icehouse, which had previous-
ly been lined with frozen cakes of
sawdust. One night was sufficient.
Next morning the icehouse was filled
with a solid cake of ice, frozen to an
unusual degree of hardness, We mere-
ly nailed up the door, and have ice
enough to last all summer.”"—Indianap-
olis News,
His Cursory Glances.
Aunt Caroline and the partner of
her woes evidently found connubial
bliss a misnomer, for the sounds of
war were often heard down in the lit-
tle cabin in the hollow. Finally the
pair were haled into court, and the
dusky lady entered a charge of abus-
ive language against her spouse. The
judge, who had known them both all
his life, endeavored to pour oil on
the troubled waters. “What did he say
to you, Caroline?’ he asked. “Why,
jedge, I jes’ cain’t tell you all dat man
do say to me.” ‘Does he ever use
hard language?” “Does yo' mean
cussin’? Yas, o@h; not wif his mouf,
but he's always givin’ me dem cussory
.glances.”"—Lippikcott’s.
Horse's Charge Scattered Soldiers.
A sensational incident attended the
recent Australian mélitary maneuvers
at Oakleigh, Vic. Some drivers be-
longing td the field artiliery were
having lunch outside a tent, when a
horse in the vicinity bolted. The ani-
mal made straight for the soldiers,
who, being unprepared for attack,
could not withstand the charge. Halt
a dozen men were knocked in confused
fashion amongst dishes and miscel-
laneous articles, and most of them re-
ceived some injury.
Demand for Black Fox Skins.
According to government reports,
there are only a few dozen genuine
black fox skins in North America
eack year in the wild state and there
is great demand for the skins in Eu-
rope. As the black puppies usually
fall a prey to the red females in the
wild state, the market is almost de-
pendable upon the amimals raised in
to 60 puppies in a year.
Lion's Brief hour of Freedom.
The only lion in the menagerie at
Lal Bagh, Bengal, India, escaped from
its cage recently, and attacked a pair
of bullocks drawing a cart within the
garden. The driver just contrived to
escape by scrambling up a tree. The
lion afterwards concealed itself, and
two Mahomedan shikaris were called
in to shoot it, but they only managed
to wound the beast. An hour later a
resident of Lai Bagh Road cycled up
with a rifle and killed it,
Poets Are Sometimes Made.
“Poets are born and not made,” |
said the young man with the pale, in-
teresting face and the long hair. “Are |
they?’ replied his wife. “Well, I'll |
show you that they are made some-
times. I'll make you watch the baby |
while 1 go shopping this morning or |
you shall never have another dollar
that my father sends to me.”
Uses of
ie:
=FE
I
i
g
8
&¥
£5
til
and also for making
little inferior to olive
burned in lamps and used in
facture of soap. Meal
| sald to be got from the
| tugal, and these, roasted,
substituted for coffee. The
also used, like almonds, for
soothing emulsions, and in some
of the old world are boiled and fed to
infants. The leaves are good fodder
for cattle; the stems serve for fuel
and contain much potash.—Harper's
Weekly.
2
FER
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FE
:
;
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he
The Simple Life.
| The charm of the bungalow is not
| in the main due to its little cost or to
| convenience of its plan or to its ar-
| tistic exterior, but to the fact that
there is a great proportion of the
| American people who desire to live
| more simply and with less convention
| than they find necessary in the typical
| suburban community, says a writer in
| Leslie's. There is probably no one of
| us who does not occasionally long for
a place in which he can wear his old
clothes with comfort, and bring up his
| children in the simple and natural way
| impossible in the city and difficult in
{ the suburbs, and it is to this vague
| longing for a simpler and less artificial
| life that the great popularity of the
| little, rough-buflt houses we call bun-
| galows is due,
Just a Girl.
Wanted—Girl. Just plain girl
Should not be addicted to the harem
skirt habit; rats and puffs not re-
quired. She need know nothing about
bridge whist or social scandal. In-
ability to decipher a French bill of
fare will not count against her. Need
not have done and have been done by
foreign countries, If she can sing and
play a bit, sew and cook a trifle, so
much the better, It is desirable that
she have a little kindness of heart—
for people, young, #niddle aged, and
old, and for animals. Need not be
versed in church creed, but should
believe in decency. In a word, we
want just a wholesome, lovable, good,
old fashioned girl. No others need to
apply. Will come after you.—~Judge's
Library.
Lincoin’s Rules for Life.
Do not worry, eat téree square
meals a day, say your prayers, be
courteous to your creditors, keep your
digestion good, steer clear of bilious-
‘mess, exercise, go slow and go easy.
Maybe there are other things that
your special case requires to make
you happy, but, my friend, these I
reckon will give you a good lift.—
Abraham Lincoln.
Bad for Chickens.
“I think, dear, we may as well give
up the idea of reising chickens this
year.” “Why? Don't you think it
will be a gpod year for chickens?”
“No. It will cost too much to feed
them. The man next door tells me
that he has joined a golf club, so he
isn't likely to have a garden.”
New Strength for
Bad Backs
BELLEFONTE RESIDENTS ARE LEARNING
HOW TO EXCHANGE THE OLD BACK
FOR A STRONGER ONE.
pi your back ache, feel weak and
Do you suffer headaches, languor and
the urine discolored, passages irregu-
for ;
fo
is generally ache.
ae 3 etc nd prove ney rend
ows doer he end ht
2 proof in Bellefonte endorse-
Mrs. H.1. Taylor, 70S, Water St., Belle-
Ty ot Doan's Kidney
Medical.
A TS IE RIT I IIIT
Tt's A Cure That's Sure
i -FOR-
RHEUMATISM, GOUT.
SCIATICA, AND
a ts wi
JONES BREAK-UP
/AND IT WiLL CURE YOU
Always in stock at
For sale Sidney Krumrine,
arn :
ny
i nd nd nd od onl bond i nd L 2
mm mia wim wm em
Your Suit
for the..
Can be Bought Best
AT FAUBLES
Just See Us and you
will know WHY.
FAUBLES.
Yeager's Shoe Store
Fitzezy
The
Ladies’ Shoe
that
Cures Corns
Sold only at
Yeager’s Shoe Store,
Bush Arcade Building, BELLEFONTE, PA.
Bellefonte, Fa.