So we want you up in glory,
For you have labored hard,
And the good Lord is preparing
Your eternal, just reward.”
Then the angel.and the merchant
Started up towards glory's gate,
But when passing close to hades
The angel murmured *“Wait—
I've a place I wish to show you;
It's the hottest place in Hell,
Where the ones who never paid you
In torment forever dwell.”
And behold the merchant saw there
His old patrons by the score,
And grabbing up a chair and fan,
He wished for nothing more.
He desired to sit and watch them
As they'd sizzle, singe and burn:
And his eyes would rest on debtor
Whichever way they'd turn.
Said the angel, ‘Come on merchant
There are pearly gates to see.”
But the merchant only muttered,
“This is Heaven enough for me.”
~—By request.
ON THE LITTLE MILL TRACE.
It was cold in the mountains. The
ivory laden summits towered white
against the brilliant blue of the west,
steep after steep. Far above the sun
poured down a flood of light, but it
was light without warmth. Save for
a few curls of smoke, that rose
visibly agai the snow to vanish again,
Bo Sigh life showed on the crackl
heights. The song birds
tong ago gone, and the four-footed moun-
tain prowlers were tucked snugly away
in dens and hollow trees, shel them-
selves from the icy wind. Even the
otitainesse, inured Jo cold and made
rugged r hard lives, clung closely
to their mud chinked cabins, Rs
above roaring, oak log fires.
Warmly wra as | was, I heaved an
anticipating when, at the top of a
ridge, my guide pointed a swa
finger at a prosperous | ng log cabin,
behind which showed a meat house and
sale
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finger, and the fact that she didn’t wear
black. Buck Fanshaw tried to make up
to her, but he s mighty quick. He
never told what she said to him, and
Buck wasn’t a sort of man you'd care to
question; but he was always mighty nice
to her afterwards. The women-folks
was kinder shy of her, the Lord knows
why. They just let her alone, and she
wouldn't let the boys fool around her
place. She'd have been lonely
sometimes if it hadn't been for that baby
lines of bee gum hives. Some distance of her’
beyond rose a curl of smoke that betok-
ened another cabin.
“That's Zeke Tolliver's,” he explained.
“Yonder’s the little schoolmistress’ cab-
Interestedly I studied the cabin, won-
dering whether Zeke or anybody else
would tell me enough to repay me for my
visit to this far-away mountain region in
the depths of winter. As we drew nearer
1 could see that the path from Zeke's to
the cabin beyond was well trampled.
Along it a half grown boy, wra| likea
against the cold, was just com-
ing into view through She ice Jaden trees.
Close to Zeke's my guide stopped him.
ow is she?” he asked.
“She's '” he mumbled. “Dr. Saun-
says she'll live a week maybe? but
dyin’.” He choked up hurried
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did not ask whom he meant. | bhi
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“He was the beatenist boy I ever see.
I've had plenty of my own, sons and
grandsons and great-grandsons; but none
of ‘em was like him. He was so stron
and big and handsome. The women fe!
in love with him at sight, an’ the men
weren't far behind. He was mighty ten
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dren just naturally love to torment pets?
I reckon it's because hey, Som under-
stand how it hurts. But —his ma
called him Harold; but of course no-
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now. She
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it.
against
' wisp of gray that the guide had pointed
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“For thirty winters I've seen the smoke
chimney,” Zeke fi
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| We've been cutting that cord-wood
| since—for full thirty years. I stacked
last of it this winter not more’'n a
An’ she won't ever burn it
eyer burnit.”
: curling up from tha:
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angrily whe regained command
's the chimney of
school,” he went on hurriedly. , “Yonder
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shall never forget how the time drag-
ged until the famous surgeon came out
of the sick room again. It seemed hours
of physical torture to all of us. I tried to
talk to the millionaire—once in a while
my newspaper instinct rising to the sur-
face at the thought of a *“beat” on the
other boys—for the life story of a million-
aire is always good news. Bat try as
I would I could not talk shop.
Zeke and 1 and the millionaire, wait-
ing in the outer room. took it very hard.
I wondered at myself. Why on earth
should I be so interested—I, who for
years had studied the human heart, shap-
ing its little histories into newer and
newer forms until through much feeling
1 seemed to have lost the power to feel?
Perhaps it was the sight of the million-
aire’s suffering that set my frequence
- | gtaled heartstrings to throbbing. We
7
: nally went on. “It don't seem possible | can't help—I can't at any rate—we can't
now. It's been a bea- | help feeling that millionaires are metallic
to all the region here- | creatures, set above all human emotions.
-
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ight get well again.
eae shook his head.
ust what she’s got,” he said.
ufe Saunders says she can't get well,
of them?”
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acceptance—the acceptance of all | question that
Devplewhion | had met—of the sen- 1
death as
Dr. Rufe Saunders it seemed was one
f the little schoolmistress’ pupils. He
gone out into the world, had learned
| his trade and had come back to practice
because his heart was in his work, he had
accomplished things that seemed wonder-
ful to the mountaineers. None of them
questioned his dictum. I however, being
a stranger ventured to demur.
“Doubtless,” said I, “Dr. Saunders is
both wise and skilful; but in the city
there are others still more skilful. Why
Zeke threw up his hands. “Because
we ain't got the money,” he declared
roughly. “We're poor up here, Mister,
poor. We've got enough to eat and
wear, and we've got houses to shelter us.
| But we ain't got any money. An’ furrin
doctors want money. Dr. Saunders says
none of the big men would come up here
for less than a thousand
{ whole country ain't gota thousand dollars
dollars—an’ the
n
My interest mounted uncontrolably.
| “But how about the men who have gone
: out into the world?” I questioned. “Per-
haps they—"
| ke nodded. “Some of 'em would I
| reckon if they knowed,” he agreed.
who's i find -p We don't set much
store by letter up here, a
mighty few of ing OA kept
n’
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there's
with.
Dr. Saunders has written to some of ‘em,
but he ain't had no answers. An’ I reckon
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. Nobody but us can tell how much | [ learned differently that day. Then and
there I made up my mind never again to
| men are really brothers.
Dr. Curtis came at last to tell us that
irrevokable made me | the operation was over and that it had
I asked as to the malady of the | been successful.
mistress and suggested that she
“l don't know
“But Dr.
1 understood what that
meant, knowing the shibboleth of the
profession. But Zeke had to be told that
at least two days must pass before it
could be known whether the little school-
mistress would live.
Two days do not seem very long as
you set them down, but those forty-eight
hours that we waited in that little com-
munity will live forever in the memory of
a man hardened by his profession as I am.
Many times I have waited for a story in
a Setting far more gorgeous—in the lob-
bies of famous hotels, in the drawing-
rooms of millionaire homes, in floating
palaces; but none of them left an impres-
sion to be compared to this little log cab-
in in its grandeur and love of humanity.
Men and women for miles around travel
ed on foot if horses were not available,
through snow clad fields and over ice
capped hills, to hear the fate of the little
| schoolmistress. And there I saw such
love and deep devotion, such sympathy
and true friendships as we never could
i? in a city where each man is for him-
self.
days. We were all present, all of us, on
the third day, ranged against the side of
the room in a row like schoolboys, charg-
ed not to speak or move. The doctor
sat by the bed. The nurse stood ready.
The little schoolmistress was talking
again. Her words were much the same
as those | had heard on the day I came;
but her tones were different—cool, un-
fevered.
old,” she repeated
Don’t go away from the cabin, little son.
Mother Il be back from the spring
soon!”
“I won't, Mother! I won't!”
Startled, I heard the doctor speak. He
was bending over her. The sweat was
on his temples; his eyes were wide;
is jaw was set like steel. But
you're mine. He has
to
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"Don't go away from the cabin, Har-
again and again. |
then dip the ends of the fingers into the
cleansing cream, applying it generously |
to the face, brow, chin and neck. Rub it
lightly over the skin, taking care that
every crevice is covered.
Have a soft, dry cloth ready, and im-
mediately after the application wipe the
cream away with a firm stroke. You
will be amazed at the grime which comes
away with the cream.
hen the skin is wiped dry, take a
sponge and go over the skin with a good
astringent guaranteed to contain an in-
gredient which will counteract the cream,
thus eliminating any danger of encourag-
ng the growth of superfluous hair.
. If there is a tendency on the part of
the skin to draw, or if tiny wrinkles are
making their appearance, a massage or
nourishing cream must follow to lotion.
This cream should be free from oils ex-
cept they be of a nature not to increase '
the growth of superfluous hair. Apply
this cream sparingly, and Massage it well i
into the face, remembering to out
wrinkles with a gentle rotary movement
and to stroke the cheeks with an upward
movement, never downward.
If you are to remain at home all even-
ing, or intend to retire after the treat-
ment, do not use powder. Leave the
pores free to breathe during the night.
Do not starch any linen. If you wish
to have it look its best, iron it damp,
says Harpers Bazar. Starch ruins linen.
Hang all sheets, table cloths, and towels
“on the drying line with the ends down so
that the weight, when wet, will come on
the lengthwise threads, which are the
stronger. Otherwise the linen will show
an inclination to split along the folds.
Linen yellowed long lying may be
whitened by adding kerosene to the
water when boiling. About a tablespoon-
ful to a gallon of water is the correct
proportion. After table cloths are folded
lengthwise they may be kept smooth
| rolling on pasteboard mailing tubes.
! ribbon may be run through the tube and
| tied first across the cloth, and then
around the tube in two places, to keep
the ends in place. This is a good way to
keep linen centerpieces smooth. If,
‘ however, the rolling is done when the
: linen is still damp, the center-pieces will
| continue to roll as they lie on the table.
A college girl who wore cotton
waists to save her laundry bills had diffi-
| culty in them wearable at first,
35 they Were 100 imp if not starched at
(all if starched, wringing them made
| the starch uneven says Modern Pris-
cilla She experimented until she found
that by washing them in thin starch and
. hanging them up to drain on a gout hang:
a vith wringing, they were exactly
Butter Scotch.—Butter scotch is made
| by mixing together two-thirds cup of mo-
lasses, one-third cup of water, one cup of
sugar, one-half of butter and one
tablespoonful of . Boil until brit-
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6,000,-
000 frogs a year are killed in Minnesota
alone to supply the demand. The north-
western frogs are the most delicate,
the are the southern bullfrogs.
The latter are not so sweet or tender as
the former.
—Hens’ average from 15 to
ounces in weight. A dozen of good-sized
eggs should weigh about 22 ounces. Alto-
gether the size and weight of eggs is to a
large extent a matter of breed or strain,
the care and feed, tqo, has on
it. Well-fed hens lay heavier eggs than
hens forced to subsist ona small
g
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exercise, lay larger eggs than
free-run hens. y
' milk production have brought as high at
$1250, while many sales of milking cows
on a com basis have been made
at from $150 to $300. The Dairy Short-
horn has a good many friends in Amer-
ica, butin comparison with the highly-
specialized dairy breeds her
have been sadly neglected.
—Good. butter nearly always com-
mands a fair price. The market is al-
ways crowded with poor butter, but but-
ter with flavor, color and texture -
erally finds a buyer at a fair Fhis
shows the importance of ing butter
that there is a demand for. Good butter
cost little, if any, more than the
stuff on the market; the principal dif-
ference is that those who sell good but-
ter know how to make it.
ole is a valuable aid to fereiliz.
land pays a good return on
crops he consumes. He will devour |
quantities of inferior fruit or waste
and vegetables, which are not otherwise
marketable. He will thus yield a profit
on what might otherwise be wasted. The
yearly increase in young pigs keeps the
supply rapidly increasing from a small
beginning. He is a lucrative investment.
The secret of success in farming, as in
for everything on the farm if the farmer
will but Seek qutit he find it, and me hog
is a great help in putting all sorts of f
to a profitable use.
Care of Manure.— The handling of
_ manure in winter is a great saving of
| time, especially in a northern latitude,
| where every day counts after the spring
: work is begun. We
spread the manure
avery day, Wath hl practicable, and
only satisfactory
i a od SOY
land at a minimum
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