= = | less, 1
Belletonte, Pa., April 11, 1913.
There's a dreadful heavy somethin’
Right in the place that's me;
I'm sure I never et it—
It's somethin’ you can’t see!
I never felt it in me
Till one day mother said:
“Does anybody know what's gone
With my new ball o’ thread?"
1 never answered nothin'—
I never said a thing—
I never told no story
About my new kite string!
An’ yet, whenever mother
Looks lovin'-like at me,
My lips get sort 0’ trembly,
An’ that ball o' twine | see!
Then the heavy, heavy somethin’
Mos’ takes my breath; an’, say,
Did you ever have a mother?
Did you ever feel that way?
—{[ Eva Malone, in Boys and Girls.
WHAT MY BOY KNOWS.
My is sixteen years old. He was
born in Chicago, and has lived in that city
practically his entire life. He was in the
second year at high school. His cousin
Fred, fifteen years old, lives on a farm
near a small city in Ohio, and attends
high school there. Both boys have been
guarded and trained as carefully as the
nderstading and the circumstances of
ve
their parents tted.
Next fall we leave Chicago and
take up our residence on the farm which
adjoins my brother Fred's We
have been asked repea i
and neighbors why we are willing to leave
our comfortable home in one of the most
Beautite] esidential Sistrices and Seser!,
practically, a paying growing -
ness to ourselves” in the country.
A few evenings ago I explained the rea-
For long time after I had
sat gazing into the fire. Then he said
Supply:
“I think you are right, and I'll pray you
are in time. Billy, what you ought to do
is to write the things you have told me.
There must be thousands of parentssitu-
ated exactly as you are—and as I was.”
Therefore: e are going into the
country because of our boy. We have
found out what he knows, and that he
learned it of the city. Only recently my
wife and I discovered that, no matter
how carefully and conscientiously par-
ents may strive, it is practically impossi-
ble to rear a boy in a large city and
bring him to be a clean, broad-minded,
wholesome young man. The fault lies
not with the boy, nor entirely with the
rents. I do not say that the city-bred
a is doomed to criminality, but I am
fully convinced that if he escapes becom-
ing morally oblique and tending toward
degeneracy it will be luck as much as
anything else.
ary 0 ints Bhmons,
as my A
there are fathers and mothers who think
they know their boys, I want them to
read. For the great trouble is that we | tion
all think we know our boys and that
they are “all right.” Until last autumn we
were smugly satisfied with ourselves and
with our boy. We felt rather sorry that
Brother Fred's boy could not have simi-
og f the Rt tio Je
ng o two t
we were awakened to see the truth.
We decided to our vacation in
a long-deferred t to Fred on the farm.
It was understood that when we return-
ed to city Fred's boy should come with
us and remain a month or more during
the winter to “give him a chance to see
a little of life and broaden out.” We
reached Fred's place after an all-night
ride, and the boys spent the morning
geting scguaifited with each other.
walked with the boys over the farm.
Fred showed my boy, Gevige, his tra
for mink, weasel, and muskrat, that
he had set in the creek; he pointed out
the cover where the quail were, explain. | best
ed thesilos, took him up through the dairy | 8¢
the cream-separator, ex-
barn the milking-machine. 1 was |
much interested to see the development
of the old place, and so interested that I
did not observe for Soine time that
George aj bored and kept winking
at me while Fred talked of the rotation
of crops and the success and failure of
some experiments he had tried. The
only thing I observed that day was that
our boy not com favorably, phys-
ically, with his , self-reliant cousin. :
He was better dressed, but I felt a pang
of r to think his younger cousin
could beat him at anything requi
strength or endurance. It was not un
nigh when we retired to our rooms,
that I began to see light. George hard-
ly could wait until we were alone.
“Oh, aren't they rubes, though!” he
la . “Honestly, mother, 1 hardly
co Q Jeep my face straight when Fred
was me round. But, cracky, I
wish I could handle a machine the way
he does! He knows all about autos, and
his father lets him go anywhere in it.
But he's green as grass. He talked as if
I cared about cows and sheep and chop-
ping up corn and stuff.
“Momsy, I nearly snorted out loud at
dinner and supper. What the dickensdo | tha
want to pray for that kind of b
ey aul 10 Dia such service. If Jane
and
' had superficial; but now that I
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not speak of it again until you do,
until I am certain of our ground.”
of
Fortunately, we always had treated the
boy as an equal and invited his confi-
dences, so there was little difficulty in
learning his views and thoughts on var- |
ious subjects. The discoveries I made
were a revelation to me. They made me
realize that, closely as we had watched
the lad, our study of him
studied him with a definite purpose, little
J For more than a week I
uosuciotel with Mim and his sown 28
m as possible without arousing r
i and drew them out on var-
in speaking openly to me and giving me
his opinions on the most delicate subjects
—subjects indeed that caused his cousin
to blush and stammer, and of which he
n ment on the t of our ar-
rival, nei had mentioned the subject.
More than a week passed before she
the subject. She waited until
had gone to his bedroom, and
remarked:
“Billy, I want to talk with you about
George. I have been watching him, and I'm
beginning to be ashamed of him. You'll
have to take him in hand and talk to
him. 11 not have him showing his con-
tempt for Brother Fred's family and for
fie people around here the way he
oes.”
“What has he been doing?” 1 asked.
“What kind of a boy have you feund him
to ”
“I'm ashamed to say it,” she said, “but
if you and I do not make him change his
ways he'll soon be the kind of boyl
wouldn't allow a daughter of mine to
associate with.”
“I felt that way myself, at first,” I told
her; “but I have changed my views some-
what. What has he done to make you
ashamed?”
“He considers himself a superior be-
ing,” she answered. “He has low views
i
j Independence as
and when Fred started to read it
said: ‘Cut out that George M. Cohan
stuff. It's a hundred years behind the
times.” He ought to be thrashed.”
“It will not help to thrash him,” I re.
marked. “It isn't his fault; it's ours.”
a she Sasiaimey Sdiguantls.
e never taught to at .
ion SN) Jarviotam 20d Jock at a He
young country as were staring
at some Broadway walker.”
ao sdmitied; “we didn’t. Neither
we keep him from doing those things,
nor show him wherein they were wrong.
He is merely reflecting the things he sees
and hears every day in the city, the thi
you and I and our friends say and
the things he hears on the stage, sees on
the Strest 2 rele in the newspapers.
e's a il
“But he knows right from wrong.
We've taught him; we've sent him tothe
and to church and Sunday-
hool.”
“Yes, and slept late Sunday morning
ourselves,” I argued. “The whole thing
is that he sees so much bad that is ac-
and
out protest, that bad and good are all
| alike to him.”
We talked 1t over again until far into | D
tion
we all sat in the living-room, and
discussion with Fred, intend-
a
ing to sonfine the conversation to the!
thoughts embodied in the tion,
ang asked Fred if of t the same
spirit among today as
among those who that famous |
cut bread into chunks like that, and
piled things onto plates, and Slioveled it
at you the way these hayseeds
“That will do,” I said angrily. “It
seems to me you have a poor sense of
politeness to speak that way of your re-
ations who also are your hosts. It's a)
poor return for their hospitality.
“Oh, I forgot you used to be a Jasper
too!” he laughed, not in the least abash- |
ed. “Ill bet
me
himself he never had a dress suit in his
life. What do you think of that? When
he goes 0 8 Party, he wears wiathe
his Sunday suit. And he's never
been to the theater except to ‘Uncle
‘Tom's Cabin’ and the ‘Drummer of
Sieh ie he ack gv, Fl
him something.”
boys, who had been playing some game, |
stopped and listened intently to our ar-
gument. In the midst of it my boy in-
terrupted, saying freshly:
“Aw, say, Uncle Fred, that's old stuff!
We aren't free and equal. We aren’t even |
free. aren't any United States: |
the Jews own it.”
“It isn’t the Jew, nor the money power,
i
do you account for it?” I inquir- |
ed.
“It's perspective, I think,”
Fred. “We here in the country see the
RY life that you are 100 close to
expectancy
the country boy, his interest in everything
he saw, his quickness in learning from
observation, and his instinctive recoiling
from evil interested usboth. The attitude
of my own son toward the things his
cousin shrank from filled me with heart-
sickness.
I do not desire to convey the idea that ,
our boy was a wicked boy.
call the “upper middle-class” boy.
he never had gone th
the stock-yards, or the city hall, or the | the
art museum. He didn't know where
Armour Institute and Hull House are.
In fact, in one week his country cousin
knew more about the city, its condition, | had
its institutions, and government than
mine did. He read the papers, discussed
made inquiries about various
city, and one day went unat-
tended to the public library, then to the
Crerar, to look up some hist
being unable to find them was
directed to the Historical Society, and
came ldte to dinner full of enthusiasm.
ing near the Illinois Central terminal.
He never had been in it, nor seen its fine
decorations and marbl
“You two,” I said to the boys, "show
me the truth about a thing that has
zled me for years, and that is why
boys holding Chicago
ce there are seventy
men, and I do not think two of them are
natives. The evident reason is that the
Chicago boy knows so much less about
his own city than the country boy does
i the Sony boy gets the job.”
thought such examples, brought to | papers,
his attention at the moment when the
was self-evident, would awaken ! dri
m to the serious view of life. The pro-
however, was slow, and most of the
seemed as if we were not m
headway at all. It was
times, and irritati
morning Fred said: {
down to the Field Museum
today.
“Aw, what's the use?” protested George.
“That won't get you anythi
there's a bully matinee at
day, take us to it.”
took
the boys, I observed a
lipping, young-old man,
, and worn out
tering in the | ,
are so few Chi
jobs. In our
ng. For exam
, Dad, | diff
ing. Say
strong was my disgust, I called the at-
tention of the boys to him as another
ciousness,” | remarked, Sy vi.
never t
that both would be as disgusted with the
cL he Lodhi
iy Ww money
he does soon tes into that sort
degenerate
travesty on m
“Him?” exclaimed my son.
ain't so worse! That’
-lesson.
t's 3 produét of
te as | was.
“Oh, he
. His father
one.
“You know that creature?” I demand-
“Ferret?'” 1 asked.
Dad, the
A ferret is a chicken-snatcher.
for some show crinoline now,
bramble that catches them.”
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faults in him too, but he
and he viewed things from a normal
tance and in the right
during the entire experiment his
was a great help. By talking to hi
drawing out his views, I
own son what I thought. Sometimes
would say:
“Get such and such a book, and
what so and so wrote
It was a trying for asa
er, to withhold iy fo an
iy one to withhold punishmen
were times when I
ercising violence, and other ti
I felt like applying the scourge to m
The one thing I feared during
was losing control of the boy
ing him into open rebellion. al
a od
orders. He could be led
but was difficult to drive.
him to think so and so,
and so, and do so and
arouse rebellion until he saw clearly,
the problem was to make him see.
knew that a greater part
patric , on women, on the
He wasn’t. | such things flaunted over the footlights lowly and fli
He was just the average type of what we | or dished out as “clever” in the news-' quired know
He | papers. What distressed me almost as
| was merely tuned to the low moral tone | greatly as his low estimation of women sible for his moral blindness, it also help-
of the city. Vice, to him, was not a | was his immorality in money matters ed to open his eyes. It was rather a
monster of hideous mien. He had seen it | and lack of business sense of honor. “Get ' ¢
from childhood, and, although he had !it anyway, but get it," was his idea—an | French farce that finally turned the tide.
| not done so, he was arriving at the em- | idea fostered by the city. He was a bar We went together, and before the middle
bracing stage. He scoffed at the idea of | ahead in the tune of the times.
visiting the Lincoln Park Zoo when his
cousin proposed it, declaring “only rubes
go there.” Hesneered at the
to go to the University of Chicago, which, i
he calmly stated, was “only a Jew-and- | “to guard them against the evils of the
jay school where no one went. All the city,” who, in many instances, were more
to Yale or Harvard.” He | modern than he, and who retailed to each
| other the worst of what
e or read in the papers.
cov a circulating library of filth
I had hoped that in the private high pened.
school, or “Prep” school, as he
a sense of honor would be taught, but
there he associated with boys also sent
among
ing to him.
“I'm not sorry I'm going home, Uncle,” |
he said, "but I'd like to come
time, for a few weeks and see it all.”
“Do you like the city?” I inquired.
you like to live here?”
“No—not yet. You see it's so big. I'all the way home.
says | am—‘a | house
“Woul
guess I'm what
actions directly ‘
unforgivable at home. So I understood |
what the boy meant. I remembered
the things
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and ideas, looking up refer-
marriage, i when we went to the theater
he had heard expressed, often tritely and | he took a great interest in the construc-
cleverly, and cynicism born of hearing | tion of the piece, criticising rather shal- |
tly with his newly ac-:
i
If the theater had been partly respon-
heap, tawdry, and essentially nasty
| of the first act I saw something had hap-
My son seemed oddly excited, |
almost disgusted. The character was
effeminate and disgusting, and he was a
on the ultra-modern young
e were leaving the theater when
in the lobby we encountered a youth who
had been one of my son's oldest chums
at the private school. George cut him
dead as he bowed and raised his hat.
“Why did you cut him?” I inquired.
“Why—you see,” he stammered, “I
The evening before Fred went home I don’t want to associate with that kind of
a long talk with him; for, to tell the fellow again.” Then he burst out, “Oh,
truth, I feared that the influence of what Dad, I just saw tonight wh
he had seen and heard might be damag- me to read those books why you take
| me to these plays! I've been so slow.”
“They didn’t teach you to snub that
n, some boy because he does not see things as |
| you do—now?”
*“No-o, I'm sorry |
He sat silent, looki
together, and as I started up-stairs
yap.’ There are so many things that I! he said, more timidly than he had spoken
see here that won't gee with what they | to me in years:
always have taught me at home.” ! "Dad, to-morrow is Saturday. If you're
The boy's wo awakened memories. not busy I'd like to have a long talk with
I recalled the sense of shocked and sham- | you.”
ed decency I felt when first | came to
{ the city, a boy almost, and fresh from the The talk we had last
country; how I tossed in my bed trying ' the boy laid his heart open to me.
to see as right things that everyone in| °
the city appeared to accept as a matter said.
of course, but which, from earliest boy- |
hood, I had been taught to regard as
wicked. I could not for many months!
int had come.
and 1
I knew the turning-
school now.” I:
“You can go back to | the tailormade effect
“And you'll be an influence for
mong the fellows. You
help them by a word oF act, he im- | the latter in plain colors in two-toned ef-
When I began to see what you | [CS
afraid, yet. Father,
farm—just for a year
maybe, when we come back,
5 8
‘erence, or as a matter of course, until, |
to- | in fact, I scarcely noticed them i
the theater with
overdressed,
District number 6, Marion and Walker, Zion,
ig. Sorin
ge shen or Bek
lig, Aono
District number 3, Tay Worth and Huston
Snow Shoe borough,
! _ District number 1,
2
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78
Every man stamps his value on himself: the
price we challenge for ourselves is given us. —
Dinner Without a Maid.—
| ers who do not keep maids ogc
entertain their friends will find it quite
system.
. | easy if adopt a little
First find out just what you are going
to serve for dinner, how many
how many guests and at what hour.
If possible do your ordering the day be-
fore. Go to market and pick out your
| own material.
If grapefruit or can is to be
prepare it the first thing in the
| morning and put it on ice; also salad;
even the salad dressing may be made and
put in a bowl and covered.
Prepare all vegetables, ices, ice cream
! or berries for dessert.
If cake is to be served, make it the day
before.
See that your house is in order, that
your linen and silver are .
The table may be set early in the after-
| noon, and have it just as attractive for
four as for a big dinner party.
Arrange the dishes for every course
sad place in little stacks on the kitchen
table.
Try to have roasts or fowls or some-
thing that will not keep one in the kitch-
en over the hot stove all the time or at
i the last moment, when the housekeeper
wants her dinner and herself to bea suc-
cess.
Give yourself time for a bath and a
rest, and always have a pretty and be-
coming home evening dress, so when the
time comes for the guests to arrive you
will be able to meet them with a smiling
' face instead of being tired and worn out.
Since combination suits, consisting of
two materials, wil be Fach worn for
spring, a great variety of styles in sepa-
rate skirts are being shown. There are
both draped and pleated skirts in large
quantities. The more practical skirts
have only a slight drapery, which comes
well below the knees, thereby pre-
serving the flat hip a A few
—. skirts with the new Oriental
draperies caught up in the front are seen,
| but they are rather gRieme,
out the window , Lhere are many types of new pleated
: skirts, including cluster pleats, most of
went into the Chi rite
ed or caught together by
tape, so as to preserve the narrow ap-
pearance and still give the desired width
' to make them practicable for walking. A
few gored skirts are seen, but in the
majority of cases a few pleats are in.
u
Buttons with simulated buttonholes or
oops are the favored trimmings on sep-
arate skirts, the idea being to carry out
The materials used are serges, whip-
mixtures,checks and ratine weaves,
stripes and brocades Among the
silk skirts are charmeuse, crepe meteor,
frete de chine and the new brocaded
Wash skirts in the corded materials,
such as piques, cordelines, reps, etc., and
in linens of che ramie weaves and wash-
able pongees.
In the Woman's Home ion
Grace ret Gould, fashion editor of
| that ical, writes “A Talk With
i is sure
be Pa the hair either in the
middle or a side is very if it
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of fluffy mashed potatoes. an
25h het form into balls; while still hot,
lightly in an beaten with one-
half cup of water set on a buttered
sheet in a hot oven till browned.
move with a pancake turner.
Marble Cake.—Put one square of choc-
olate and one slightly rounding table-
of butter in a cup and set in a
of hot water to melt. Cream one-
7
bowl and mix in the melted te and
butter. Drop the light and dark mix-
ture into a pan in alternate
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launder it herself quite easily should
necessity arige.
The demi-tailored dresses, and the
strictly severe ones that are to be worn
in the city afford more scope for the use
of beauti and varied materials and
ast ce in collars, worn out-
es) Sarit, collars, worn cet
waists. White satin composes them, and
needless to say, they should be so con-
trived that they can be detached and re-
newed easily, for Sad weather is a
Some blouses seen lately
in black and white
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