Belletonte, Pa., June 27, 1913. HELLO, TOM! (Pennsylvania German Dialect.) {For the Watchman.) O Bruder, mindscht wie du un ich Hen Checkers gschpielt deheem Un wie du mich so farrichterlich Gebotte hoscht im Game? Un mindscht wie m'r als gange sin Ze fische an's Moyer's Damm? En Hengel Cat-fish waar unser Gwinn, Mei liewer Bruder Tom. Mar hen als gschlofe im same Nescht Darrich alli Hitz un Kelt; Now bischt du East un ich bin West— So geht "sin daere Welt! Mar lewe lang un weit getrennt Vum unserm alte Schtamm; Gott schenk, mar schlofe zammer am End, Mei liewer Bruder Tom! St. Louis, C- Caz THE GOLDEN GOWN. It a that Claudia had come to town t morning to do some shopping, intending to go home on an early after- noon train; but a very slow waitress dis- arranged all her plans. It seemed per- fectly absurd that it should take a waitress fifteen minutes to bring a simple sandwich and a cup of cocoa even in a crowded, clattering, department store restaurant at the busy hour of one o'clock. It was just at the moment when Claudia gave up all hope of getting her train that she remem that the sheets and towels she had bought that morning had cost seventy-five cents less than she had expected to pay for them. The combination of these two thoughts, the missed train and the saved money, brought a third thought—the play she wanted to see most in the world was at a theater just around the corner and a lofty but perfectly good seat cost just exactly seventy-five cents. The waitress Ruaty came back and thumped Claudia’s luncheon down in front of her; but of course by that time there was no possible chance of getting the train. All the time she was eating her sandwich and sipping her cocoa she kept reminding herself that there would be another train only half an hour later and that she needed the seventy-five cents for a great many practical things. Down in her heart though she knew that she was going to squander her afternoon and her seventy-five cents on that play. Claudia loves the theater. I remember perfect) that I had just come back to the ce that day after getting my lunch when she called me up. “Would you mind, Peter,” she said in a voice that I recognized as her excited- about-something-going-to-happen voice, “would you mind if your dinner should be a little late tonight?” “Of course not,” I said. “What's up?” “I’m going to stay in town all after- noon and go out with you on the 5:20 train,” she said a little mysteriously. “I can cook something in a hurry after we get home.” “Nonsense!” | said. “Let's go some- where and get a little dinner before we go home. me on! It'll be a lark.” “No indeed,” said Claudia promptly. “It would be very extravagant. Because, Peter—"” her voice dropped to a rather ashamed whisper—"I've just spent sev- enty-five cents for a matinee ticket!” “Good Heavens!” I returned laughing- ¥. “Well I'll meet you on the 5:20 then. ave a good time.” I've been to the theater with Claudia quite often and have observed her nar-| rowly on such occasions; so I can imagine § E | Hi £: PpY- all day, doing hateful, that in fe to again! It frigh me, shouldn't have married i & : 3 2 g g it Lg 0 AE E § all their lives.” Claudia’s sobs broke out afresh, and walked over to the window staring out, fi all at once very ti and hopeless and lifeless. This then what our life and upward togeth: er really meant to her— i iit struggle “doing hateful, dirty, grubby things that will have to be done over and over again!” After a long silence Claudia went on in the tone of one who having introduced a painful topic is determi all out: “I su being so small; but you know it's not because I don’t love you enough to go th: anything for you. It just seems so unfair. Other people have so much, and we have nothing. We can't do anything! We can't go anywhere! I should to travel! We just exist, Peter, and it will be that way for years and years, until we're too old to care for easure and luxury and beautiful things. maybe we'll have them.” Her tone was bitter. This was a Claudia I had never seen before. She stood up and faced me defiantly. Then she changed to her natural self. “Oh, I don’t know what she saw in my face; but she flung herself on me suddenly in a passion of self-reproach and the Claudia I knew came back to me. By a silent understanding, we never alluded to that scene again. Claudia I know reproached herself deeply, for she was especially tender and gay and opti- mistic during the weeks that followed and took unheard-of pains with her housekeeping, as a sort of self-inflicted penancel suppose. Her gallant, pathetic attempts to atone for what she had said only made me doubly unhappy. There was no warning of the event that made Claudia a rich woman-—no signs in the heavens or other unusual occurrence. She went to bed one night just plain Claudia, and at breakfast the next morning opened the uninteresting looking envelope that told her she was rich, “beyond the dreams of avarice,” as she told me with a solemn and awestruck | look. It wasa matter of some litigation begun half a century betore and just set- For a while our life went on without much outward change. We went on liv- ing in the little suburban house, but with a maid to do the work which Claudia had formerly done. I went away to the city every morning and came back every evening, to be greeted by Claudia just as in the days before the great news reach- ed us. But I knew this could not last long. Claudia said she was just goi to keep still a while and get her brea back after the shock before she decided on anything definite. I dreaded the time of her decision, for I could very plainly see that she was harboring a mistaken idea as to the influence her sudden wealth would have on my own method of living. just how great was her enjoyment of this particular matinee. I can picture her climbing up, up, up, until she reached | her seat in the very topmost balcony, and | when che finally attained that lofty perch | taking off her hat and coat and fluffing | up her hair with that little gesture I am ! so familiar with. [I know with what easure she listened to the strains of the ar-away orchestra and with what in- terest she watched her neighbors settle into their places. I am quite sure that | when the curtain went up she leaned for- ward in her seat with parted lips and that when the Golden Gown came on the she said, “O-oh!” under her breath | gave a little shiver of sheer delight | in its beauty. : Bumping homeward on the 5:20 su- burban local she told me about it. “All gold, Peter!” she said, with rapt eyes and bated breath. “Thick, thick, : so soft! sparkly golden, gossamer floating all over it, but clinging too, and a long, long train!” Her gesture sketch ed the thick, soft folds, the golden gossa- | mer and the splendid train. ! Peter, her hair!” wi ow into the darkness, and I saw her | eyes catch her reflection in the darkened | ed her. myself. i a fay, TAVing at me with 4 rof em shy , and I did not doubt it in the least. udia has golden hair. “Claudia,” I said rather sadly, “I wish you weren't so beautiful. Then shouldn't feel so much like a miserable worm because I can’t buy you a golden i {5 2 ol i 7 : £ : g gS g i i 7 ge ; | | The time for talking it all out came upon me suddenly and quite un ly. It was Sunday MOLWng, a beautiful, early spring day, and Claudia and I were lingering over a late breakfast. There were odils on the table, and the fra. grance of spring came in through the said it with a great air of con- fidence, but she watched me anxiously. As for me, I felt miserably that Tn have given ten years of my life to ha the next ten minutes safely over with. “Claudia, darling,” 1 said, > to give u her dreams of us two rambling arou world together, poking into el ing an care free existence. In my gratitude to her for having been willing to i my decision I determined that we would, said, “have all the fum to- gether” we possibly could and told her so. She was delighted at my unqualified and enthusiastic response, and we spent the rest of the evening making plans for a short stay in town. The morning of our she took the early com- muters’ train with me and talked and laughed and made so many plans for my entertainment during the time I was to be her that I gave up all pretense of reading the paper. “What are you going to do with your- self all day?” I asked during a pause in the plan Sal ing. “My dear,” Claudia exclaimed, “I've a million things to do! And all those mil- lion things together are to make cne huge surprise for you, Peter. I've been planing it for weeks—almost ever since became a near-millionairess.” “What kind of a surprise?” I inquired with some misgivings. I w would ever get over the uneasy dread of having Cla spend her money on me. She read ay thoughts. “It's nothing I'm buying you, silly. It's things I've bought or myself. And, Peter, if you don’t say I’m gorgeous!” We parted at the subway station, Clau- dia having admonished me some twenty times to be at B——in time to dress for dinner at six-thirty, so we should not be late for the theater. We were to have a whole box to ourselves to see the first performance of a famous star's new play, and Claudia said she didn’t want to miss one minute of it. When at six o'clock I knocked at the door of the suite to which the bell boy had brought me Claudia's voice cried, “Is that you, Peter? Wait a minute.” | I waited patiently, hearing her move about inside the room. At last she spoke through the closed door. “Peter, I'm going to let you in now, and I want you to shut your eyes and not open them until I tell you to. Promise?” I promised and shut my eyes tight. The door swung open, and a hand on my arm guided me a few paces into the room. Then the door closed softly be- hind me, the hand left my arm, there was a soft rustle and swish, and a voice, gay, he and triumphant, said, ow ” I opened my eyes. The room was full of the radiance from many shaded lights overhead, and all this light aeemed to draw her and center on the figure of Claudia standing, slim and tall, in the center of the floor. She was wearing the counterpart of the Golden Gown. I knew it instantly. The golden satin clung, the golden gossamer floated, and the “| ong train” lay in lustrous, gleaming folds about her feet. From the golden band the shining, intricately woven masses of her hair to her satin shod feet she was golden—the typification of wealth and of feminine beauty enhanc- i BEE § + 1 = : £ E g g i 2 : rg i sk : fi] 2 s% 28 i 2 3 sit 1 E : § : & 2 g i : : : ¢ : i if i 5 : i i : E [ § : : : | i ! i iH] : i. g hi hal i iy ! i ? g : f : : { I: | : 5 : § i r 7 F i g 1 g : ; 2 : | thinking only of her tragic hands, clasping Claudia, standing then cried out, "Tell me where you live. I must know! I want to talk to you—to help you. Tell me where you live!” It was a strange look the poor shabby, broken creature gave her—an apathetic too tired to be ble of curiosity. Nothing which happen to her could rouse her. “Why?” asked the wom.- an. Just the one word—nothing more; but the almost contemptuous indifference of it was like a blow in the face. Claudia caught her breath. “lI want to help you. Tell me!” she said again. The woman murmured a street and a number and went on without a back- ward look. Have g down,” Claudia said to me chokingly. Then she turned back toward the en- trance of the great hotel, and I followed. Claudia went up to our room like a person in a dream. Without a word she walked to her dressing table and began mechanically to take off the jewels she had worn and drop themin a sparkling | heap. She loosened the golden band from her hair, and then, still silent, stood Jovking into the mirror, but with unseeing eyes. Suddenly she turned to me. “They don't trust rich people do they?" she said bitterly. I don’t blame them. They ought to hate us! Look at these clothes of mine! Do you know what they cost, Peter? Hundreds of dollars! Did you see what she wore? Did you ses her hands? Look at my hands, Peter!” She flung them out—Ilong, slender, white, with rosy palms and perfect nails, beautiful hands made more beautiful by i careful tending. I caught them and drew her to me; but she turned away and dropped into achair, half hiding her face against the back of it. “Don’t!” she said. 't try to comfort me! I want to think it out. I know I've been wicked. I've only thought of what this money could do for me! I've planned if 1|to spend, spend continuously for my own | pleasure because I said to myself that al! my life I had been poor. Poor, when | there are women in the world that look { like that!” I bent over her, caressing her, trying to soothe her. She looked up at me and clasped my hand tightly between both of hers, clinging to me. “It's really not so much my fault, Peter; do you think so?’ she asked like a child. “I just didn't know. I thought if you were pleasant to your family and friends and polite to strangers, and went to church, and didn’t ever harm anybody you were a pretty decent sort of a person and were doin all that could be expected of you. didn't realize that any one had any more responsibility than that. You see I was asleep—asleep and dreaming about life. When this money came I was in my sleep because it made the dream more beauti- ful. But when I saw that poor woman I really saw for the first time in my life, and—Oh, Peter, at first I hated the mon- | made a funny little coaxing noise which 4... ey! I loathed it! away!” She rose to her feet and faced me, her head held high, her hands clinched at her breast, the folds and ripples of the golden gown gleaming about her. But there was something in her face which dimmed its splendors, which made us forget all else. Claudia's soul looked from her eyes.—By Louise Taylor Davis, in Pic torial Review. I wanted to fling it It has been remarked that when rain falls in the desert it at once ns to de- velop verdure and beauty. ese arid stretches of sand contain in themselves the elements of beauty, only needing the proper conditions to reveal all that lies idden beneath the bleak and barren surface. Something like this is the con- * | dition of the human body. Health is every one's prerogative. Yet people live along in suffering and sickness, not rea- lizing that the fair flower of health would spring up in this barren life of theirs under right conditions. What rain is to the desert Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery is to the body. It vitalizes and vivifies. It takes the germs of health and makes them fruitful. It pushes out the blood taints and foul diseases which mar is the life. " " makes new life by mak- ing new blood. Chocolate Cream Filling.—Melt a square and a Shaper of chocolate in the oven or over ed to pass on which left me strangely | 1 i ! Dear Home Folk: but without interest. She ' FROM INDIA. tightly the crumpled newspaper bundle. By Oze on Medical Duty in that Far Eastern | beside me, gazed; | Country. The Flowers of the Rimalayas the | Same as Those of the Alleghenies. A Monkey Temple and Their Devotion to Their Young. SIMLA, JUNE 16th. , down this week. I went to the Bishop's garden party and had a very nice time, meeting some Americans from Tennes- , see and South Carolina, and a few very | nice English folks whom I am sorry I i did not meet earlier in my stay. The | usual refreshments were served, consist- | ing of tea, cake, sandwiches and some ! fruit salad, which was really sliced oua pencil? Please write it Peaches sugared. They made me play | | ping-pong and | felt so far behind that | | acted almost childish, but remembered | to keep my dignity enough not to dis- grace the rest of the people. I do think the folks living in this section are very | easily pleased. The mountains are beginning to look musty and the snow-fields are truly a . thing of the imagination and memory. | The crows are calling continuously so that all signs point to rain, but the new { moon lies on its back and declares all ' other signs null and void. Many of the people from here are leaving on the same train that I do, and we will have to take . the rains when they come and stand the | heat meanwhile. On Saturday morning Miss Webb and I started very early on a walking jaunt up Jacks. This is quite the highest peak about here and I must confess it was a - hard pull, for much of the way we could only walk five or six yards before stop. ping to breathe; finally we reached the the top. We noticed violets, columbine, our | little white garden daisy and English ivy, all growing wild alongour path; foxglove | and larkspur we found later. The trees | are the pines and balsams; only a few of | the oaks and rhododendrons followed us | to the top. The view from the top was | glorious; we could see for miles and { miles in all directions, in fact from one | point we could see clear off to the plains, | but it was not for the view nor the na. | ture study that we made this trip; it was | to see the monkey temple. We walked along the path on the top | to come upon a rather decent looking house with several little out-houses around, this was surrounded by giant fir ' trees and from far and near one heard | or saw monkeys, old and young, and they seemed to say they wanted food. Miss Webb went to the door of the temple and asked the “fakir” (holy man) to feed them and he kindly came out and threw some grain. Immediately from every tree and bush, as well as from the hill side, came monkeys and to see them pick up the food with both hands and then sit and cram it into their mouths reminded me of many human banquets I have attended; but the truly pathetic note was struck when two mother mon- keys came up upon three legs and laid ered up their food, and one in particular, I saw come back, after having walked a few feet away, take up this dead thing in her arms and press its face against her own two or three times, all the time look- The “fakir” told us that the babies, which hold onto the mother’s under side while she is running, had fallen the day before and were quite dead before being picked up, and that these mothers had been carrying the dead monkeys for two days. 1 was sorry we had not asked how but did not think about it until two na- tives came up, who not only salaamed, by placing both hands together and bow- ing their heads in an attitude of prayer, but also kissed the feet of the “fakir.” We started to find our way down the hill and stumbled into a native’s yard; the house, a big square affair on the top 3 2 g : : 3 £ I 7 i E Hi aiel ] i i : : g J is £F g il i g HH h 7 i § i ul! isd iil : hs i Es ¥ down a tiny dead baby while they gath- | ing as though her heart would break. ne | There is no duty we so much under-rate as the | duty of being happy.—R. L. Stevenson. | The finest linen collars, embroidered “and lace-hemmed, are worn, and those ; of the crinoline period are favorites. They Pets Shacdthed to the slosely filing and ! ectly corsage, buttoned straight down the front, and were fastened with ; a large brooch of the cameo or pebble | persuasion rimmed with gold. i ey ton pauey ae 9 ' a living as to | Porch boxes, filled with scarlet | and nasturtiums in a variet colors, are most at:ractive, Potted ts good, and palms and ferns also, if | porch is of ample dimensions, sa ; Chi Inter Ocean. Hanging pots fill- | ed with ferns or vines, are very prac- ! tical, as they do not crowd the place and : get in the way like plants that are stand- | out avout e rocking chair, without which no ! well regulated porch was i | quite respectable, has | broad comfortable ! splint, Singing settees, the Gloucester hammock, that is quite large enough to be used as a bed, if necessary. "there are various adaptations of the | Padded covers of denim or cretonne will transform the most uncompromis- { ingly hard steamer chair into a thing of | solid comfort for the porch. Porch fur- | niture is of necessity moved about so ‘much that it is important that it be light _ in weight and , handled. Willow furniture is therefore morc generally popular. Chairs are made in all varieties and sizes, with settees, swing- | ing seats, tea tables, work tables, book ‘and magazine tables, flower stands, tabourets and baskets, and the general scheme of furnishing is limited only by designs of the cretonne and the | colors of the stains available for the fur- | niture. For the restful outdoor living room greens and or willow in natural color, are preferable to the willow fur- a toniave of e e prefer urniture o wood instead of willow, and there are complete sets that are light in weight . and attractive in a nce. A stationary porch seat built against the wall and fitted with a tufted cush- ion or with pillows is a serviceable ad- li Lo of plan! Sx Next to the question of seats in the ‘furnishing of the outdoor room comes the question of tables. At leastone table that can be used for both work and play should be provided. If it is of good size and fitted with a lower shelf it may be i used for books, afternoon teas, card play- | ing and for even an occasional outdoor | breakfast or luncheon. | For the larger piazza, there are tables i ed for every use, including the tea | wagon and the new table that is made lin two | Each of these parts is triangular in shape, making a convenient little table | that fits into a corner, but when placed | together makes a square table of good | size. No porch is really furnished with- | out rugs and screens or awnings. The rugs are made especially alluring each successive year. grass rugs ev : one is familiar with; then there are the ! Tugs of Algerian fiber. i Kor es of mountain camps and of : summer homes where there is practical- 'ly no hot weather the Navajo blanket | makes a charming floor covering. In the way of protection from the sun las well as the neighbors and passers- 'by, awnings are perferable to vines, | which are sometimes used for this Joe ‘pose. Vines must be grown so | that they necessarily keep out a great deal of light and air. For porches where awnings are not a , the sun screens of flexible fiber are most satisfactory. | In the June Woman's Home Com- panion several contributors tell how they took their vaca and attractively. Many are made. Following is an account of a and when they would dispose of them ! school rooms comfortably furnished with enough beds, tables, chairs, rockers, a couch, oil stove, some tensils, | $45.00 “Thus making it $5 a week per girl for 9 weeks.” o —- LN
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers