Demon fica
Bellefonte, Pa., October 9, 1914.
THE THREE BEST THINGS.
WORK-
Let me but do my work from day to day;
In field or forest, at the desk or loom;
In roaring market-place or tranquil room,
Let me but find it in my heart to say;
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray:
“This is my work; my blessing, not my doom:
Of all who live, I am the one by whom
This work can best be done, in the right way.”
Then shall I seeit, not too great, nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the laboring hours.
And cheerful turnwhen the long shadows fall
At eventide to play and love and rest.
Because I know for me my work is best,
LIFE.
Let me but live my life from year to year,
With forward face and unreluctant soul
Not hastening to, nor turning from the goal;
Not mourning for the things that disappear
“In the dim past, nor holding back in fear
From what the future veils, but with a whole
And happy heart, that pays its toll
To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer:
So let the way wind up or down,
Through rough or'smooth, the journey will be
joy:
Still seeking what I sought when but a boy,
New friendship, high adventure, and a crown
1 shall grow old, but never lose life’s zest,
Because the road’s last turn will be the best.
LOVE.
Let me but love my love without disguise,
Nor wear a mask of fashion old or new,
Nor wait to speak till I can hear a clue,
Nor play a part to shine in other’s eyes,
Nor bow my knees to what my heart denies;
But what I am, to that let me be true,
And let me worship where my love is due,
And so through love and worship let me rise.
For love is but the heart’s immortal thirst
To be completely known and all forgiven,
Even as sinful souls that come to heaven;
So take] me, love and understand my worst,
And pardon it, or lave, because confessed,
And let me find in thee, my love my best.
—Henry Van Dyke, in Outlook.
“ALL'S FAIR—"
’Cension Larios, long revered as an
oracle among the Gonzales servants,
limped up to the big house, after her
midday siesta. It was a very unusual
thing for the lazy old wonan to do. She
resolutely deserted the cool river bank,
the chattering group of her fellow ser-
vants, the guitars, the cigarettes, the
gossip; hobbled past the inviting kitchen
door, past the shade of the pepper trees,
and through the shriveled, dusty garden.
It was a burning mid-afternoon in July,
and the old woman muttered mild Span-
ish curses as she went along, on the
weather, on the lizards that slipped in-
dolently from the pathway, on the gnats
that spun in maddening spirals in the.
sunniest places. The perspiration
streamed down her lined, brown face,
and she wiped it away with a skinny,
brown old hand. Californina, eighty
summers ago, was a giant hothouse
from inland mountain ridges to white
beaches, and Jose Gonzales’s rancho lay
in one of the warmest and sleepiest of
all the western vaileys.
There was a north terrace in the gar-
den, a foot or two lower than the senori-
ta’s wide, mud-floored piazza, where in !
Pp
a tangle of roses and nasturtiums, stood
three or four old iron chairs. Their in-
tricate patterns, wrought in Spain de-
cades before, were eaten and disfigured
with rust, their supports had long ago
probed into the soft earth, and vines
had twisted themselves tight about
them.
Perhaps only once or twice a year
were these chairs used. Diego, cramped
from weeding, might rest his old bones
there now and then, or the senorita drop
into one when she was breathless with
chasing her monkey, ’Tito, about the
garden; but otherwise they were baked
and drenched unnoticed, all the long
seasons through.
"Cension now sank into one gratefully,
suppressing a groan of relief. ' She made
no more noise than a cat would make,
and the senora, fanning herself on the
piazza five feet away, did not even turn
her eyes toward the terrace. A lattice
of heavy grape leaves, the dusty black
fruit hanging in heavy clusters here and
there, made an effective shield for the
eavesdropper, while allowing her a fair
view of whatever went on on the porch.
The senora’s fan never ceased.
“Dios!” said 'Cension, settling herself
contentedly for a vigil, “now one should
see a good fight! Wait until the senorita
comes out, and finds that Senora Ysobel
lied to her when she said that she would
ride this afternoon—and is sitting here
on the porch instead, like acommon spy!
The poor senorita!” she went on with a
chuckle of relish, “they watch her and
deceive her and follow her as if she
were a child!”
She wiped her face and throat with a
worn old crimson handkerchief.
“Todos santos!” pursued the old wom-
an piously, “if they would but go for
each other once, like cats! How I
should love to tell Carlotta and Maria
and Ynezita about it.”
After all, why shouldn’t they have an
out-and-out,op2n battle at last,the senora
and Senorita Refugio? Every servant on
the rancho knew that they hated each :
other as a salmon hates Holy Week. The
senora, for all her air of owning the
place, was a newcomer, had been at Casa
Gonzales less than two years and, what-
ever you chose to call her,—duenna,
companion, housekeeper,—was no more
than a guard placed by Senor Gonzales
over his only child. As for the senorita,
though she still looked and acted like the
sweet, bewildered child who had come
home from the convent school two years
before, hadn't she the hot blood of the
Valencias in her veins, and couldn't she
fight for her lover like any other girl?
A hot hour dreamed by. The senora,
unconscious of the sharp old eyes so near
her, half-dozed in her chair. She was a
beautiful woman, Ysobel Lopez, famous
for it from Mendocino Valley to San
Diego’s bay, with an incredibly dramatic
history packed into her thirty years.
Since her wid whood she had loitered at
her pleasure up and down the sunny
length of the state, as welcome at every
rancho as were the sharp red peppers
that added zest to the everyday onions
and beef. Now she lent her joyous in-
terest and her clever hands to a big
country wedding; now presided over
some crowded resort in bull-fight week;
now drifted in to console and amuse the
household that death had robbed, to
dance the next week, light-heartedly, at
the Fiesta.
This new responsibility of duennaship
she carried with easy dignity. She filled
her position in the household with irre-
proachable gravity, watehing the ex-
penses, chiding the servants, humoring
the unreasonable master. Her attitude
toward Refugio was invariably sweet,
patient, considerate, almost motherly—
but the girl had lately turned against
her, and made no secret of her cordial
detestation. Even before the servants
the senorita’s childish anger and her
duenna’s cool scorn were sometimes, of
i late, displayed. 2
Perhaps, said the council below stairs,
this was because the senora had been so
active in the arrangements for Refugio’s
betrothal to Senor Luis Pas, and had
made great eyes so often at the young
man. True, Luis was the senorita’s
cousin, and she hated him—but even
that might not keep her from being
jealous.
jealous, but not of Luis Pas.
liked him too thoroughly. Luis had
formally affianced to her; he would come
ing was done and the grapes were in, and
that it was God’s will.
loved, that, very obviously, was not God's
place, her father, and her duenna, watch-
ing every breath she drew, the girl found
it almost impossible even to write to her
| lover. She could only fret and rebel and
pray, and all of these she did heartily.
Refugio had met Lieutenant Alden
Bowers only a few months before, when
she and her father, on their way to visit
kinspeople at Rancho Santa Barbara, had
stopped for the night at Mission San
chanced to come to the Mission on some
errand. He had lingered for a long time
at the willow-shaded gate with Refugio,
for his own Spanish mother, back in
Boston, had taught him enough of her
lovely tongue to serve him in a case like
this, and to her dying hour the girl never
forgot his boyish, eager voice praising
her beauty, and the exquisite spring
odors of the twilit garden, and the sud-
den throbbing notes of the Angelus
bells. The next morning there was
another talk in the garden, and when
the girl’and her father came back from
Santa Barbara two months later, the
young people had three or four more
glimpses of each other. It was enough.
After that, despite the senora’s watch-
ing, letters went to and fro now and
then; were carried by the little vessel
that came and went irregularly between
Sausalito and Mission San Francisco.
Sausalito was a score of miles from
Rancho Gonzales, but somehow, occa-
sionally, Refugio managed to send or
receive the precious lines.
Meantime, the young officer wrote to
his sweet-heart’s father like a man, and
the senor, smiling grimly, lighted his
cigarro with the letter, conferred with
Senora Ysobel, whose judgment in such
matters he trusted absolutely, and lock-
ed Refugio up in her room for three days
to think the matter over. At this treat-
ment the girl's rebellious weeping had
filled the house, and maid-servants, com-
ing and going in the halls, crossed them-
selves when they heard it.
hold’s sympathy was with the senor. A
good many of the notions that the senor-
ita had brought back with her from
i school were not approved by the Gon-
zales servants. Why shouldn’t she mar-
she didn’t love him now—well, she
would love him well enough when a son
come. It would be a thousand, thousand
pities to give up the wedding now, when
everyone's mouth was watering for the
barbecue, and everyone's feet tingling
for the dancing.
Refugio’s American lover, in a week or
two, hearing nothing of his note, follow-
ed it in person. He crossed from the
! Presidio to Sausalito, and after spending
| a night at the little inn there rode to the
t rancho. Sausalito is a favorite place for
summer homes now, but this was eighty
years ago, and the riding lieutenant saw
| nothing living on his journey but the
| senor’s grazing sheep and the ducks that
i rose in the marshes.
i He reached the ranch at sundown,
i dusty, dry, his boots powdered with gold
{ from the mustard-tops he had been rid-
| ing through, a spray of late wild lilac
| stuck in his cap. The senor gave him
| but a dozen civil words, offered him per-
| force, a dinner and a bed (Bowers was
| conscious that both were guarded), and
( sent him back to Sausalito the next day,
; doubly escorted. Of Refugio he saw not so
: much as a flying ribbon, heard not so
i much as the rustle of her starched white
| frock; and the girl paid for his daring
| Hungry, lonely, despairing, she finally
| sobbed out her repentance, and was
| freed by the severe yet regretful senora
| on the fourth morning.
| This was but three or four days be-
| fore the afternoon when ’Cension’s long
{ wait was finally rewarded by the seno-
‘ rita’s appearance on the porch where
| Ysobel was sitting. The girl, who was
' the most perfect type of all her race’s
{ many bealitifui types, had evidently been
. crying over the writing of her letter. Her
long black braids were tumbled, her:
great soft eyes as pitiful as a suffering
child’s, and the satiny red of her soft
little cheeks was stained and marked
' with tears. She stood in the dark door-
‘ way for a moment, blinking then changed
whatever she had come out to say tq a
i sharp:
“Did you know that ’Cension was right
there on the terrace, Ysobel?”
"Cension, unwilling to credit her ears,
| started up with a look of the most horrid
4 surprise. The duenna was cool.
“Is she?” She shot a lazy glance over
| her shoulder. “Evidently what you had
: come out to say was of a private nature,
senorita?”
Her railing tone made it an insult.
Refugio reddened.
“I was surprised to find that you had
changed your mind about riding, senora,”
she said coldly.
“Changed my mind about giving you a
chance to write your lover a long letter,
you mean,” said the senora composedly.
“No. Don’t go, 'Cension. I want you
presently to take a message to Teresita.
Sit on the steps here, will you?” she
added, as the oid woman stood, rather at
a loss. “I am sure,” went on Ysobel,
“that the senorita will not mind your
waiting while she tears that letter ‘into
pieces. She has made no secret of her
love, and why should I? She would find
fault with me for watching her, but what
else can one do when a girl flies in the
face of duty—eh, ’Cension?”
It was in Refugio’s temperament to be :
She dis-
come all the way from San ’Dino to be’
again in a few months, when the shear- '
there would be a big wedding. Refugio
supposed, with a philosophical shrug,
As for marriage with the man she'
will. And with all the servants on the '
Francisco. There was a little group of |
American officers at the Presidio nearby, :
and one of them, young Bowers, had
On the whole, however, the house- |
ry her cousin—like a sensible girl? If | on
| by another three days of confinement.
An uncomfortable, not to say dynamic |
silence ensued. ’'Cension heartily wish-
ed herself back in her own - little abode. |
Refugio stood silent, biting her red lips, |
breathing hard. Ysobel fanned herseif. |
“Come, ‘Gio mia!” said the duenna
finally, her tone everything that was
amused, indulgent, “tear it up! You!
don’t want me to ge give it to your fath- :
er? Youdo? Shall I send ’Cension to:
wake him? No? Then tear it up!”
Refugio’s smoldering eyes did not move
from Ysobel’s, but she began slowly to
tear the written letter.
“I hate you,” she said heavily, deliber-
ately. “You will see, you will all see!”
When the particles were infinitesimal
she scattered them slowly into the cactus
and geranium bushes on the terrace. Her
breast rose stormily.
“You think you have won, senora,” |
said Refugio Gonzales, rapidly, “but that’s
for now—today! Listen to me; I will |
marry him in spite of all of you! I will
run away!”
“Nonsense!” said the senora coolly,
when she stopped for breath. “Where
| could you run to? To Sausalito? Yes,
; perhaps to find that the boat would not
go for three days, and be brought home
by your father, like a child!” She shut
her fan and pointed lazily over her
shoulder with it. “East of us is the bay,”
she reminded the furious girl, “west. the
, ocean, and north are vour Lucas cousins,
who are not apt to cross your father by
: lending you any assistance. No, no, Re-
fugita mia! Here you will stay, and in
| two months—three,”—she shrugged her
; shoulders comfortably,—“you will have
| forgotten this nonsense, and we will
| have the wedding.”
! Refugio did not answer, and after
| eying her in great good humor for a few
moments Ysobel turned to the waiting
, "Cension.
“You need not mention to the others
any of this,” she said quietly. “You can
go now. Be sure to tell someone to put
some melons in the stream before din-
ner—that’s what I wanted to say!”
“Yes, senora,” answered the old wom-
an as she started away. Ysobel, watch-
ing her, laughed softly. :
“Wouldn’t you like to hear the story
she will make of that!” said she.
’Cension, indeed, made the most of it.
True, there was nothing very new in it;
the senorita and her duenna had quar-
reled often enough before, but it was
something to talk about, at all events.
The gossip of the household, however,
was diverted to a new channel when, an
hour before sundown, as the two ladies
of the household were finishing their
meal, Tony Lucas rode into the yard.
The cousins from the neighboring rancho
rarely found time for a visit in this busy
season, and almost every servant on the
place managed to be within hearing when
he gave his reasons for coming.
He had come for Ysobel. Dolores’s
little son was but a day old. Maria was
too young, and the mother was too old
to take command of the crowded house-
hold; the shearers and pickers arrived
in a day or two; in short, a woman was
wanted. Ysobel, serving him hospitably
to the hot meats and the chilled wine,
the sour damp bread, the pears and
melons, was all charming sympathy and
concern. When he rode away an hour
later he had her promise of help; she
would follow him in the early morning,
only waiting to see the senor and pre-
pare for her visit.
And then the senor got home late for
his supper, and with a face as black—
“Ah, as black as Lursa’s petticoat there,”
said Teresita, who waited on the table
and who brought her version of his re-
turn down to the servants’ quarters later
“He rode to Sausalito and back, today,
the senor,” said Teresita, her fat face
aglow with the true joy of the tale-teller,
“and’ whether the poor senorita’s saint
was asleep or not I don’t know, but the
steamer was in, and a letter from her!
lover on it.”
The listeners gasped—enchanted, hor-
rified.
“Razon de ’Sus I” ejaculated Carlotta, a
pretty slip of a mischief-maker, with a
lover of her own. “Did he lock her up
again?”
Teresita nodded. “Ah—and the cry-
ing!” she said, chuckling. systematically.
“Go up to the corn patch under the se-
norita’s window and you'll hear her.
She showed ight, I promise you! She
was as wild as a hill cat! She stamped
and screamed, and she swore that she
would starve in her room before she
promised to obey her father this time.”
Teresita shrugged enormous shoulders.
“The senora spoke up and warned her,”
she went on. “Refugio.” says the senora,
‘be careful! If vour father says he will
lock you up until you promise to obey
him he is not the man to give in! It
was three days before,” said the senora.
‘This time it may be four or five—’ And
the senor looked up from the floor, and
said: ‘Yes, or eight or nine!’ ”
“Ah-h-h!” - breathed the listeners, |
aghast, and ‘Cension, cool and comfort-
able in a starched calico and crackling
‘apron, added a prophetic, “They are well-
matched, those two! She will let him
kill her!”
“He took her by the waist—so” said
the gratified Teresita, “and they all went
upstairs. I filled her water-jar, and he
had Manuelita bring another; they will
both be empty before she gives in, I
promise you that!”
The night was hot and bright and |
broken by all kinds of restless noises;
stamping and whinnying in the coral,
premature calling of cocks, the wail of a
cat in the tomato patch. Now and then,
to all the other noises, were added the
low, rebellious sobbing of the imprisoned
senorita. Just before dawn, at the cool-
est hour, the senor started on her three-
hours’ ride to the Lucas rancho. She
came down to the cabins for parting in-
structions to this maid or that, called a
farewell through the sleeping senor’s
door, and another at Refugio’s, climbed
on the restless black mare that Carlos
sleepily saddled for her, and was gone
before the hot day was fairly begun.
When the senor came down stairs,
three hours later, in his ugliest mood, his
lonely breakfast was a time of terror for
the household. He warned the maids
that if the senorita played him any
tricks in her duenna’s absence his anger
would fall equally on them all, and so
effective were his knitted brows and gut-
tural growl that a rigorous watch was
actually kept outside the senorita’s door,
and to none of her incoherent requests
did anyone dare venture more than a
pitiful. “For God’s sake keep the fourth
commandment, senorita!” i
Meantime, one or other of the men
servants was constantly detailed to watch
the senorita’s window from the the gar-
den. An atmosphere of tense excite-
ment pervaded the household.
| unsteadily.
Two days went by, three. . The fourth
was half gone when the senor again went
up to the girl's corridor. Would she give
up her lover now, and marry her cousin?
“No, no, no!” sobbed the defiant voice
within. And such maids as saw the
senor’s face when he came down-stairs
were afraid of him. This was at noon.
It was after five o'clock the same day
when Tony Lucas rode again into the |
dooryard. The senor was still sitting on :
the low piazza, as he had sat for five
hours, scowling, muttering, and Marga-
| rita, out in the kitchen, was still heating
and cooling and reheating the unwanted
dinner, with appropriate prayers and
rages.
The cousins exchanged ceremonious
greetings, and Tony had a long draft of
water and was seated, before he said:
“We have been looking for Senora
Ysobel at the rancho, Jose?”
The senor was again his bored, polite
self. “She left us on Friday. You have
not been home, I take it?”
Tony’s honest face was perplexed. He
paused over his unlighted cigarette. “I
am just from home. She had not come.”
They stared at each other.
“But—grandson of Saint Anne! Ysobel
left the day after you came!” stammer-
ed the a nazed senor. “What can have
come to her! Here, Teresita!” he shout-
ed. “The senora is lost! Which of
you saw her on Friday?”
Teresita was all intelligent recollec-
tion. “She came down to talk to Marga-
rita, and to Carlota, and she told Manue-
lita about the altar candles,” she said
rapidly, ‘and Carlos saddled Bino for
her!”
“Bring Carlos here!” ordered the mas-
ter. and Carlos duly.came running, well
attended. Carlos knew nothing; he had
been wakened up before dawn, he had
saddled, and he had seen the senora ride"
away in her black shawl and wide hat.
Panic rose and spread. The poor senora
had been flung fron 'Bino and killed, the
dirty, murderous beast, the poor senora
had been shot by a highwayman for her
rings, the poor senora had fallen in the
cruel Little Big River and drowned —-God
rest her!
In the midst of the hubbub the senora
herseif walked quietly down the stair-
way, and onto the porch. Jose Gonzales
sprang up with an oath; Tony laughed;
there was a chorus of ejaculations,
screams. and titters from the assembled
servants.
“Where—in God’s name—did you come
from?” said the senor.
Ysobel smiled, watching him tensely.
She was very pale.
“From Refugio’s room,” she said
breathlessly, “I've been there four days.
I've been there since I let her out on Fri-
day morning, and she took my hat and
shawl! and rode away on ’Bino!”
There was dead silence. Ysobel shrug-
ged her shoulders, laughed.
“Glare at me if you like, Jose,” said
the senora coolly, “you can’t get her
back. Unless all the devils are against
us, she was in Sausalito Friday morning,
and the boat must have gone since?
Why,” her tone dropped to an appeal,
“she wanted nothing but the man she
loved, Jose—didn’t I want that? Didn’t
you?—at eighteen?” :
Still silence. The senora shot a glance
at the astounded servants. “I planned
this weeks ago,” said she, “and we man- i
aged that every servant on the place
should know how we hated each other.
Then we had only to wait the chance.
Ab, it’s foolish work, Jose, keeping a girl
from her lover!”
The senor stirred. “And you have
been making a fool of me,” he asked
harshly, “for all these months?”
“I love her as if she were my own,”
said the senora simply. “And some day
she will come back and bring some yellow
heads among all these black ones—yes— |
and then you’ll love her again, too!” She
j turned, superb, flushed with feeling, the
tears in her magnificent eyes, to Tony.
“You will be riding back today,” she said
“I will go with you. Poor
Dolores! I must make my peace.”
Senor Gonzales looked at her quickly. |
And his sudden deep breath and dis-
missing shrug turned the tragedy into '
He shook his head
comedy all at once.
with a disapproving, admiring, reluctant
laugh.
“Not so fast!” he protested, raising a
fine white hand. “No son of my moth-
er’s shall take shame that he is beaten
by a woman! Wait for supper, you two.
Tell them to hurry it, senora. We must
drink to the bride and groom!”—By
Kathleen Norris.
Poorly Packed Wool a Loss to Growers
American wool growers could add as
much as three centsa pound to the value
of their product, if they were sent to
market graded and put up as attractive-
ly as are Australian wools, according to
estimates of experts of the Department
of Agriculture. It is admitted by the
growers themselves and by dealers and
manufacturers, says a department state-
ment that the American system of grad-
ing and putting up wool is very bad.
FROM INDIA.
By One on Medical Duty in that ¥ar Eastern
Country. A Good Shower Dispels the Heat.
The Native's Faith in Patent Medicine Works
Sad Havoc Among Children.
Dear Home Folk:
Thank gnodness, our roof is once more
whole, for after days and days of most
disappointing black clouds, tonight’ it
stopped fooling and having gotten us all
safely in church, proceeded to show us
how puny we were, for rain; it came
down in torrents until you felt glad that
the church was stone and therefore could
not be washed away. Ii kept it up for
an hour and when it was time to go
home (I had gone on my wheel) riding
was just like plowing through mud holes
and where it wasn’t mud it was pure |
pools of water and I simply had to splash |
It was great fun, but I had on ,
along.
my good clothes, and I am sure they are
not any better for the experience and I
know I was a most drippy object when I!
finally reached my own door. We need
it so badly that I won’t even look for
mud or splashed spots tonight, and it
certainly has cooled the air down nicely
and we wil sleep well tonight.
You perhaps notice that I speak of the
sleeping. Now don’t think we are any
more lazy out here than I was at home,
but so many nights are warm and
steamy and with the mosquito netting,
which is always used, one sometimes
spends the best part of the time you are
in bed trying to find a cool spot to put
your head and you are apt to get out in
the morning rather snappy and Cross, so
you are most thankful to have a nice,
. cool, sleepy night. :
Coming up the road as I write is evi-
dently a snake charmer; his reed whistle
is sounding clear in this evening air—
not a tune that I know, but he can truly
play, for it is a very pleasant sound. He
' no doubt will have a basket slung from
a pole; they all do, and if it were day-
time he would most likely come in and
offer to show us his snakes. Curiously
enough I have not seen this particular
form of entertainment and don’t know
that I will try to see one before I leave.
When I first thought of coming here that
was one of the things I was sure going
to see, but a closer acquaintance with
the cobra don’t make me desire to see
him dance, and each day I am thankful
I haven’t had to take up arms against
‘ one of their lordships.
is that our operating-room must have a
new dress, and the scaffolding that those
coolies are using makes me grin. It is
. three in number, who use it, are not as
heavy as I am myself, and you can real-
ize how much time it takes off of your
day when they all three work three en-
tire days, first to get it ready, then spend
much time in moving it and finally, don’t
appear to go to work before nine o’clock.
ready for me?
| fusing all operations, since there is no
| clean place in which to carry them on.
The boxes from America arrived this
week and I am going to whisper a little
thing to you. It is this: Please don’t
£0 to a church sale and buy a lot of im-
possible things and then put them in a
!
:
i ents there. Most of the contents of
| these boxes were very useful and very
! nice. but I make reference to a few little
| personal things that were sent to the
| three of us by some good-hearted woman. |
| Oh yes, another interesting story about
‘ patent medicine. Last Sunday I was
‘called to see a sick baby and before
' going, when I asked how old the child
{ was, I was told three days, and it was
| having incessant motions and they “im- |
So giv-
plored me to come and aid it.”
| ing the nurse instructions as to what to
| get ready, off we started. The day was
{ simply what we would call an ideal June
[day in America, and I didn’t want to
i
i work, nor drive through a narrow street-
JHANSI, AugusT 27th, 1913.
The interesting thing to me just now |
big enough to hold ten men and yet they .
have spliced it to add safety. The men,
Can you imagine when the room will be ;
I surely can’t, so am re-
box to go to China or Greenland. They |
' will be just as impossible to the recipi-
.what happened to the baby about four
hours later. 1 forgot the day and the
dirt, and truly tried to make that child
live, and was sorry that I had to £0 away
and leave it. But driving back through
the swarming city streets, with its myr-
iads of children everywhere, I decided
: perhaps nature did well to remove a few
or the earth would surely soon be over-
run with these brown people. I later
learned that this English preparation had
i been given to this father for himself and
thinking what was good for him would
be good for the baby, had accordingly
: dosed the “offspring.”
Patent medicines hold high carnival
i out here; I have seen as many American
kinds as one would find in an ordinary
drug store at home, and that in any
small shop where they carry groceries,
so that they are bought without any re-
strictions or instructions as to their use,
and swallowed; and later the dispensa-
' ries have to undo the trouble which they
“have caused.
Ever since studying medicine I have
wondered where humans ever learned to
have such confidence ijn drugs, and
thought it belonged peculiarly to a cer-
tain class of non-thinkers at home, but
out here, away from the daily newspaper,
I find just as much, if not greater faith,
in a little bitter tasting mixture, than in
all the good food, air and sunshine God
ever gave to us. Now it isn’t advertise-
ments for, as I say, most poor natives
can’t read and there are but few daily.
papers, and they are too poor to afford
them anyway. I think it must just be
born in us; don’t you?
It is nearly twelve o'clock and I have
been riding about in the two-wheeled,
backward-going native cart so long to-
‘day, I almost feel that you should start
to read this letter from this end and go
the other way. Out-calls seem to come
in fits and starts and I must say I hate
them all; especially when they bring a
poor, wiggly old cart, with a decrepit,
half-fed horse, and it takes me two hours
to go the little distance that one general-
ly has to travel—for we live at the gates
of the city. But like most things, one
puts their likes in their pocket and does
the work anyway.
But I am off to bed; know I'll get in
backward and perhaps put my feet on
the pillow, but also know neither will
matter, as I am too sleepy to mind.
(Continued next week.)
Wants to Break Down Egg Prices.
Philadelphia, Sept: 30.—Eggs at from
twenty to twenty-five per cent. lower
than they can be purchased at the pres-
ent time was the promise made yester-
day by W. J. Henry, of 1800 Ridge avenue,
who said he would sell eggs at twenty-
eight cents a dozen in twenty retail
stores in this city, beginning this morn-
ing. Although eggs will be the first
commodity to be reduced in price, Mr.
Henry said butter and eggs would be
lowered at once and he would be able to
sell meat at a large reduction at least
twice a week. The prices will be in ef-
fect at the twenty stores in the city,
known as the Rinck Markets through
which he will distribute.
“The cold storage houses of the coun-
try are swamped with eggs,” Mr. Henry
said. “They have been accumulating
ieggs in a hope that the European war
would create a demand for those held in
this country. There are now more than
3,000,000 cases of eggs stored in the
United States and this quantity will be
increased by 300,000 cases the next thirty
; days. There are thirty dozen in a case.
“When I say 3,000,000 cases in storage
I do not include those held by the pack-
cers, who have an equal if not greater
i quantity. These eggs were placed in
' storage at 19 7-8 cents, I quote the Chi-
‘cago price. You have to add one cent
for storage charges and add 11-8 cents a
| dozen freight to Philadelphia.
“In this city the chain stores absolute-
ly control the retail price and make it
impossible for any merchant to cut the
price to the consumer. At 28 cents I
believe many people who can not now
afford to eat eggs will buy them again.
At the present time there are 250,000
cases stored in this city.
“Beginning ' tomorrow I will be pre-
pared to sell anyone a dozen, a case or a
carload of eggs, strictly fresh, and will
lower the price later, if possible. This
i sale will last one month and every egg
| sold will weigh more than those now
| being sold at the prevailing retail price.
! “Those who have eggs in storage and
Three cents a pound on wool selling at ed city with the smelly alley-ways and realize that the European war is not
from fifteen to thirty cents a pound, it is
pointed out, is a very high percentage of
loss which should be prevented by grow-
ers.
The Bureau of animal industry has '
prepared a collection of American and
Australian wools for use in educational
work in this direction and the depart-
i ment holds out hope that within the next
decade sheep raisers will be able to add
ten per cent. or more to their returns '
through improved business practices.
re ———
—If you always want to have the
best take the WATCHMAN and you'll
have it.
It has been remarked that when rain
| its bumpy roads; and the Indian bazaar,
{ which can nearly always keep me as in-
terested as a circus does a small child at
home, this day disgusted me, and I longed
for a flying machine. But we had arriv-
ed and after a parley of perhaps ten
' minutes, I was shown up a narrow, wind-
ing stairway onto the regulation narrow
upper veranda, which, in this instance,
| looked down onto a junk-heap and gar-
' bage pile as well and I thought of the
| “swat-the-fly teaching in America”; then,
, into an almost entirely dark room where
| seated on the mud floor was a woman
‘with a tiny ‘baby—naked—its face as
going to create any demand here, have
agreed to hold their stock until early
| fall or winter, when they say they will
: be able to dispose of them after the first
storms, when hens usually stop laying.
i Even now the supply of fresh eggs com-
1 ing to market daily is greater than it has
been in many years.”
! Mr. Henry said if eggs were sold at a
‘ reasonable price today it would mean a
| healthy, active market in the future, but
| that to continue to store them would
{mean only a greater reduction when the
| present prices were cut. Pounding the
» prices down now, he said, was the only
| way to “get out from cover.”
i Concerning the present prices of meat,
: poultry and butter, he said the situation
was the same as with eggs, and declared
falls in the desert it at once begins to de- black as your shoes and its body as yel- | he would lower the prices of these food-
velop verdure and beauty. These arid
stretches of sand contain in themselves
the elements of beauty, only needing the
proper conditions to reveal all that lies
hidden 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
| low as gold; such a queer looking infant
I had never seen. It was nice and quiet
| and apparently sound asleep, but the
woman held it out to me saying, “It is
| sick.” Upon examination I found that
its bowels were about normal; then why
| stuffs.—Philadelphia Press.
1
| Good looks are coveted by every wom-
'an. There is hardly any sacrifice which
a true woman will not make to protect
| her complexion from the rude assaults
‘of time. But good looks are absolutely
incompatible with a diseased condition
along in suffering and sickness, not real- Such a queer color? I next examined its, of the delicate womanly organs. Hollow
izing that the fair flower of health would | heart, which was quite right; but I also | €yes, a sallow complexion and a wrin-
spring up in this barren life of theirs !
under right conditions. What rain is to
the desert Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical
: noticed how very slowly it was breath-
| ing. After vainly trying to make it cry, .
| kled skin, quickly mark the woman
| whose functions are irregular, or who is
a sufferer from “female weakness.” Dr.
Discovery is to the body. It vitalizes and | OF in some way breathe more rapidly, I| Pierce’s Favorite Prescription has been
vivifies. It takes the germs of health | asked, “what have you given this child?” ' taken by many a woman simply in hope
and makes them fruitful. It pushes out
‘the blood taints and foul diseases which
mar and maim the body and in place
gives an increased flow of pure blood,
which nourishes and builds up the body
in all its parts and organs. The blood is
the life. The. “Discovery” makes new
life by making new blood. :
——For high class Job Work come to
the WATCHMAN Office.
SE
| I was told “nothing;” but I said “non-
: sense, now tell me, have you given it no
medicine?” They said, “only Chlora-
dyne—we gave it three drops every hour
| for two or three times;” in all, about
| nine drops in four or five hours. As this
is very powerful and the dose is only ten
drops for an adult, and generally used in
| dysentery or cholera, need I tell you
| of a cure of prostrating diseases, who, to
her astonishment has found the roses
| blooming anew on her cheeks as the re-
. sult of the relief of her diseased condi-
tion. “Favorite Prescription” makes
woman healthy, and health is Nature's
own cosmetic.
——The bass fishing season down Bald
Eagle was not a very successful one this
| year.