i
Deora; atcha
Bellefonte, Pa., November 17, 1916
mmm—
“TALKING IN THEIR SLEEP.”
“You think I'm dead,”
The apple tree said,
“Because I have never a leaf to show,
Because I stoop,
And my branches droop,
And the dull, gray mosses over me grow;
But I’m alive in trunk and shoot.
The buds of next May
I fold away,
But I pity the withered grass at my root.”
You think I am dead,”
The quick grass said,
“Because I have parted with stem and blade;
But under the ground
I’m safe and sound,
With the snow’s thick blanket over me laid.
I’m all alive and ready to shoot,
Should the spring of the year
Come dancing here.
But I pity the flower without branch or root.”
“You think I'm dead,”
A soft voice said,
“Because not a branch or root I own.
I never have died,
But close I hide
In a plump seed that the wind, has sown.
Patient I wait through the long winter hours.
You will see me again;
1 shall laugh at you then
Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers.”
—Selected.
THE BALKING OF CHRISTOPHER.
(Concluded from last week.)
“Well, to go back to that girl. She
is married and don’t live here, and
you ain’t like ever to'see her, but she
was a beauty and something more. I
don’t suppose she ever looked twice
at me, but losing what you’ve never
had sometimes is worse than losing
everything you've got. When she got
married I guess I knew a little about
what the martyrs went through.
“Just after that George’s widow got
married again, and went away to live.
It took a burden off the rest of us, but
I had got attached to the children. The
little girl, Ellen, seemed most like my
own. Then poor Myrtle came here to
live. She did dressmaking and board-
ed with our folks, and I begun to zee
that she was one of the nervous sort
of women who are pretty bad off
alone in the world, and I told her
about the other girl, and she said she
didn’t mind, and we got married. By
that time mother’s brother John—he
had never got marriec—died and left
her a little money, so she and my sis- |
ter Abby could screw along. . They
bought the little house they live in
and left the farm, for Abby was
always hard to get along with, though
she is a good woman. Mother, though
she is a smart woman, is one of the
sort who don’t feel called upon to in-
terfere much with men-folks. I guess
she didn’t interfere any too much for
my good, or father’s, either. #ather
was a set man. I guess if mother had
been a little harsh with me I might
not have asked that awful ‘why?’ I
guess I might have taken my bitter
pills and held my tongue, but I won’t
blame myself on peor mother.
“Myrtle and I get on well enough.
She seems contented—she has never
said a wor¢ to make me think she
wasn’t. She isn’t one of the kind of
women who want much besides .lecent
treatment and a home. Myrtle is a
good woman. Iam sorry for her that
she got married to me, for she deserv- |
ed somebody who could make her a
better husband. All the time, every
waking minute, I’ve been growing
more and more rebellious.
“You see, Mr. Wheaton, never in
this world have I had what I wanted,
and more than wanted—needed, and |
needed far more than happiness. I
have never been able to think of work
as anything but a way to get money,
and it wasn’t right, not for a man
like me, with the feelings I was born
with. And everything has gone wrong
even about the work for the money. I
have been hampered and hindered, I
don’t know whether bv Providence or
the Evil One. I have saved just six
hundred and forty dollars, and I have
only paid the interest on the mort-
gage. I knew I ought to have a little
ahead in case Myrtle or I got sick, so
I haven’t tried to pay the mortgage,
but put a few dollars at a time in the
savings-bank, which will come in han-
dy now.”
The minister regarded him uneasi-
ly. “What,” he asked, “do you mean
to do?”
“I mean,” replied Christopher, “to
stop trying to do what I am hindered
in doing, and do just once
what I want to do. Myrtle asked me
this morning if I wasn’t going to plow
the south field. Well, I ain’t going to
plow the south field. I ain’t going to
make a garden. I ain’t going to try
for hay in the ten-acre lot. I have |
stopped. I have worked for nothing
except just enough to keep soul and
body together. I have had bad luck.
But that isn’t the real reason why I
have stopped. Look at here, Mr.
Wheaton, spring is coming. I have
never in my life had a chance at the
spring nor the summer. This year
I'm going tc have the spring and the
summer, and the fall, teo, if I want it.
My apples may fall and rot if they
want to. I am going to get as much
good of the season as they do.”
“What are you going to do?” asked
Stephen.
“Well, I will tell you. I ain’t aman
to make mystery if I am doing right.
and I think I am. You know, I've got
a little shack up on Silver Mountain
in the little sugar orchard I own
there: never got enough sugar to say
so, but I put up the shack one year
when I was fool enough to think I
might get something. Well, I'm
going up there, and I'm going to live
there awhile, and I'm going to sense
the things I have had to hustle by for
the sake of a few dollars and cents.”
“But what will your wife do?”
“She can have the money I've
saved, all except enough to buy me a
few provisions. I shan’t need much. I
want a little corn-meal, and I will
have a few chickens, and there is a
barrel of winter apples left over that
she can’t use, and a few potatoes.
There is a spring right near the shack
and there are trout pools, and by and
by there will be berries, and there’s
plenty of fire-wood, and there's an old
in my life |
bed and a stove and a few things in
| the shack. Now, I'm going to the
! store and buy what I want, and I'm
going to fix it so Myrtle can draw the
i money when she wants it, and then I:
| am going te the shack, and”—Chris- |
' topher’s voice took on a solemn tone—
1 “T will tell you in just a few words
| the gist of what I am going for. I
‘have never in my life had enough of
the bread of life to keep my soul
! nourished. I have tried to do my du-
i ties, but I believe sometimes duties
| act on the soul like weeds on a flower.
| They crowd it out. I am going 1p on
i Silver Mountain to get once, on this
| earth, my fill of the brzad of life.”
Stephen Wheaton gasped.
vour wife, she will be alone, she will
| worry.”
i said Christopher, “and I’ve got my
| bank-book here; I'm
{ some checks that she can get
when she needs money. I want you to
She ain’t the kind. Maybe she will be
a little lonely, bat if she is, she can
| go and visit somewhere.”
| Christopher rose.
have a pen and ink?” said he, “and I
will write those checks.
Myrtle how to use them.
{ know how.”
Stephen Wheaton, an hour later, sat
in his study, the checks in his hand,
| striving to rally his courage. Chris-
| topher had gone; he had seen him
from his window, laden with parcels,
starting upon the ascent of Silver
Mountain. Christopher had made out
many checks for small amounts, and
Stephen held the sheaf in his hand,
| and gradually his courage to arise
and go and tell Christopher’s wife
gained strength. At last he went.
Myrtle was looking out of the win-
dow, and she came quickly to the
door. She looked at him, her round,
| pretty face gone pale, her plump
{ hands twitching at her apron
“What is it 7” she said.
“Nothing to be alarmed about,” re-
plied Stephen.
Then the two entered the house.
Stephen found his task unexpectedly
easy. Myrtle Dodd was an unusual
woman in a usual place.
“It is all right for my husband to
do as he pleases,” she said, with an
odd dignity, as if she were defending
She won’t
im.
“Mr. Dodd is a strange man. He
ought to have been educated and led
a different life,” Stephen said, lame-
ly, for he reflected that the words
might be hard for the woman to hear,
since she seemed obviously quite fit-
ted to her life, and ker life to her.
But Myrtle did not take it hardly,
seemingly rather with pride. “Yes.”
said she, “Christopher ought to have
| gone to college. He had the head for
i it. Instead of that he has just stayed
! round here and dogged round the
farm, and everything has gone wrong
lately. He hasn’t had any luck even
| with that.” Then poor Myrtle Dodd
said an unexpectedly wise thing.
“But maybe,” said Myrtle, “his bad
| luck may turn out the best thing for
| him in the end.”
| Stephen was silent. Then he began
| explaining about the ~hecks.
| “I shan’t use any more of his sav-
| ings than I can help,” said Myrtle,
i and for the first time her vcice qua-
| vered. “He must have some clothes
{up there,” said she. “There ain’t bed-
| coverings, and it is cold nights, late
| as it is in the spring. I wonder how I
can get the bed-clothes and other
| things to him. I can’t drive, myself,
{and I don’t like to hire anybody;
| aside from its being an expense, it
{ would make talk. Mother Dodd and
| Abby won’t make talk outside the
| family, but I suppose it will have to
be known.”
| “Mr. Dodd didr’t want any mystery
{ made over it,” said Stephen Wheaton.
| “There ain’t going to be any myste-
| ry. Christopher has got a right to
i live awhile on Silver Mountain if he
wants to,” replied Myrtle, with her
odd defiant air.
“But I will take the things up there
to him, if you will let me have a horse
and wagon,” said Stephen.
“1 will, and be glad. When will you
go 99”
“To-morrow.”
“P11 have them ready,” said Myrtle.
After the minister had gone she
went into her own bedroom and cried
a little and made the moan of a loving
woman sadly bewildered by the ways
of man, but loyal as a soldier. Then
she dried her tears and began to
pack a load for the wagon.
The next morning early, before the
dew was off the young grass, Stephen
Wheaton started with the wagon-load,
driving the great gray farm-horse up
the side of Silver Mountain. The road
was fairly good, making many winds
in order to avoid step ascents, and
Stephen drove slowly. The gray
farm-horse was sagacious. He knew
that an unaccustomed hand held the
lines; he knew that of a right he
should be treading the plowshares in-
stead of climbing a mountain on a
beautiful spring morning.
But as for the man driving, his face
was radiant, his eyes of young man-
hood lit with the light of morning If
he had owned it, he himself had sorne-
times chafed under the dull necessity
of his life, but here was excitement,
here was exhiliration. He drew the
swaet air into his lungs, and the deep-
er meaning of the spring morning in-
to his soul. Christopher Dodd inter-
ested him to the point of enthusiasm.
Not even the uneasy consideration of
the lonely, mystified woman in Dodd’s
deserted home could deprive him of
admiration for the man’s flight into
the spiritual open. He felt that these
rights of the man were of the highest,
and that other rights, even human
and pitiful ones, shoulc give them the
right of way.
It was not a long drive. When he
reached the shack—merely a one-
roomed hut, with a stove-vipe chim-
ney, two windows, and a door—Chris-
topher stood at the entrance and
seemed to illuminate it. Stephen for
a minute doubted his identity. Chris-
topher had lost middle age in a day’s
time. He had the look of a triumph-
ant youth. Blue smoke was curling
from the chimney. Stephen smelled
bacon frying, and coffee.
Christopher greeted him with the
joyousness of a child. “Lord,” said
he, “did Myrtle send you up with all
those things? Well, she isa good
woman. Guess I would have been cold
“Can you let me |
| just a man.
“But |
ci
A EE EB ESE HB AD
“ ; ‘
last night if I hadn’t been so happy. | of letting you work without any rec- | List of School Teachers in Centre
How is Myrtle?”
“She semed to take it very sensibly
when I told her.”
| ompense.” i
|
“Well, we will settle that,” Stephen
replied. When he drove away, his
Christopher nodded happily and usually calm mind was in a tumult. {
lovingly. “She
would. She can un- |
“Your niece has come,” he told |
County.
Following is a comvlete list of
school teachers in Centre county as
furnished the “Watchman” by county
derstand not understanding, and that ' Christopher, when the two men were | syperintendent David O. Etters, prac-
is more than most women can. it was | breakfasting
together on Silver |
mighty gocd of you to bring the Monutain. i
things. You are in time for break-
fast. Lord, Mr. Wheaton, smell the
trees, and there are blooms hidden
somewhere that smell sweet.
of having the ccmmon food ¢f man
sweetened this way! First time I ful-
ly sensed I was something more than
Lord, I am paid already.
It won’t be so very long before I get
{my fill at this rate, and then 1 can go
back. To think I needn’t plow today!
“T want you to go and tell her,”
going to write |
cashed |
To think all I have to do is to have the
spring! See the light under those
trees!”
Christopher spoke like a man in
! tell her. Myrtle won’t make a fuss. | gestacy. Hp tied the gmy Jorn we
tree and brought a pail of water for
. him from the spring near by.
You can tell |
|
|
Then he said to Stephen:
right in. The bacon’s done, and the
coffee and the corn-cake and the eggs
won’t take a minute.”
The two men entered the shack.
There was nothing there except the
little cooking-stcve, a few kitchen
utensils hung on regs on the walls, an
old table with a few dishes, two chairs
and a lounge over which was spread
an ancient buffalo-skin.
Stephen sat dewn, and Christopher
fried the eggs. Then he bade the
minister draw up, and the two men
breakfasted.
“Ain’t it great, Mr. Wheaton?”
said Christopher.
“You are a famous cook, Mr.
Dodd,” laughed Stephen. He was
thoroughly enjoying himself, and the
breakfast was excellent.
“It ain’t that,” declared Christo-
pher, in his exalted voice. “It ain’
that, voung man. It’s because the
food is blessed.”
Stephen stayed all day on Silver
Mountain. He and Christopher went
fishing, and had fried trout for din-
ner. He took some of the trout home
to Myrtle.
Myrtle received them with a sort of
state which defied the imputation of
sadness. “Did he seem to be cecmfort-
able ?”’ she asked.
“Comfortable, Mrs. Dodd? T be-
lease of life
He is an uncom-
lieve it will mean a new
to your husband.
mon man.”
“Yes, Christopher is uncommon; he
always was,” assented Myrtle.
“You have everything you want?
You were not timid last night alone?”
asked the minister.
“Yes, I was timid. I heard queer
noises,” said Myrtle, “but I shan’t be
alone any more. Christopher’s niece
wrote me she was coming to make a
visit. She has been teaching school,
and she lost her school. I rather guess
Kllen is as uncommon for a gir! as
Christopher is for a man. Anyway,
she’s lost her school, and her brother’s
married, and she don’t want to go
there. Besides, they live in Boston,
and Ellen, she says she can’t bear the
city in spring and summer. She
wrote she’d saved a little, and she’d
“Cceme |
|
|
|
| and Mvitle came down the road to:
pay ner board, but I cha’n’t touch a |
dollar of her little savings, and nei- |
ther would Christopher want me to.
He’s always thought a sight of Ellen,
though he’s never seen much of her.
As for me, I was so glad when her
letter came I didr’t know what to do.
Christopher will be glad. I suppose
you’ll be going up there to see him off
and on.” Myrtle spoke a bit wistfully,
and Stephen did not tell her he had
been arged to come often.
“Yes, off and on,” he replied.
“If you will just let me know when
vou are going, I will see that yor have
something to take {o him—some
bread and pies.”
“He has some chickens there,” said
Stephen.
“Has he got a coop for them ?”
“Yes, he had one rigged up. He
will have plenty of eggs, and he car-
ried up bacon and corn-meal and tea
and coffee.”
“I am glad of that,” said Myrtle.
She spoke with a quiet dignity, but
her face never lost its expression of
bewilderment and resignation.
The next week Stephen Wheaton
carried Myrtle’s bread and pies to
Christopher on his mouvntain-side. He
drove Christopher’s gray horse har-
nessed in his old buggy, and realized
that he himself was getting much
pleasure out of the other man’s
idiosyncrasy. The morning was beau-
tiful, and Stephen carried in his mind
a peculiar new beauty besides. Ellen,
Christopher’s niece, had arrived the
night before, and, early as it was, she
had been astir when he reached the
Dodd house. She had opened the door
for him, and she was a goodly sight:
a tall girl, shaped like a boy, with a
fearless face of great beauty, crown-
ed with compact gold braids and lit by
unswerving blue eyes. Ellen had a
square, determined chin and a brow of
high resolve.
“Good morning,” said she, and as
she spoke she evidently rated Steven
and approved, for she smiled genially.
“I am Mr. Dodd’s niece,” said she.
“You are the minister?”
“Yes.”
“And you have come for the things
aunt is to send him?”
“Yes.”
“Aunt said you were to drive un-
cle’s horse and take the buegy,” said
Ellen. “It is very kind of you. While
vou are harnessing, aunt and I will
pack the basket.”
Stephen, harnessing the gray horse,
had a sense of shock; whether plens-
ant or otherwise, he could not deter-
mine. He had never seen a girl in the
least like Ellen. Girls had never im-
pressed him. She did.
When he drove around to the kitch-
en door, she and Myrtle were both
there, and he drank a cup of coffee be-
fore starting, and Myrtle introduced
him. “Only think, Mr. Wheaton,”
said she, “Ellen says she knows a
great deal about farming and we are
going to hire Jim Mason and go right
ahead.” Myrtle looked adoringly at
Ellen.
Stephen spoke eagerly. “Don’t hire
anybody,” he said. “I used to work
on a farm to pay my way through col-
leg. T need the exercise. Let me
help.”
“You may do that,” said Ellen, “on
shares. Neither aunt nor I can think
“I am glad of that,” said Christo- |
pher. “All that troubled me about be- !
ing here was that Myrtle might wake
Christopher had grown even more |
radiant. He was effulgent with pure
happiness. : :
“You aren’t going to tap your sugar
maples?” said Stephen, looking up at
the great symmetrical efflorescence of
rose and green which towered about
them.
Christopher lzughed. “No, bless
‘em,” said he, “the trees shall keep
their sugar this season. This week is
the first time I’ve had a chance to get
acquainted with them and sort of en-
ter into their feelings. Good Lord!
I’ve seen how I can love those trees,
Mr. Wheaton! See the pink on their
young leaves! They know more than
vou and I. They know how to grow
young every spring.”
Stephen did not tell Christopher
how Ellen and Myrtle were to work
the farm with his aid. The two wom-
en had bade him not. Christopher
seemed to have ne care whatever
about it. He was simply happy.
When Stephen left, he looked at him
and said, with the smile of a child:
“Do you think I am crazy?”
“Crazy, no,” replied Stephen.
“Well, I ain’t. I'm just getting fed.
I was starving to death. Glad you
don’t think I'm crazy, because I
couldn’t help matters by saying that
I wasn’t. Myrtle don’t think I am,
I know. As for Ellen, I havent seen
her since she was a little girl. I don’t
believe she can be much like Myrtle;
but I guess if she is what she promis-
ed to turn out she wouldn’t think any-
body ought to go just her way to have
it the right way.”
“] rather think she is like that, al-
though I saw her for the first time
this morning,” said Stephen.
“I begin to feel that I may not need
to stay here much longer,” Christo-
pher called after hita. “1 btecin to
feel that I am getting what I come
for so fast that I can go back pretty
soon.”
But it was the last of July before
he came. He chose the cool evening
after a burning day, and decend-
ed the mountain in the full light of
the moon. He had gore up the moun-
tain like an old man; he came dowr
like a young one. t
When he came at last in sight of |
his own home, he paused and stared. |
Across the grass-land a heavily laden |
wagon was moving toward his barn. |
Upon this wagon heaped with hay, |
full of silver lights from the moon, !
sat a tall figure all in white, which
semed to shine above all things.
Christopher did not see the man on
the other side of the wagon leading |
the horses; he saw only this wonder-
ful white figure. He hurried forward,
meet him. She had been watching for
| him, as she had watched every night.
“Who is it on the load of hay?”
asked Christopher.
“Ellen,” replied Myrtle.
“Qh,” said Christopher. “She look- |
ed like an angel of the lord, come to
take up the burden I had dropped
while I went to learn of Him ”
“Be vou feeling pretty well, Chris- |
topher?” asked Myrtle. She thought
that what her husband had said was |
odd, but he looked well, and he might |
have said it simply because he was a!
man.
Christopher put his arm around
Myrtle. “I am better than I ever was
in my whole life, Myrtle, and I've got
more courage to work now than I had
when I was young. I had to go away |
and get rested, but I've got rested for :
all my life. We shall get along all!
right as long as we live.” °°
“Ellen and the minister are going |
to get married, come Christmas,” said |
Myrtle.
“She is lucky. He is a man that |
can see with the eyes of other peo- |
ple,” said Christopher.
It was after the hay had been un- |
loaded and Christopher had been |
shown the garden full of lusty vegeta- |
bles, and told of the great crop with
no drawback, that he and the minis-
ter had a few minutes alone together
at the gate. i
“T want to tell vou, Mr. Wheaton, |
that I am settled in my mind now. I|
shall never complain again, no matter |
what happens. I have found that all |
the good things and all the bad things
that come to a man who tries to do
right are just to prove to him that he
is on the right path. They are just
the flowers and sunbeams, and the
rocks and snakes, too, that mark the
way. And—I have found out more
than that. I have found out the ans-
wer to my ‘why?’ ”
“What is it?” asked Stephen, gaz-
ing at him curiously from the won-
der-height of his own special happi-
ness.
“1 have found out that the only way
to heaven for the children of men is
through the earth,” said Christopher.
—Harper’s Monthly Magazine.
A Heavy Burden for the Farmer.
The people of New York State are
finding that compulsory military train-
ing inflicted upon the school children of
that Commonwealth willy nilly is not the
only outrage springing from the new
law for preparedness. A New York
newspaper, noting the fact that the law
requires every school district to employ
a military training teacher, points out
that it will lay a heavy burden upon
rural communities in the matter of ex-
pense. Sullivan county, for instance, has
166 districts and if teachers were to be
had for $600 a year the increased out-
lay would amount to $100,000 a year. Is
it possible that such laws would be put
on the statute books if the people had
the initiative and referendum? It is
quite clear why some citizens do not
wish to see the voters clothed with such
power.—The Public.
Reference in Our Writing.
“No, I'm afraid your reference won't
“Why not, ma’am?”
“I don’t like your penmanship.”—New
York World.
Whiting,
Think | up in the night ard hear noises.” |
' Haupt,
tically a!l of whom have been in at-
tendance at the teachers’ institute
this week:
Bellefonte: Jonas E. Wagner,
E. H. Weik, Gertrude A. Taylor,
Maude C. Bear, H. C. Menold, Annie E.
Dashiell, E. Mae Bailer, F. 1. Godshall,
May Y. Taylor, Chester H. Barnes, Carrie
A. Weaver, Mary Underwood. Marjorie
McGinley, Alice H. Lowery, Hazel Lentz,
Mary Hicklen, Mary Woods, Helen Har-
per, Annie McCaffrey, Helen Crissmun,
Elizabeth H. Dorworth, Alice K. Dor-
worth.
Benner: Luther D. Miller, Vivian Lutz,
Allen Hoy, Anna B. Sheeder, Anna J. Fish-
or Candace Leathers, Emma Rowe, Grace
shler.
Boggs: Ella Levy, Nannie Delaney, Auna
Schroyer, Bessie Johnson, Florence Sliker,
Harry E. Leathers, Nancy Kelley. Mary
Richaer, Amler Confer, Sarah Shawley.
Edna J. Rodgers, Samuel Barnhart, Edrie
Walker.
Burnside: Ellen Loy, Bernice
Rhoda Askey, Verna Lewis.
Centre Hall: W. O. Heckman, E. M.
Miller, D. Ross Bushman, Helen Bartholo-
mew.
Bowes,
College: G. W. R. Williams, Margaret
Glenn, Miriam Dreese, Ernest Johnson,
Lovan Ferrell, Clara L. Condo, Mary E.
Bailey, Nan M. Bailey.
Curtin: Annie E. Shank, Rosa Bitner,
Beatrice Stere, Clemma Lucas, Harold H.
Yeager, Geo. G. Holter.
Ferguson: L. A. Sofianas, Geo. R. Dun-
lap, Claire Martz, lidna Ward, Grace Elder,
Fred Tate, Maude Krumrine, Esther Nei-
digh, Viola Burwell, Maude E. Houtz,
Herbert Harpster, Nora Powell, Ernest
Trostle, Mary Goss, Helen Ward.
Gregg: W. V. Godshall, A. L. Duck,
Russell Condo, Edwin Hosterman. BE. IL.
Royer, R. L. Rackau, Ruth Smith, Sara
Fisher, Carrie Heckman, Alta Sinkabine.
Gregg: Gertrude Musser, Kathryn Mc-
Cool, Helen H. Finkel, Ethel Long, Lola
M. Wolfe.
Haines: L. J. Bartlett, Boyd C. Vonada,
Meda N. Bower, Fred Rachau, Charles B.
Musser, C. E. Kreamer, A. M. Martin, W.
T. Winkelblech, Earl C. Weber, Lida Hos-
terman.
Half Moon: Gilbert C.
Ross, Georgiana Gage,
Lulu Way.
Harris: Margaretta Goheen, Rosalie Mc-
Cormick, Margaret Bingaman, Geo. W.
Johnstonbaugh, John D. Patterson, Ella
Freed, Arthur L. Burwell.
Howard Bore.: R. R. Welch, Chas.
Robb, Walter H. Holter, Lulu Schenck.
' Howard Twp.: W. C. Thompson, Harry
DeArmend, Wm. H. Holter, Jr, W. F
Leathers, Pearl Pletcher, Clara Smith,
Claire Thompson.
Huston: Frank W. Dillen, G. E.
Ardery, Henry Cronister, Lucy M. Rowan,
Sallie E. Swoope, Charity Steele,
Liberty: S. 8S. Williams, Fred Pletcher,
Lulu Bechdel, Catharine Quigley, Marvilla
Bolopue, Erma Miller, Laura Gardner,
Mary Page, Myra Boone, W. S. Holter.
Marion: Lewis S. Zimmerman, Hazel B.
Peck, Helen Orr, Anna Kyle, Austin Hoy.
Miles: C. L. Gramley, J. N. Moyer, S. A.
Bierley, T. A. Auman, Maude Stover, C. C.
Smull, Mabel Vonada, Jessie Adams, E. R.
Wolf, H. C. Ziegler, Jas. W. Hanselman.
Milesburg: Latimer A. Dice, Ophelia
Bessie A. Miles, Maude Harsh-
Waite, Linzy
Beatrice Kreider,
EB.
berger.
Millheim: D. P. Stapleton, W. HE. Keen,
Ray A. Miller, Carrie Bartges.
Patton: Ralph G. Luse, Mary Tomco,
{ Marian Whitehill, Esther Mattern, Verna
| Krader.
Penn: R. U. Wasson, T. A. Hosterman,
W. E. Braucht, Wm. Duck, Maurice Krad-
er, (. N. Bartges, Robert Bierley.
Philipsburg: J. S. F. Ruthrauff, C. O.
I'rank, I&. A. Dimmick, HH. O. Crain, Jane |
Kane, Jennie Mcrrison, Ruth Forry,
Emma Knapper, Edith Shimmel, Hilda M.
Thomas, Margaret Allen, Kmily Cook,
Juanita Hoyt, Nelle Goldthorpe. leah Mc-
Larren, Jessie Glover, I'rances Wythe,
Lillian Streamer, Henrietta Kirk, Ida
Robertson, Helen Forshey,
Mary Warde.
Potter: Thos. L. Moore, Geo. A. Craw-
Myrtle Davis,
| ford, Wm. H. Rockey, Wilbur S. Runkle,
| Elizabeth Bitner, Mary C. Neff, Bertha M.
Miller, Anna Grove, Cora Luse, Mary Shut-
! terbeck, Edna Neff, Nellie Bible, Clarence
W. Musser.
Rush: A. L. Bowersox, Margaret Heath,
Idessa Seyler, Laura Cowher, Emma
Briggs, Pearl Hutton, Mary Wells, Miner-
| va Cowher, Caroline Parks, Maude Devine,
| Anna Gregg. Madeline King, Mary Twit-
meyer, Ruth Orwig, Ella M. Warde, Lena
D. Waugh, Kathryn Kirk. Kathryn Eisen-
hauer, Anna Bowers, Ruth Womer, Phoebe
McCord, Mae Shugrue.
snow Shoe Borg.: A. B. Orr, Flora M.
Pletcher, Elizabeth Glenn, Edgar Klinger.
South Philipsbuig: Bertha Brighton,
Louise Hopper.
snow Shoe Twp: Zoe Meek, Grace
Shoewalter, Edythe Dunlap, Alice ¥legal,
Beatrice Boyce, Walter Wolf, J. L. Gard-
ner, Martha IKerin, Marian Gingery, Rath
app, Mildred Holt, Roxy Bechdel.
Spring: Ida M. Showers, Mary Johnston,
Hermie C(ronemiller, Bella Barnhart, Sara
¥. Barnhart, Margaret Cooney, Carrie
Bowen, Helen Way, Isabella Johnson,
Mabel Boyce, Grace Vallimont, Mary
Boyle, L. H. Yocum, Myrtle Deitrich, H. E.
Breon, Rlsie Herman, Emeline Noll,
Almeda Pownell, A. C. Rapp.
State College: W. G. Briner, W. B.
Krebs, W. E. Brenner, Caroline Buckhout,
Laura Jones, R. P. Barnhart, Mae Mec-
Mahon, Grace Robertson, Ethel Smith,
Jimmie Graham, Mary Flegal, Mary Fore-
man, Isabella Mann, Viola Harter, Mary
KE. Penney.
Taylor: Lizzie R. Crum, Ruth J. Lego,
Josephine Richards, Sadie Cowher, Ired
Laird.
Union: Robert BE. Lannen, Raymond
Snook, Bertha Davidson, Mary Lansberry,
Hdna Williams, Kezia Calhoun.
Unionville: Jacob C. Fox, Harriet L.
Turner.
Walker: Lewis C. Swartz, Wilbur R.
Dunkle, H. L. Hoy, C. I. Hoy, S. W. But-
ler, Nellie Stein, Lenora Nolan, Estella
Rogers, Mary Deitrich, Edna Vonada.
Worth: H. C. Rothrock, Mary Laird,
Ruth Cowher, Stella Barry, Ida Turner,
Ruth Laird, Helen Thompson, Anna Pat-
ton.
Rumors of Broad Top Extension.
For some time past rumors have
been afloat regarding an extension of
the Huntingdon and Broad Top rail-
road from Huntingdon to Zion, this
county, to connect with the Central
Railroad of Pennsylvania. Comment-
ing upon the rumored project last Fri-
day’s “North American” stated as fol-
lows:
The Huntingdon and Broad Top
directors have just returned from an
inspection of the properties, and from
what is learned a plan is being given
consideration to make the Huntingdon
and Broad Top quite independent of
the Pennsylvania railroad for a traffic
outlet.
“This plan proposes extension of
the Huntingdon and Broad Top
north to a connection with the Cen-
tral Railroad of Pennsylvania, in
which the Drexel interest is dominant,
at Zion, running through State Col-
lege. It is figured this would cost
up to $2,000,000 but by such construc-
tion a through route would be given
to the New York Central at Mill Hall;
and the management of that system,
for which J. J. Morgan & Co are fiscal
agents, has made it known that a con-
nection with the Huntingdon and
Broad Top and an interchange of
Stale would be regarded most favor-
able.
|
H.F. |
T —
: Who is “Bleeding White.”
| is
It is all very well for Field Marshal
| von Hindenburg to talk of France being
| “bled white,” but the facts seem hardly
| to support his statements. It is true
that France has made terrible sacrifices,
| that her losses have been staggering, but
she has not reached the end of her re-
| sources. :
There is nothing original in Hinden-
| burg’s estimate of waning French power,
: for the same sort of talk has been com-
ing out of Berlin for the last six months.
France, we were told time and again,
was being “bled white” by the defense
of Verdun, but when that tremendous
| German enterprise sank into inactivity,
| France had enough in reserve to mass
{ on the Somne the preponderance of men
and guns essential to a successful offen-
sive.
It is Germany, not France, which shows
weakness. The German lines in the
west have been depleted as a whcle to
supply troops to resist particular attacks.
This was shown in the British capture
of Thiepval, a stronghold which has
withstood for two months a score of
fierce onslaughts and which was taken,
because its garrison had been weakened,
in two hours. It was shown even more
significantly in the recent French tri-
umph at Verdun. It is shown in the halt-
ing movements of Fulkenhayn in Tran-
sylvania and Mackensen in Dobrudja,
where Germany and her allies have been
unable to follow up their initial tri-
umphs. Roumania is battered but not
crushed. The hero of Lemberg has lost
the capacity to deliver his old destruc-
tive blows.
The evidence is strong that Germany
no longer has a general reserve of train-
ed troops, but must send men from one
part of her far-flung battle line to anoth-
er. Her losses have been tremendous
and they continue. She is fighting in
force on three or four different fronts.
The “bleeding white” process is more
menacing to her than it is to France
—and Britain has only begun to exert
pe full strength.—New York Evening
ost.
The Charm of Indian Summer.
Indian summer is one of the most
pleasant seasons of the year, says a writ-
er in the “Breeder's Gazette.” It is the
“twilight zone” tween summer, with
its long, hot days for harvesting, and
winter, with its cold and snows. Rest
and quiet rule the land. Corn is in
shock or silo, apples have been piled in
heaps, and wheat fields have been seed-
‘ed. Early frosts whiten the ground each
morning.
From the fields, where the workers
with sideboarded wagons are husking
corn, comes the merry whistle of Bob
White through the ghost-gray mists of
crisp fall mornings. Belated blackbirds
hurry on their journey southward. Wild
ducks appear, and a few wild geese,
weather forecasters of the early settler,
“honk, honk’’ their way high above gun
range. Over all is a mystic charm.
And what is Indian summer, and how
did the name originate? Legend has it
that the hazy season was first due to the
smoke from the peace pipes of many In-
dian chiefs who met in friendly council.
© A more prosaic theory is that forest fires,
| which originate in the late summer, are
| responsible for the blue haze of this sea-
| son. Reference to Indian summer was
" made as far back as 1787. A translation
| from the French, the journal having
i been written in Canada, is as follows:
“At last come the heavy rains, filling
the springs, the creeks and the marshes,
an infallible sign. Following this fall of
water comes a severe frost brought to us
by the northwest wind. This piercing
cold builds a universal bridge over the
watery places, and prepares the land for
that great mass of snow which should
soon follow it. The roads, which have
been impassable heretofore, become open
and convenient. Sometimes the rain is
followed by an interval of calm and
warmth which is called the Indian sum-
mer; its characteristics are a tranquil at-
mosphere and a general smokiness.
Whatever the meaning or origin of
the term, certain it is that Indian sum-
mer is a season which the lover of the
country would sorely miss. It bespeaks
a peace and quiet such as’ characterize
no other group of days.
Rockerfeller’s Riches.
Rockerfeller is the richest man in the
world. His wealth amounts to $2,027,-
516,000. It is nice to be so famous. But
what does it amount to? We know a
man in this town who hasn’t a cent ex-
cept his $1,200 a year salary: has a wife
and a nice little baby, and a little home
that he rents, and we will bet that he is
twice as happy as Rockerfeller. That
man’s happiness is not based upon mon-
ey or material wealth, but upon the rich-
es of the human heart, which material
possessions often chill. Suppose some
day Rockerfeller should say: “This is
too much money for one man. I will
give it away to 100,000 people. That
will be $2,000 apiece.” Please don’t, Mr.
Rockerfeller. Keep your money. Your
gift would do no good. It might give
some pleasure for a few months, but in
five years the dreary old levels of pover-
ty and discontent would appear, and the
land of “Getting Something for Nothing’”
would follow old Atlantis to the bottom
of the sea, never again to appear except
to adventurous memories. Keep your
wealth, Mr. Rockerfeller, unless you can
give it out as widows’ and old-age pen-
sions, and to those unfortunate people
who find unwelcome homes among cold
kindred.—Columbus (O.) Journal.
Look Straight and Smile.
Don’t worry, Mr. Workingman, about the
the scare Wall Street crowd is trying to:
arouse over what European workmen are
going to do after the war. President Wil-
son has enacted a law which prevents the
dumping of foreign goods in this coun-
try to the detriment of American indus-
try.
Any person who violates the act can
be punished with a $5,000 fine for each
offense and a year’s imprisonment. Any
person injured by reason of this viola-
tion may sue and recover the damages
sustained three fold.
Did the Republican party ever go that
far in protecting the interests of Ameri-
can business and American workingman?
When the calamity howlers advance the
gloom argument, look them straight in
the eye and smile at their stupidity.—
Harrisburg Patriot.
——*“A word carelessly spoken may do
great harm.” “That’s right. You ought
to see what one careless word from the
umpire did to our ball team this after-
noon.”’—Washington Star.
pf
se