Sn
Bellefonte, Pa., January 26, 1917.
[Continued from page 6, Col. 4.]
ney was still her baby. She had giver
up her dolls, but she still made clothes
for them out of scraps from Harriet’
sewing room. In the parlance of the
Street, Harriet “sewed”—and sewer
well.
She had taken Anna into busines:
with her, but the burden of the part
nership had always been on Harriet
To give her credit, she had not com
plained. She was past forty by tha:
time, and her youth had slipped by ir
that back room with its dingy wall
paper covered with paper patterns.
On the day after the arrival of the
roomer, Harriet Kennedy came dowr
to breakfast a little late. Katie, the
general-housework girl, was serving
breakfast. Mrs. Page, who had taken
advantage of Harriet’s tardiness tc
read the obituary column in the morn
ing paper, dropped it.
But Harriet did not sit down.
“Sidney.”
“Yes, Aunt Harriet.”
“Sidney, when your father died, 1
promised to look after both you and
your mother until you were able to
take care of yourself. That was five
years ago. Of course, even before that
I had helped to support you.”
“If you would only have your coffee,
Harriet !”
Mrs. Page sat with her hand on the
handle of the old silver-plated coffee-
pot. Harriet ignored her.
“You are a young woman now. You
have health and energy, and you have
youth, which I haven't. I'm past forty
In the next twenty years, at the out-
side, I've got not only to support my-
self but to save something to keep
me after that, if I live.”
Sidney returned her gaze steadily
“] see. Well, Aunt Harriet, you're
quite right. You've been a saint to
us, but if you want to go away—"
“Harriet!” wailed Mrs. Page, “you're
aot thinking—"
“Please, mother.”
Harriet’s eyes softened as she looked
it the girl.
“We can manage,” said Sidney qui-
tly. “We'll miss you, but it’s time
ve learned to depend on ourselves.”
After that, in a torrent, came Harri:
»t’s declaration of independence. And,
nixed with its pathetic jumble of re-
-riminations, hostility to her sister’s
jead husband, and resentment for her
lost years, came poor Harriet’s hopes
and ambitions, the tragic plea of a
woman who must substitute for the op-
timism and energy of youth the grim
determination of middle age.
“1 can do good work,” she finished.
“I'm full of ideas, if I could get a
hance to work them out. But there's
ao chance here. There isn’t a woman
on the Street who knows real clothes
when she sees them.”
Mrs. Page could not get back of
Harriet’s revolt to its cause. To her,
Harriet was not an artist pleading for
tier art; she was a sister and a bread-
~vinner deserting her trust.
“I'm sure,” she said stiffly, “we paid
you back every cent we borrowed. If
you stayed here after George died, it
was because you offered to.”
Her chin worked. She fumbled for
the handkerchief at her belt. But Sid-
ney went around the table and flung a
young arm over her aunt’s shoulders.
“Why didn’t you say all that a year
ago? We've been selfish, but we're
not as bad as you think. And if any-
one in this world is entitled to success
you are. Of course we'll manage.”
Harriet’s iron repression almost gave
way. She covered her emotion with
details:
“Mrs. Lorenz is going to let me
make Christine some things, and if
they're all right, I may make her trous-
seau.”
“Prousseau—for Christine!”
“She’s not engaged, but her mother
says it’s only a matter of a short time.
I'm going to take two rooms in the
business part of town, and put a couch
in the back room to sleep on.”
Sidney’s mind flew to Christine and
her bright future, to a trousseau
bought with the Lorenz money, to
Christine settled down, a married wom-
an, with Palmer Howe. She came back
with an effort. Harriet had two trian-
gular red spots in her sallow cheeks.
“I can get a few good models—that’s
the only way to start. And if you care
to do handwork for me, Anna, I'll send
it to you, and pay you the regular
rates. There isn’t the call for it there
used to be, but just a touch gives
dash,”
i All of Mrs. Page's grievances had
worked their way to the surface. Sid-
ney and Harriet had made her world,
such as it was, and her worid was in
revolt. She flung out her hands.
“] suppose I must do something.
With you leaving, and Sidney renting
her room and sleeping on a folding
bed in the sewing room, everything
seems upside down. I never thought
I should live to see strange men running
in and out of this house and carry:
ing latchkeys.” This reference to Ye
Moyne, whose tall figure had made ¢
hurried exit some time before.
Harriet's eyes were brighter already
as she went out. Sidney, kissing nel
in the hall and wishing her luck, real-
ized suddenly what a burden she and
her mother must have been for the last
few years. She threw her head up
proudly. They would never be a bur-
den again—never, as long as she had
strength and health!
By evening Mrs. Page had worked
herself into a state bordering on hys-
teria, Harriet was out most of the day.
She came in at three o’clock, and Ka-
tie gave her a cup of tea. At the news
of her sister's condition, she merely
shrugged her shoulders.
“She'll not die, Katie,” she said
calmly. “But see that Miss Sidney
| eats something, and if she is worried
i tell her I said to get Doctor Ed.”
| Very significant of Harriet's altered
outlook was this casual summoning of
the Street’s family doctor. She was
already dealing in larger figures. ‘I'he
recklessness of pure adventure was in
her blood. She had taken rooms at 2
rental that she determinedly put oul
of her mind, and she was on her way
to buy furniture. No pirate, fitting ou!
\a ship for the highways of the sea
ever experienced more guilty and de
lightful excitement. *
The afternoon dragged away. Doc
tor Ed was “out on a case” and might
not be in until evening. Sidney sat in the
darkened room and waved a fan over
her mother’s rigid form. At half pasi
five Johnny Rosenfeld, from the alley.
who worked for a florist after school,
brought a box of roses, and departed
grinning impishly. He knew Joe, had
seen him in the store. Soon the alley
knew that Sidney had received a dozen
Killarney roses at three dollars and a
half, and was probably engaged to Joe
Drummond.
* * * * * * *
| “Doctor Ed,” said Sidney, as he fol-
lowed her down the stairs, “can you
spare the time to talk to me a little
while?”
Perhaps the elder Wilson had a
quick vision of the crowded office
| waiting across the Street; but his re-
| ply was prompt:
“Any amount of time.”
| Sidney led the way into the small
parlor, where Joe's roses, refused by
the petulant invalid upstairs, bloomed
|
|
i
alone.
“First of all,” said Sidney, “did you
mean what you said upstairs?”
Doctor Ed thought quickly.
“Of course; but what?”
“You said I was a born nurse.”
The Street was very fond of Doctor
Ed. It did not always approve of
him. It said—which was perfectly
true—that he had sacrificed himself to
his brother’s career—that for the sake
I of that brilliant young surgeon, Doc-
| tor BEd had done without wife and
| -hildren; that to send him abroad he
1ad saved and skimped; that he still
vent shabby and drove the old buggy
vhile Max drove about in an automo-
jile coupe. Sidney, not at all of the
tuff martyrs are made of, sat in the
icented parlor, and, remembering all
his, was ashamed of her rebellion.
“I'm going into a hospital,” said Sid-
aey.
Doctor Ed waited. He liked to have
111 the symptoms before he made a
Jiagnosis or ventured an opinion. So
Sidney, trying to be cheerful, and quite
anconscious of the anxiety in her voice,
told her story.
“It’s fearfully hard work, of course,”
he commented, when she had finished.
“So is anything worth while. Look
at the way you work!”
Doctor Ed rose and wandered around
the room.
“T don’t think I like the idea,” he
said at last. “It's splendid work for
4] Don't Think 1 Like the Idea,” He
Said.
in older woman. But it's life, child—
life in the raw. It seems such an un-
necessary sacrifice.”
“Don’t you think,” said Sidney brave-
ly, “that you are a poor person to talk
of sacrifice? Haven't you always, all
your life—"
Doctor Ed colored to the roots of
his straw-colored hair.
“Certainly not,” he said almost irri
tably. “Max had genius; I had—abil-
ity. That's different. One real suc
cess is better than wo halves. Not"—
he smiled down at her—“not that 1
minimize my usefulness. Somebody
has to do the hack-work, and, if I do
say it myself, I'm a pretty good hack.”
“Very well” said Sidney. “Then 1
shall be a hack, too. Of course I had
thought of other things—my father
wanted me to go to ccllege—but I'm
strong and willing. And one thing I
must make up my mind to, Doctor Ed;
I shall have to support my mother.”
Harriet passed the doer on her way
in to a belated supper. The man in
the parlor had a momentary glimpse
of her slender, sagging shoulders, her
thin face, her undisguised middle age.
“Yes,” he said, when she was out of
hearing. “It's hard, but I dare say
it's right enough, too. Your aunt ought
to have her chance. Only—I wish
it didn’t have to be.”
Sidney, left alone, stood in the little
parlor beside the roses. She touched
them tenderly, absently. Life, which
the day before had called her with the
beckoning finger of dreams, now
reached out grim, insistent hands.
Life—in the raw
CHAPTER lil.
K. Le Moyne had wakened early that
first morning in his new quarters. Be
cause he was young and very strong,
he wakened to a certain lightness of
spirit. But he grew depressed as he
prepared for the office. He told him
self savagely, as he put on his shabby
clothing, that, having sought for peace
and now found it, he was an ass for
resenting it. The trouble was, of
course, that he came of a fighting
stock—soldiers and explorers, even a
gentleman adventurer or two, had beer
his forefathers. He loathed peace with
a deadly loathing.
Having given up everything else, K.
Le Moyne had also given up the love
of woman. That, of course, is figura
tive. He had been too busy for wom-
en, and now he was too idle. A small
part of his brain added figures in the
office of a gas company daily, for the
sum of two dollars and fifty cents per
eight-hour working day. But the real
K. Le Moyne, that had dreamed dreaias,
had nothing to do with the figures, but |
sat somewhere in his head and mocked
him as he worked at his task.
He breakfasted at Mrs. McKee's.
The food was rather good, certainly
plentiful; and even his squeamish
morning appetite could find no fault
vith the self-respecting tidiness of the
jlace. Some of the ‘“mealers”—the
Street’s name for them—ventured on
various small familiarities ot speech
with Tillie. K. Le Moyne himself was
scrupulously polite but reserved. He
was determined not to let the Street
ancroach on his wretchedness. Because
he had come to live there was no rea-
son why it should adopt him. But he
was very polite. When the deaf-and-
iumb book agent wrote something on a
sencil pad and pushed it toward him,
1e replied in kind.
“We are very glad to welcome you to
the McKee family,” was what was
written on the pad.
“Very happy, indeed, to be with you,"
wrote back Le Moyne—and realized
with a sort of shock that he meant it.
The kindly greeting had touched him.
The greeting and the breakfast cheered
him also, he had evidently made some
headway with Tillie.
“Don’t you want a toothpick?” she
asked, as he went out.
In K’s previous walk of life there
had been no toothpicks; or, if there
were any, they were kept, along with
the family scandals, in a closet. But
nearly a year of buffeting about had
taught him many things. He took one,
and placed it nonchalantly in his waist
~oat pocket, as he had seen the others
lo.
Change was in the very air of the
Street that June morning. It was in
Harriet, asserting her right to live;
in Sidney, planning with eager eyes a
life of service which did not include
Joe; in K. Le Moyne, who had built
up a wall between himself and the
world, and was seeing it demolished by
a deaf-and-dumb book agent whose
weapon was a lead pencil pad!
And yet, for a week nothing hap.
pened. Joe came in the evenings and
sat on the steps with Sidaey, his hon-
est heart in his eyes. Anna, no longer
along; she had a splendid scheme,”
and took to helping Harriet in her
preparaticns for leaving. - And K. Le
Moyne, finding his little room hot in
the evenings and not wishing to in-
srude on the two on the doorstep, took
to reading his paper in the park, and
after twilight to long, rapid walks out
nto the country. The walks satisfied
he eraving of his active body for ex-
srecise, and tired him sc he could sleep.
When K. was sure that the boy had
gone, he would turn back toward the
Street. Some of the heaviness of his
spirit always left him at sight of the
little house. Its kindly atmosphere
seemed to reach out and envelop.
Within was order and quiet, the fresh:
ness of his turned-down bed, the tidi-
ness of his ordered garments.
Life, that had seemed so simple, hac
grown very complicated for Sidney
There was her mother to break the
news to, and Joe. Harriet would ap
prove, she felt; but these others! Tc
assure Anna that she must manage
alone for three years, in order to be
happy and comfortable afterward—
that was hard enough. But to tell
Joe that she was planning a future
without him, to destroy the light iu his
blue eyes—that hurt.
* * * * * * *
[Continued next week.]
AN OVERWORKED WORD.
This Writer Suggests That “Very” Be
Given a Long Rest.
There is a word that once possessed
| a vigor and a power that is altogether
lost, ‘Verily, verily”’—“in truth, in
truth.” Now it is “very,” and, though
it still means “in truth,” it has become
so weakened by usage that it conveys
no force whatever.
You meet men on the street and say,
“It is a very fine day.” What do you
mean? Probaby you mean, “How do
you do?’ What you have said is sim-
ply a salutation. But if you should
say to me, “It is a fine day,” you prob-
ably mean it is a fine day. That little
word ‘‘very” has been so weakened, so
frayed at the edges, that it harms
rather than helps its companions.
So, gentle reader, I would say to you
if T had arbitrary power over your
speech, “This week I will allow you
only two ‘veries,”” and, though for a
time such restraint may make you self
conscious, yet it will force you to grope
about for musty treasures in the store-
house of your memory and furbish up
old adjectives and adverbs, even drive
you now and again to a careful ap-
praisal of your best slang, and when
this temporary self censciousness s"e'l
pass not only your vigor of speech, L.t
your exactitude and clarity of thought
will be the better for it. That is a gain
that will be worth all the sacrifice.—
Burges Johnson in Century.
Do You Like Horehound?
Your grandfather did in the bygone
days, when he was a little boy and his
father did not mind how much he had,
for it was considered “good for his sys-
tem.”
In Egypt the plant was called “bull's
blood” and “eye of a star” and was
one of those many plants that in those
days were eaten to protect the person
from poison.
Horehound, horseradish, coriander,
lettuce and nettle are the tive bitter
herbs ordered to be eaten hy the Jews
at the feast of the Passover, and the
first has had long service, as you can
guess, for it is the seed of Horus—hore-
hound—which the Egyptian priests ded-
icated to the god of that name, though
nobody knows how it came to get the
sulky, acrepted With chlldiike faith | °94ing "hound. Exchange.
Sidney’s statement that “they'd get —Subseribe for the “Watchman”.
CASTORIA. CASTORIA.
Hl
: 5
ial fy
=
ALCOHOL 3 PER CENT. |
|| AVegetable Preparationfor,
X|:| Similating theFoodand
ting the Stomachs
INFANTS “CHILDREN
ll Promotes Digestion Cheerfi
qi: rt Coals
: Nor Morphine nor Mineral
: Ur Nageotic:
: Aperfect Ree Tor Consige |
AperectBenedy fo Diacrhoea;
bl | Worms Convulsions Feverisl
aril ness and LOSS OF SLEEP. |
Facsimile Signature guature of
CENTAUR Compact |
NEW _
Jl Ate months old
{ at :
RH DosES ~35 CENTS
—— ——— —3
Exact Copy of Wrapper.
59-20-¢.0.
| Bears the
g CASTOR
For Infants and Children.
Goin Castoria
Always
Signature
Use
For Over
Thirty Years
GASTORIA
THE CENTAUR COMPANY, NEW YORK CITY.
At The
auble Store
you will find only
Honest Clothes
|
. at the very
Lowest Prices
possible.
COMPARE.
LYON @ COMPANY.
TH
LARGEST
bargains.
Comfortables, Blankets, and
Flannels at Big Reductions
See our Rummage Table.
We extend a cordial invitation to see our
values and prices.
White Sale
We could not duplicate our values and prices
in Linens, Cottons, Silks and Woolens, if we
had to buy them now.
We are selling the exclusive line of
Dove Under Muslins
Latest and daintiest styles.
Under Skirts, Princess Slips, Chemise, Com-
binations, Corset Covers, Drawers and Enve-
lope Chemise, made from finest Nainsook,
Crepe de Chine, and Wash Satins.
oats, Suits & Furs
Our entire stock of Winter Coats, Coat Suits
and Furs must be sold during this great
Clearance Sale at prices less than cost.
Night Gowns,
Always full of
Lyon & Co. -- Bellefonte.