Bema atc.
Bellefonte, Pa., June 14, 1918.
THE LITTLE STAR IN THE
WINDOW.
There's a little star in the window of the
house across the way,
A little star red bordered, on a ground
of pearly white;
I can see its gleam at evening; it is bright
at dawn of day,
And I know it has been shining through
the long and dismal night.
The folks who pass the window on the
busy city street,
I often notice, turn a glance before they
hurry by,
‘And one, a gray haired woman made curt-
sey low and sweet,
While something like a teardrop
glistening in her eye.
was
And yesterday an aged man, by life's stern
battle spent,
His empty coat sleeve hanging down, a
witness sadly mute,
Gave one swift look and halted—his form
full height, unbent—
And ere he passed his hand came up in
soldierly salute,
The little star in the window is aflame
with living fire,
For, it was lit at the hearthstone where
a lonely mother waits;
And she has stained its crimson with the
glow of her heart’s desire,
And brightened its pearl white heaven
beyond the world’s dark hates.
The star shall shine through the battle
when the shafts of death are hurled;
It shall shine through the long night
watches in the foremost trenches’ line;
Over the waste of waters, and beyond the
verge of the world,
Like the guiding Star of the Magi its
blessed rays shall shine.
The little star in the window shall bea-
con your boy's return
As his eyes are set to the homeland,
when the call of the guns shall cease;
In the Flag's high constellation through
the ages it shall burn,
A pledge of his heart’s devotion, a sign
of his people's peace.
—John Jerome Rooney, in N. Y. Sun.
THE UNSENT LETTER.
He wore the uniform of a major;
but the Red Cross band on his sleeve,
the stoop of his shoulders, and the
fact that he did not stand with his
feet at right angles to each other
proved that he was nothing of the
kind. The uniform was his by cour-
tesy of the War Department. It help-
ed him to get swift access to the dead,
and to those who could tell him how
they had died.
The War Department had not wish-
ed to give him the uniform or any oth-
er privileges whatever. “If you want
to serve,” the War Department had
said, “why don’t you fight?” The War
Department had said this not only
with reference to Locksley but to the
nineteen other young men for whom
the Red Cross had asked uniforms
and privileges.
“What’s the idea, anyhow?” the
War Department had said. And the
Red Cross, a Harvard graduate with
very much better manners than the
War Department, had patiently ex-
plained:
“When a man is killed one of our
men will find out just how he died,
and will write the facts to the man’s
mother or some member of his family,
and make them just as comforting as
he can. The men we want to send
will all be trained writers 2
“Why don’t they fight?” interrupt-
ed the War Department. “I can send
out the death-notices. I can’send out
ten thousand in a night.”
“Did you ever read the letter that
Lincoln wrote to the mother who had
lost her boys? That is the ideal our
men will have before them. The oth-
er extreme is the cold-blooded and
brutal notification which the Depart-
ment sends out. What our men suc-
ceed in doing will be somewhere in
between. You merely tell a mother
that her boy is dead. You don’t tell
her that he was going forward over
the ditch when the bullet caught him,
or that he was trying to rescue a
friend, or that he spoke of his mother
while he was dying. You don't do
anything to soften the blow or to
make the mother proud. You simply
give her a smack between the eyes
and call it efficiency.”
Much pressure had to be brought
on the War Department before he
saw the light. And it is doubtful if
he ever did see it. He learned that
the British Red Cross had such a sys-
tem, and that the whole army and the
whole of England swore by it, and fi-
nally, though grudgingly and calling
himself a soft-hearted fool (under his
breath), he granted the uniforms and
the privileges.
Locksley had been at the front for
three months. During the lulls to
which the battle, which for years now
has been going on between the North
Sea and the Swiss border, is fortu-
nately subject, he wrote fiction, and
type-wrote it, and posted three copies
(the first story he sent was blown up
by a submarine and after that he al-
ways sent three at intervals, so that
one would surely reach the publish-
ers), and supported his wife and their
two children.
His wife and their children were
Locksley’s answer to the question:
“Why don’t you fight?” And they
were the reason why he kept out of
danger whenever it was decent to do
so, and why he nursed his health and
prayed that the war would end before
a splinter of shell got him.
He had figured that after battles
he could find out, in complete safety,
“who was dead, who was wounded, and
who was living, that from the survi-
vors he could get the details, that,
whenever it was practical, he could
see the wounded for himself, and that
afterward, at some well-lighted table
in some old French chauteau, he
would peace together the notes that
he had taken and write his letters.
Things had turned out very differ-
ently. One of the first twenty to be
sent out, he had now many men under
him, one or two to every thousand
soldiers, and in addition to his field-
duties and his desk-duties and his du-|d
ty te his family, he had many others.
ey were of an executive nature. If
some part of the line had hit hard or
been hit hard, he had to gather his in-
vestigators and writers and find trans-
. ana
|
|
!
port for them and concentrate them
upon that part of the line, and, though
he wasn’t a real major, he had as
much work to do as any of the real
majors, and, because of the mobile ns-
ture of his job, saw more fighting than
any of them and was quite as often
under fire. }
He hadn’t supposed that he would
be called upon to do first-aid work or:
stretcher work, to squirt morphine
and antitoxin into the wounded, and |!
to help carry them out of the iron rain !
in which they were so inconsiderate :
as to be lying. He hadn’t supposed !
that, in volunteering to help the Red |
Cross, he was risking his life as much
as, and perhaps more than, the aver-,
age soldier. If he had supposed any
such thing, he would never have vol-
unteered. It would have been the
height of selfishness. But there was
no turning back.
“I’m here under false pretensions,”
he often thought, “but I’m too good a
coward to back out now. I'd be Cain-
marked for life. The magazines
would no longer buy my fiction, and
my family would just be as unsupport-
ed as if I got killed. And they'd
rather starve because I was dead than
because they were ashamed to bear
my name.”
Sometimes it made him proud to
think how many letters he had writ-
ten to mothers whose boys had been
killed or hurt. He had put all that
was best in him into those letters. He
had tried to make the mother’s sacri- !
fice seem beautiful to her. And such
was his love of motherhood that twice
he had swallowed his hatred of the
Germans and written to two German
mothers to tell them (in very bad
German) how splendidly their boys
had died.
These letters had been difficult to
deliver; but the general having given
permission, Locksley had slipped them
into empty bottles, and Corporal Fa-
gan ( a major-leaguer in his day) had
taken the bottles by the neck and
thrown them with perfect accuracy
into the nearest stretch of German
trench. Usually when Fagan threw
things into that trench, the things ex-
ploded and sometimes the fragments
hurt enemies and the enemies threw
explosive things back. But, on the
present occasion, after a discreet in-
terval, nothing more dangerous was
returned than one of the bottles. It
contained a slip of paper on - which
some one had written, “Danke schon.”
The work fascinated Locksley when
it did not appall him. He felt that
it had brought him out of a deep shell
into which he had half retired. There
was no pleasant chauteau to live in.
Life was dour and without amenities.
His fine sensibilities were often on
edge. He waged steady warfare on
fleas and lice. And there was never
a day when he could have said, “Be-
hold me; I am clean from head to
foot!” But although he had loved,
married, begotten children, and seen
them born, he felt that now he was
really living for the first time.
During the hour which precedes
and the hour which follows daybreak,
there had been a short, sharp advance
over a shell-hilled terrace. The regi-
ment which had been chiefly involved
was consolidating its gains, and
Locksley was on hand, running more
risks than he liked, and helping to lo-
cate the dead and the wounded.
It was a terrace full of pits and
subterranes. The Germans had moled
it up and down the crisscross. Out of
their sheltered holes and wallows, it
had been neccessary to blast and prick
them. During the process, certain
shelter-roofs had collapsed, destroy-
ing friend and enemy together. In
areas the caved-in labyrinth would
have to be explored’ by the Engineer
Corps if it was to be explored at all.
But there were other areas (from
some of which groans issued) which
could be explored by men with elec-
tric torches and very flat stomachs.
It was rather like pretending that
you were a fox (on a large scale, of
course) and that you lived in a lair
that had an unusual number of exits
and entrances and secret chambers.
From one of the entrances to such
a place, Locksley saw emerging, with
powerful twists of his big body, Pri-
vate Strong. There followed Private
Strong into the daybreak certain
groanings and bleatings that sound-
ed un-American in Locksley’s ears.
“I was just goin’ to stick him, sir,”
said Private Strong, “when the roof
caved in and laid him by the hind legs,
and now I suppose we got to try and
pry him loose. I couldn’t’ manage
sir——-"’
“Of course,” said Locksley.
you.”
Private Strong turned, drew a big
breath, and crawled back into the bur-
row. As soon as there was no dan-
ger of being kicked in the face by the
soldier’s heavy hob-nailed boots,
Locksley knelt and followed.
The electric torch showed him cir-
cles of concrete, of raw earth, of
wooden trestlework, a German head
caught between two beams and mash-
ed almost flat. As he passed, he could
feel the drip from the thing on his
shoulder. After fifteen feet, the pas-
sage widened and you could kneel up-
right. A moment later, Private
Strong, who was six feet three, rose
to his full height and said,
“All right, Dutch; we’ve come for
you.”
He took the torch from Locksley
and directed the beam upon the head,
then the shoulder, and then the torso
of a German officer lying face down,
arms extended. The light next re-
vealed the eight-by-four timber which
had pinned the man to the ground.
His legs were concealed by a foot of
earth and broken concrete. He made
sounds that were somewhere between
groaning and bleating.
“That timber seems part of a
framework, sir,” said Strong. “When
I get my back under this beam over
here and lift, his beam lifts, too. But
I couldn’t lift and pull him at the
same time, and that’s why I need you.
Now, sir, if you'll get him by the arms
and pull when I give the word—"
“I get you,” said Locksley shortly.
It all happened very suddenly. The
whole burrow was shaken as a rat is
shaken by a terrier. And Locksley,
opening his eyes, remembered very
distinctly that a giant had thrown him
flat on his face and at the moment
was sitting on his legs to keep him
“After
own.
That thing on his left hand was
not, as he had at first thought, a ba-
nana which he had tried to steal from
the giant's table, but an electric torch.
alone, but if you'll lend me a hand, 0
Intuitively, his thumb pushed the
switch forward, and there was light.
“y? all right?” It was the voice
(but not the natural voice) of Private
Strong. It was a strained, worried
voice.
“All right, but can’t get up,” said
Locksley. “He's sitting on my legs.”
“It’s more roof fallen in,” said
Strong. “What'd ya put the light out
for?”
“Guess my fingers did it without
my knowing.” Locksley’s brain was
clearing.
“Flash her round.”
Private Strong did not seem to
have moved. Legs bent, he was still
straining upwards against the great
beam which rested on his shoulders.
And something in his face and eye
and something in the quivering of his
great muscles seemed to say that he
had been so straining for a long time.
The German officer no longer groan-
ed or bleated. Or, if he did, the earth
and concrete under which he was bur-
ied completely muffled the sound.
Locksley managed to look over his
shoulder for his legs, but they were
too well buried to be seen. He tried
desperately to move them.
“I'm stuck,” he said feebly; “stuck
tight.”
He raised himself on his elbows and
looked over his other shoulder and
searched with the torch for the tun-
nel by which they had entered. That,
at least, was unchanged. It was still
a tunnel, and, so far as the light pen-
| etrated, the roof had not fallen.
fon must dig me out, Strong,” he
said.
“If I give,” said Strong, “the whole
roof comes down.”
“What happened ?” Locksley asked.
The answer came in a series of
grunts.
“A shell, somewhere up above,
started ’nuther cave-in. That’s all.”
A moment later, he added, “Dutch got
is.
Locksley tried to think and couldn't.
“Is it very heavy?” he asked.
“It sure iz.”
“But——"
Locksley did not finish his sentence.
The full extent of their calamity had,
for the first time, dawned upon him.
The moment the strength of Private
Strong proved unequal to the weight
that was imposed upon it, they would
be buried alive. He felt for the mo-
ment as if he was falling through
space. There was a rushing in his
ears and confusion. The torch slip-
ped from his fingers and he groaned.
“Hurt 7%
His brain cleared and began to
work.
“Nope,” he said curtly. He recov-
ered the torch and had a look at Pri-
vate Strong. The bent legs, the bent
back pressing upward were splendid
to see—the thick, foreshortened face
of which the expression was stubborn
and angry.
“How long can you hold out?” ask- |
ed Locksley.
“Dunno.”
There was something which Locks-
ley felt that he had to say. The say-
ing of it would be a proof to him that
he had done his duty by manhood and
by civilization. But, for a few long
moments, self-pity made him inartic-
ulate.
He was surprised at the sound of
his own voice; it was so natural and
conversational. The fact comforted
him so that speaking was no longer
an effort. :
“Strong,” he said, “I'll turn the
light over the ground between you
and the tunnel. Then I'll hold it
square on the tunnel. The roof won't
fall like lightning, and if you are
quick and don’t trip over anything,
you've an even chance of getting out
of here.”
The eyes in the strained, stubborn,
angry face of the private followed the
beam of light, but with no great show
of interest. He shifted one of his feet
a little, with a kind of grinding, heel-
and-toe sidewise twist. Then he
grunted.
“How about you?”
“You'll get hold of a bunch of sap-
pers and dig me out. I shouldn’t won-
der if I came through all right.”
He spoke in a smooth, confident
voice, which deceived no one. :
“Not a chance,” said Private
Strong.
There was a dead silence.
“«What——"" said Locksley, petulant-
ly, what is the use of both of us get-
ting killed ?”
“No use ’t I can see.”
“You've got a chance—you ought
to take it.”
“Both got a chance—can hold roof
»
More long moments of silence fol-
lowed, during which Locksley felt a
curious warming of the heart and a
detachment form the ultimate horror
of his fate. :
He got a scratch pad out of his
pocket and some pencils, raised him-
self on his elbows, arranged the torch
so that it illuminated the pad, and be-
gan to write.
“Whad ye doin’ ?” :
“Attending to business,” said
Locksley. If they ever dig us out and
find what I’ve written, your mother
will knew how you took yours when
it came.” :
Private Strong felt a dimness
spreading over his eyes. He snffled
once strongly.
The pencii scratched boldly,
merrily. :
“Wha’y’ keep lookin’ at me for?”
“I’m making a rough sketch to
show the fix we're in. It'll be easier
to understand.
A moment later he had begun to
write:
To the Mother of Private Strong.
Dear Mrs. Strong:
Then, with the aid of his lettered
and numbered sketch, he explained the
situation. He went on:
The first time I noticed your big boy
was about six weeks ago. His company
had done its turn im the trenches and was
resting up. I noticed Joe because he was
so very big, and because the little girl he
was riding on his shoulders was 80 very
little.
About a week later, I came across him
cleaning his rifle. You might have thought
it was a diamond ring that he was going
to give to his sweetheart. A good soldier
loves his rifle. Yeu ought to know that
Joe is one of the best soldiers in the ar-
my. And most everybody thinks he is
the strongest. It must be fine to have him
alongside of you in a fight, You simply
couldn’t be afraid.
He's as gentle as he is brave. I've seen
him helping an old French woman put
her little garden in order after a shell
had dropped into it and tossed most of
the early vegetableg over the gardem wall.
almost
| ‘A Day’s Food for
a Family of Five.
Health and Happiness, Number 44
Fig. 1—A day’s food for a family of five.
Three-fourths cup of butter or other fat.
on page 4 of the Bulletin as follows:
ly allowance of 2% to 3 pounds.
A little more than 1 cup of sugar,
substitute group.
2 quarts of milk and
substitute group.
per day.
cereals would be 5 or 6 cups.
Milk on cereal, 1 cup for each person.
Sugar on fruit, on cereal, or in coffee,
Bread, 8 slices, or 8 ounces.
Butter, 1% ounces, or 2% cubic inches.
of milk for each young child.
of milk.
Bread, 8 slices, or 8 ounces.
Butter, 1% ounces, or 2% cubic inches.
tablespoons butter,
Sauce. (Ingredients:
butter, i cup water, flavoring).
Bread, 8 slices, or 8 ounces.
Butter, 11 ounces, or 2% cubic inches.
One-half of a cake.
cup sugar, 1 egg,
An egg or 2 ounces of meat, fish, or poultry for
Potatoes (5 medium sized), 13 pounds.
Another vegetable (turnips, spinach, corn, cauliflower,
Steamed apple (or other fruit) pudding.
(Ingredients for whole cake: C
% cup milk, 1% cups flour, 2% teaspoons baking powder).
Frosting made with 1 egg white and % cup sugar.
Next article in this series—“Cereal Foods.”
Fig. 1—A day’s food for a family of five.
|
I
‘Locksley could not move them. They
were sound asleep. And even after
they had been slapped and pinched
into wakefulness, they remained for a
long time groggy.
When the two men crawled into the
sunlight, their contours were the only
human thing about them. They look-
ed as if they had been entirely made
from whity-gray dirt. Private Strong
found some dirty cigarette-papers and
some dirty tobacco somewhere in a
pocket that was half filled with dirt,
and they rolled dirty cigarettes and
enjoyed to the last gritty mouthful a
dirty smoke.
They rested luxuriously against the
mound beneath which they had suf-
fered.
“Don’t know as I ever noticed the
Selor of the sky before,” said Locks-
ey.
“Nor I,” said Private Strong.
“It’s blue,” said Locksley raptur-
ously.
Locksley reached out a grimy paw
and saw it swallowed in one that was
even grimiér. Locksley’s face twist-
ed with pain.
“Darn you,” he said; “I thought you
were all in.”
The strong man chuckled
ishly.
Captain Cary,
sheep-
of the Engineers,
This illustration is taken from Farmers’ |had dropped in to borrow some tobac-
CO.
Bulletin 808, “What the Body Needs,” United States Department of Agriculture. The
cereals include 114 pounds of bread, one ordinary-sized portion of rolled oats (one-
fourth pound in all), and one of rice for each person (one-half pound in all), and a
pound of flour for use in cooking. The meat and meat-substitute group includes 2
quarts of milk, 1 pound of beef, and two eggs. A little more than 1 cup of sugar.
The vegetables and fruits are cabbage, po-
tatoes and apples—t pounds in all. The ration represented in this figure is explained
THE DAYS FOOD. :
A family consisting of a man and a woman who do moderately hard
muscular work and three children—say, between 3 and 12 years of age—would
get the food they require if supplied daily with:
4% pounds of bread, having the same food value as 3 pounds of wheat or rye
flour, oatmeal, cornmeal or hominy,
and 5 or 6 medium-sized potatoes.
2 cup of fat (butter or butter with oil,
or rice; or about 2% pounds of cereals
beef drippings, or other fat)—a week-
or a weekly allowance of 4 pounds; or an
equivalent amount of some other sweet.
4 pounds in all of fresh fruits and fresh or root vegetables.
One of the two following, the choice depending on the age of the children:
3 quarts of milk and 1 pound of other foods taken from the meat and meat-
1% pounds of other foods taken from the meat and meat-
This rather rough calculation is based on the assumption that cereals
contain, on the average, about 12 per cent. protein (see p. 7, B), 1 per cent.
fat, and 75 per cent. carbohydrates, and that 1 pound of bread contains about
two-thirds of a pound of cereal; that butter, oil, lard, and other fatty foods
average 90 per cent. fat; that fresh fruits and fresh and root vegetables av-
erage about % per cent. protein and 10 per cent. carbohydrates, with negligi-
ble quantities of fat; and that meats, fish, eggs, cheese, etec., as purchased,
may be considered to average about 14 per cent. each of protein and fat. The
estimate also assumes that all the fat obtained with the meats, etec., is util-
ized, being either eaten with the meat or saved for use in cookery. Under
these conditions the fuel value of the diet would be about 10,000 calories per
family per day, or the equivalent amount of 3,000 calories per man per day;
the protein value would be about 330 grams per family, or 100 grams per man
SAMPLE MEALS FOR A FAMILY.
(Man, woman, and three small children).
BREAKFAST.
Fruit, 11 pounds of fresh fruit (equivalent to
apples, or a quart-box of strawberries),
(equivalent to 10 or 12 dates or 4 or 5 figs).
Cereal breakfast food, 4 ounces before being cooked, or about 13 pints after it
is cooked. The equivalent. in food value in puffed or flaked, ready-to-eat
3 medium-sized oranges, 5 small
or 3 or 4 ounces of dried fruits
2% level tablespoons or 1% ounces.
each older person, and a glass
DINNER.
Meat, or fish, 2 pound per grown person; or, for each child, an egg or a glass
or other), 1 pound.
(Ingredients: Two cups flour, 2
7 cup milk, 4 apples, 1 tablespoon sugar).
One-half cup sugar, 13 tablespoons flour, 2 teaspoons
SUPPER.
A gravy made out of 1 pint of skim milk, % cup flour,
and 4 ounces salt or smoked fish (just enough for flavor).
be added the egg yolk left from the frosting of the cake. (See below).
Rice, 8 ounces; or 1 cup, measured before being cooked.
2 level teaspoons butter,
To this can
One-fourth cup butter, 3
He didn’t know much about gardening,
and the old woman was very severe with
him. He pretended to be very much
frightened, but all the time he was laugh-
ing up his sleeve.
No use, I suppose, telling you that he's
a daredevil. There's nobody quicker to
volunteer for trench-raiding or going out
at night to cut wires. But one man can’t
fight a whole war. It ought to comfort
you to know that Joe hasn’t been a vain
sacrifice. When you kissed Joe good-bye,
you weren't kissing any ordinary boy.
You were kissing a boy who was going to
do a whole lot more than his share.
There aren’t many quitters in the army
and everybody has done the best he could;
but there are soldiers and soldiers. And
Joe is one of those with a wonderful nat-
ural talent for war. If we had a half
million like him, I think we'd have reach-
ed Berlin about yesterday.
I stole a look at him just now. He leoks
like a wonderful statue by Michelangelo.
The muscles of his thighs and shoulders
are almost bursting his clothes. I never
saw him look so big er so splendid. I
asked him to save himself, but he would
not. So he is giving his life, not to save
me, but that I can live a little longer.
You must not hate my Imemory. I don’t
really come into it at all. He's the kind
of man who has to die for some one—for
some one who is helpless, just as I am,
and not much account anyway——
Locksley paused.
you thinking about,
I've just asked him what he is thinking
about. He is thinking about you, and how
all this is going to hurt you. And it will
hurt you. I camnot go into that. But I
knew that it will exalt you and make you
glad that you have lived, and that you
have borne a sen——
“Pret’ near through.”
“Ye 2
«Som 1.”
“You're a great man, Strong.
been trying to put some of it down.
Can you hold out a little longer?”
“Dunno.”
The giant was beginning to shake
as if he had the palsy and to sob for
breath. Locksley finished his letter.
There’s not much time left now, Mrs.
Strong. Joe tells me that he’s all in. I
hope God will give you strength in your
trouble.
He signed his name and stuffed the
sheets into his pocket.
A look at Private Strong told
Locksley that their time had come.
“Joe,” he said, “you’re a great man.
God bless and keep you.”
The giant made a sudden, plaintive,
sobbing noise, his’ muscles relaxed,
and he fell forward in a heap. The
great beam against whose weight he
had for so long put forth his strength
dropped sharply a matter of four
inches and stuck fast. A little show-
er of earth fell from the roof of the
dugout, a few small lumps of concrete,
and that was all.
The two men lay for a long time
without moving. Except that, at first,
Private Strong’s great torso rose and
fell with the powerful expansions and
expulsions of his lungs. He was blub-
bering. He sat up and had a first-
class fit of hysterics. Locksley, on
the other hand, felt perfectly calm
and peaceful. There was no sensation
in his legs, and he imagined that they
were sound asleep. The rest of him
could have slept with a little encour-
agement. .
“Joe,” he said sharply, “stop that!
Pull yourself together and go get
some ene to dig me out. Shut up!
Don’t make a fool of yourself.”
The tone of command had its effect.
“Dig’y’out meself,” said Private
Strong. ;
He ad no entrenching tool, and the
business took a long time. It requir-
ed strength and delicacy.
When, at last, his legs were free,
I've
He found Locksley bent over a
scrap-basket and reducing some very
grimy sheets of manuscript into very
small pieces, by tearing.
“What's the matter?” said Cary,
“Wouldn’t the story tell itself?”
“That’s just the trouble,”
Locksley. Said
“I started out to write a
| thrilling tragedy, and just when—
well, you may say just when the roof
was going to fall in—the story took
itself out of my hands and insisted
ron having a happy ending. And, of
course, that’s rotten bad art.”—By
Sion vornanr Morris, in The Cosmopol-
itan.
For Women in Industry.
The woman’s committee of the
Council of National Defense has re-
cently adopted as its standards for
women in industry those issued by
the Ordnance Department of the ar-
my. The “Ordnance standards,” as
given in a Summary of Recommenda-
tions to Arsenal Commanders and
Other Employers, provide:
1. Hours of Labor-Existing legal
standards should be rigidly maintain-
ed and even where the law permits a
9 or 10 hour day, efforts should be
made to restrict the work of women
to 8 hours.
2. Promotion of Night Work—The
employment of women on night shifts
should be avoided as a necessary pro-
tection, morally and physically.
3. Rest Periods—No woman should
be employed for a longer period than
four and a half hours without a break
for a meal, and a recess of 10 min-
utes should be allowed in the middle
of each working period.
4. Time for Meals—At least 30
minutes should be allowed for a meal,
and this time should be lengthened to
45 minutes or an hour if working day
exceeds eight hours.
Place for Meals—Meals should
not be eaten in the workrooms.
6. Saturday Half Holidays—The
Saturday half holiday should be con-
sidered an absolute essential for wom-
en under all conditions.
7. Seats—For women who sit at
their work, seats with backs should
be provided, unless the occupation
renders this impossible. For women
who stand at work, seats should be
available and their use permitted at
regular intervals,
8. Lifting Weights—No woman
should be required to lift repeatedly
Jore than 25 pounds in any single
oad.
9. Replacement of Men by Wom-
en—When it is necessary to employ
women on work hitherto done by men,
care should be taken to make sure
that the task is adapted to the
strength of women. The standards
of wages hitherto prevailing for men
in the process should not be lowered
where women render equivalent serv-
ice. : The hours for women engaged
in such processes should, of course,
not be longer than those formerly
worked by men.
Some Hike!
“Astronomers tell us,” said the man
of statistics, “that an express, train
moving a hundred miles a second
would consume several million years
in reaching a certain star.”
The other man sat silent, wrapped
in thought.
“Did you hear me?” asked the man
of statistics.
“Qh, yes, I heard you,” responded
the other qquietly. “I was just think-
ing what a predicament a chap would
be in if he should miss the last train
and have to walk.”
The Idea!
“Well, of all the impudence!” ex-
claimed Mrs. Newriche.
“What is it, Agnes?” asked her hus-
band.
“Those poor first cousins of yours
are telling people they got the same
identical ancestors that you've got.
That Would Help.
Maid (about to leave)—Might I ask
for a recommendation, ma’am?
Mistress—But, Mary, what could I
truthfully say that would help you
get another place?
Maid—Just say that I know many
of your family secrets ma'am.
Journalistic Amenities.
“Qur wart of a contemporary,” says
the Tazville Gazette, “claims, as far
as the war is concerned, to have the
earliest intelligence. That is the kind
of intelligence they always had at
that office. It is more than early; it
is primitive.”
God’s Service Flag.
The other night a dear little five-
year-old, gazing up into the sky dot-
ted with a million stars said: ‘Oh
mother, what an awful lot of God's
men have gone to war.”
S—————— CE
Instant Relief.
“So you think Kathleen made a
very suitable match.”
“Yes, indeed. You know what a
nervous, excitable girl she was. Well,
she married a composer.”
wld
“om
“