Bemorrai dn
Bellefonte, Pa., June 6, 1919.
LADDIE.
By Elizabeth M. Jones, Baltimore, Md.
It seems but yesterday my little boy
Brought out a painted soldier for his toy,
And played at war;
And in his baby voice,
mand
He mustered out his little band
Upon the nursery floor.
with stern com-
But days and weeks the years will span,
My little lad became a man
And went away,
To fight for right and love of God;
In France he sleeps beneath the sod
This day.
For now they tell me that my boy is dead,
Above his grave in summer time will
bloom the poppies red;
(My baby boy!)
A little cross marks cut the spot,
Oh, God! How hard our lot,
(Our only boy!)
But though our hearts are wrung with
loss,
Dear Lord, we bend and kiss the cross.
DRAFTED.
The Story of a Small Boy and His
Dog.
Buddy Hopkins stood on the rickety
front steps of the little house where
he lived, and tried to make out what
was going on in the next block. The
performance was so puzzling that he
decided to go down and investigate,
but on the way to the gate he turned
back and puckered up his lips int) a
peremptory whistle.
Nothing happened.
Nothing ever did happen when he
whistled for Spot; so, as usual, he
went back and peered under the steps.
Sure enough! there was the delin-
quent, ardently Fletcherizing an old
shoe, over which he regarded his mas-
ter with affectionate interest.
“Didn’t you hear me whistle?” ex-
claimed Buddy! “What kind of a dog
are you anyway ?”
The question was almost an indeli-
cate one, for when Spot had been
dragged into the open, it was appar-
ent that his genaology was—well,
rather complicate. He wasn’t exact-
ly a spaniel and he wasn’t exactly a
— But never mind that! There was
one thing he decidedly was; he was
the puppiest puppy dog that ever
waggled a tail, or blundered about on
impossibly big feet, or looked at a
boy out of soft, adoring eyes. That
was the way he looked at Buddy now;
and the boy returned the look in kind
as the two young things started for
the gate in an inextricable confusion
of bare feet and black-and-white
paws.
It was not until they reached the
cluttered and unkempt front yard of
the Bean cottage that Buddy discov-
ered what was happening there. Un-
der the masterful direction of Lizzie
Bean five children were digging a
hole in one corner. Lizzie, who by
age and temperament was the domi-
nating spirit of the neighborhood,
wiped the beads of honest toil from
her brow and hastened to explain,
“Hello, Buddy!” she said. “We're
diggin’ a coal mine. Teacher told us
all about it last winter. You just dig
an’ dig till you come to the coal—an’
there you are! We'll get to it before
winter an’ then we’ll have it right
handy here, ‘stead of havin’ to pick it
up along the tracks.”
“Gee!” said Buddy. “It’s great!”
Lizzie handed up an old tin pail full
of dirt to Charlie Stevens, who, with
great importance, lugged it out to the
street. Jimmy Rand bent to his task
of wielding a broken stove shovel.
Thomas Jefferson Johnson, whose col-
or matched his name, pushed his
soap-box wagon up for Jimmy to fill.
Out in the road, Joey Bean and
bow-legged Willie Bean were posted
to shovel the dirt into the ditch. Over
by the sagging porch, Violet Alice
Bean. aged three, sat on the ground
scraping out her own private coal
mine with a battered tin spoon. Bud-
dy beheld these activities with grow-
ing excitement.
“We're helpin’ Uncle Sam, too!” ob-
served Lizzie. “Y’see, gettin’ our
own coal will leave that much more
for other folks. Ain’t it a wonder no-
body thought of it before I did?”
“You bet!” said Buddy. “I'll help
you. I'm an awful good digger, I
am.” And he laid hold of another
battered shovel and started for the
hole. At the brink he stopped short
oh the shock of a sudden inspira-
ion.
“Gee!” he exclaimed, “Spot kin
help, too! Just give him sumpin’ to
bury an’ he kin dig like anything.”
. Lizzie hesitated. There was also
impressive cessation of work on the
part of Jimmy Rand; and T. J. John-
son dug his black toes into the ground
and looked the other way.
_“S-say—Tlisten here, Bud!” said Liz-
zie. “Y’see this coal-minin’ we're do-
in’ ain’t no common job. Y’see, we’er
a kind of a club.”
“Yep,” put in Charlie Stevens.
“This is the ‘Army Folks Club.’ ”
“Ain’t you got somebody in the ar-
my, kid?” demanded Jimmy. “If you
have you can pitch in! But if you
ain't you gotta git out; ’cause them’s
the rules. You gotta have a Sammy
2 the army or you can’t get into the
club.
Buddy’s pinched little face went
suddenly pale under its streaks of
dirt and the shovel slipped from his
nerveless grasp. Yes, he knew about
their folks. The Bean children had
an uncle in France. Charlie Stevens’
brother had run away and enlisted.
Jimmy’s two brothers were with Com-
pany G; and even Thomas Jefferson
could boast of military connections,
for his cousin was in the draft. Bud-
dy gulped hard.
“If a feller’s mother’s got killed—
and he ain’t never had anybody but
just an old grandmother an’ grand-
pop-—how kin he have folks in the ar-
my
He was interrupted by a howl from
Violet Alice, and the children turned
to behold her eclipsed by a kaleido-
scopic effect in black and white which
experience enabled them to identify
as Spot. Out of the fnllness of his
loving puppy heart he was insisting
on licking her chubby face. Sister
Lizzie's indignation had the fierce-
ness of the maternal instinct.
“Take your dog off'n my sister,
Buddy Hopkins!” she shrieked.
“Aw, he ain’t hurtin’ her!” said
Buddy; but he moved over to the
point of disturbance and captured the
active section of it.
Then the two little figures trailed
dejectedly out of the yard.
Every day for a week the Army
Folks Club labored with more or less
spasmodic intensity. And every day
Buddy and Spot, driven to an exclu-
sive enjoyment of each other’s socie-
ty, became more dependent on this
companionship.
Perhaps there is no love more en-
thralling than that which a boy gives
to his first dog—unless it is the devo-
tion with which a puppy requites his
first master. And in Buddy’s case
this warm and wonderful exchange
was almost the boy’s whole heart-life.
His grandmother had never loved
him. Her daughter’s child, minus an
acknowledged father, had been a bit-
ter legacy to her. His grandfather
really did care for him; but the shad-
ow of Mrs. Hopkins’ antagonism fell
always between the two, keeping their
affection for each other an unexpress-
ed emotion which left the boy’s heart-
hunger unsatisfied.
So on his dog he lavished all the
riches of his childish soul. Instead
of a mother’s kisses, the puppy’s lit-
tle pink tongue dried his tears that
first night when he cried himself to
sleep over the coal mine incident. In-
stead of putting his arms around a
motherly neck and sobbing out his
troubles, he hugged his dog and found
comfort and appeasement in the
struggles of the wriggling little body
to convey a perfect passion of affec-
tion. His dog! The one being in the
world that adored him.
After his rebuff by the Army Folks,
Buddy avoided the Bean neighborhood
with bitter dignity. But on the last
day of that eventful week his curios-
ity overcame his deeper emotions and,
accompanied as usual by Spot, he
strolled down in that direction. The
club was performing its duties rather
perfunctorily by this time, so every-
ody was unfeignedly glad to resume | u
friendly relations with a former es-
teemed contemporary liv» Buddv
This prevailing good feeling might
have led to his becoming a nonde-
script member of the club, if some-
thing quite unexpected had not hap-
pened.
It was Lizzie, of course, that silenc-
ed the group with a commanding ges-
ture, so that they heard from some-
where in the distance the muffled,
measured tread of scores of march-
ing feet. With a wild shout of joy,
the War Folks cast aside their shov-
els and started for the gate. Down
the street they tore, Willie Bean,
whose personal architecture was a de-
cided handicap, bringing up the rear.
“It’s the soldiers from the train,”
shouted Charlie. “Come on! The
Sammies are goin’ up Main Street!”
On they ran. Breathless and pur-
ple and panting they came to where
long lines of husky boys. from the
great Middle West, were singing their
way through crowds that cheered,
that waved and smiled. and some-
times sighed, as they went swinging
y.
* Bager, excited, the Army Folks
chased feverishly along beside the
troops, who were having this bit of
exercise after hours of railroad trav-
el, and who sang as they marched a
song which ran:
“He was just a long, lean country gink
From 'way out West where the hoptoads
wink ;
He was six feet two in his stocking feet.
And kept gettin’ thinner the more he’d
eat!”
“Hello, kids!” called the soldiers.
And just at that moment, when the
struggling little group was thus
brought into the limelight of public
attention, Spot, cavorting madly
along in an intoxication of joy and
gladness, perceived what appeared to
him to be a good opening and at-
tempted to negotiate it. Of course
Willie Bean’s architecture would have
encouraged any puppy to try this
same stunt: for, as previously re-
marked, Willie’s legs were unmistak-
ably suggestive of a pair of parenthe-
ses. But the result was that Willie
was catapulted into a sergeant and
that Spot monopolized the attention
of the entire company for a few hec-
tic moments.
Probably this fact was responsible
for what happened after the troops
had returned to their train. escorted
by a large part of the town’s popula-
tion, including Lizzie and her satel-
lites. Leaning from the windows. the
soldiers, suddenly recognized Spot
with shouts of joy.
“Hey kid! What’s the pup’s name?”
Buddy never knew just why he
answered as he looked up into the
laughing faces—he didn’t say “Spot”
at all! What he piped, in his funny
treble voice, was—
“Sammy!”
“Hand him up here and let him cet
next to the real thing!” called the
very sergeant that had been catapult-
ed by Willie.
Buddy, entranced by this attention,
lifted the wriggling form up to the
sergeant’s long arms and delightedly
watched the hilarious reception of
His Dog by these heroes of the imag-
ination, while from the windows of
the train rolled waves of melody:
“But he was brave as he was thin,
When the war broke out, he got right in.
Unhitched the mule, put the plow away;
And then the old folks heard him say:
“‘Good-by, Ma, Good-by, Pa,
Good-by, mule with your old hee-haw!
I may not know what the war’s about,
But you bet, by gosh, I'll soon find out.””
Buddy, his lips parted in an ecsta-
sy of excitement, did not notice that
the signal had been given and the
train was creeping ahead.
“And, oh! my sweetheart, don’t you fear!
I'll bring vou a king for a souvenir.
And that’s about all one fellow can do.”
I'll get you a Turk and a Kaiser too,
Faster and faster went the train,
its windows crowded with laughin
faces, while from car windows an
station platform came a medley of
cheers and good-bys. Lizzie Bean
waved her long arms and cheered
shrilly, The other members of the
Army Folks did likewise. And then,
quite suddenly, they fell silent, star-
ing, open-mouthed, at a familiar lit-
tle figure which was running, running,
his bare legs flying in a futile pursuit
of the now swiftly moving train. As
they watched, they saw him stop de-
spairingly and throw himself on the
ground, face downward.
“It’s Buddy!” they exclaimed.
Lizzie looked around her sharply.
“Gee!” she said. “They’ve gone off
with his dog!”
The crowd on the platform melted
away. Only the club members had
noticed the small boy, face down in
the cinders along the track, and they
approached him with embarrassed of-
fers of sympathy. :
“Come on, Buddy!” coaxed Charlie.
“Spot’ll git home all right. They'll
let him out down the track.”
“Come along, Bud!” urged Lizzie;
and with supreme generosity she add-
ed: “Come on and we’ll let you help
dig. I guess we'll probably find coal
this afternoon.” : s
The stricken Buddy picked himself
up and followed them silently until
they reached the Bean gate, then, with
a shake of the head, he went on home.
After supper he went out to the
gate and waited, peering through the
gathering dusk, his ears strained to
hear the patter of racing feet. When
he went up to the low attic where he
slept, his grandfather followed him.
“What’s the matter, Buddy?” the
old man asked with awkward tender-
ness.
Buddy buried his head in the pil-
lows.
Can't you tell your old gran’dad-
“They—took—my dog!” sobbed the
boy.
“Who took your dog? If any o’
them kids has be’n pesterth’ you, your
gran’daddy’ll ‘tend to them!”
“The—the soldiers—took him! They
took him—off—on the cars.”
“Gosh!” said the old man.
they git your dog?” he demanded;
and when Buddy, between his sobs.
had explained the matter, he patted
the shaking shoulders and tried to of-
fer consolation.
“Never mind, sonny!” he said.
“Never mind! Tell you what I'll do.
I’ll git you another dog. I seen one
today. He’s a reg’lar dog, this one is.
Spot want nothin’ but a pun, anyway.
This here one is a real dog.”
Buddy tried to respond, but gave it
Pp.
“I don’t wont no real dog,” he sob-
bed: “I just want—my puppy!”
Day after day Buddy waited, nurs-
ing a hope which grew fainter and
fainter. One evening, when his
grandmother came to supper, the child
was in the woodshed getting chips for
the kitchen stove and the old man peer-
ed in, his eyes alight, his hands be-
hind his back.
“What d’you guess I’ve brought
you, sonny ?” he said mysteriously.
Buddy looked up and a sudden ra-
diance flooded his face.
“My—dog!” he cried.
“Yep,” the eld man said persuasive-
ly, “I’ve brought you the nicest little
puppy you ever seen.” And he pro-
duced a wriggling little bunch and
held it out with a gesture he tried to
make confident. But all the swift joy
faded from the boy’s eyes and, after
one glance at the proffered substitute
—the “something just as good” as the
one and only thing he wanted—he
turned away.
“It’s awful good of you, Grandpop,
but”—his voice broke—“I—I don’t
want nothin’ but my own dog!”
The old man helplessly regarded the
little creature in his hands.
“I thought mebbe you’d like him,”
he said, “but I kin take him back.”
He started to the house, but hesi-
tated, and taking out of his pocket a
shabby purse he slowly extracted a
half-dollar from its sparse contents.
“Here, sonny,” he said. “Don’t say
nothin’ to your grandmother; but
here’s a half-dollar. You light out
after supper and take the kids to the
movies.”
But the boy was still sobbing, and
did not even look up.
“Buddy, quit!” quavered the old
man. “Take it, an’ go to the show—
like a good kid!”
His shaking fingers pushed the
money into Buddy’s hands, and the
boy looked up to see the wrinkled and
weather-beaten old face twitching
painfully. Grandpop was crying!
The child’s sobs were hushed by the
wonder of that sight, and he suddenly
od his arms around the old man’s
neck.
. “I'll be good! It—it’ll be fine, Grand-
pop!” he declared bravely.
An hour later the entire member-
ship of the Army Folks Club, escort-
ed by the rank outsider, Buddy. sat
in the second row of the Empire Mov-
ing Picture Palace and prepared for
two hours of bliss.
First there was a fire in New Jer-
sey; then the wreck of a freight train,
an aeroplane flight, the inevitable
icture of soldiers training, and final-
y a great parade of troops at Camp
Dodge in their own State.
Here was something doing! As the
lines of soldiers swung along, the au-
dience clapped and cheered and the
second row spectators sat eagerly for-
ward. All except Buddy! Temporar-
ily he had forgotten his grief, but now
these lines of marching men brought
back his sense of loss and loneliness,
and he saw the screen through a
blinding mist of tears. Surreptitious-
ly he put up his grimy little hand to
wipe them away, when suddenly he
felt a violent poke which almost sent
him out of his seat.
“Look!” shrieked Lizzie. “Buddy,
—look!”
Dashing his tears away, Buddy did
look, and there beheld cavorting awk-
wardly beside a sergeant—whose face
was stamped on Buddy’s memory—
the unmistakable figure of a black-
and-white puppy dog! On he came,
straight toward the front of the pic-
ture; straight, so it seemed to the
breathless boy in the second row, to
the arms which he held out with an
inarticulate cry. And then, in that
mysterious way, peculiar to moving
pictures, Spot, with a final wag of his
tail, vanished from the screen, and
Buddy’s empty arms fell back hope-
lessly. :
His grandfather was sitting on the
steps when Buddy came home in the
grip of renewed sorrow; and after the
boy had told what happened and had
crept up to bed the old man sfayed
there a long time, his pipe held be-
tween his teeth with unwonted deter-
mination. He was very gentle with
Buddy in the days that followed, and
a secret understanding grew and
deepened between them. But, for all
that, the boy’s heart ached with lone-
liness. The Army Folks Club now re-
garded him 2 quite a figure of ro-
mance and the invitation to join in
the coal mining operation had been
“How’d ;
|
: father,
renewed with great cordiality. Bud-
dy tried to respond, but he was sub-
ject to sudden attacks of emotion
which would send him flying home to
the haven of the woodshed.
One afternoon he heard his grand-
mother’s shriil tones. Buddy won-
dered vaguely who could be the obiect
of her wrath, and at the sound of
footsteps he shrank back into the
darkest corner.
And then the miracle happened!
For, reaching in through the door, his
grandfather’s big rough hands set
down 2a tumultuous something in
black and white that flung itself upon
him and fairly devoured him in an
insatiable yearning to get closer than
the immutable laws of matter would
permit.
When at last, half suffocated with
joy and with puppy caresses, Buddy
looked up at the old face, smiling
down at him, he could only smile
back, dumb with happiness. His
grandfather sat down on the chop-
ping block and drawing a paper from
his pocket, put on his spectacles with
hands which trembled.
“Guess you didn’t think your old
Gran’daddy had much sense anyway,
did you?” he demanded with ill-con-
cealed pride. “Guess you didn’t think
he’d have gumption enough to write
to Camp Dodge an’ tell the hull Unit-
ed States Army about his boy’s pup,
did you? Well, that’s what he had.
An’ sure enough the U. S. A. done
just what I asked ’em to. They sent
: your pup back by express this after-
noon an’—an’ I just knocked off work
—it’s kind o’ warm workin’ today,
anyhow !—and brung him home soon’s |
he got here.”
Buddy was still dumb. He silently
hugged the wriggling bunch of love
in his arms; but he locked volumes.
“I will say,” proceeded his grand-
“they done the thing up
brown. Listen here to what they
sent with—with Sammy.”
Buddy’s eyes widened at the name
—but he kept on saying nothing. His
grandfather, smoothing out the pa-
per, motioned him to come and read. !
It was a very important looking doc-
ument which stated in flawless official
language that an Honorable Dis-
charge had been granted to one “Sam-
my Hopkins, of Company A, Tenth
Regiment,” of the National Army!
Buddy spelled it out, word by word.
Then he read it again, and finally he
looked up into the beaming face above
him, suddenly printed a fierce kiss on
the wrinkled cheek, snatched the pa-
per from the threadbare knee where
it was spread, and dashed out of the
door. Spot—that is to say, Sammy—
escaped from his arms and the two
raced through the yard, out the front
gate, down the street, and irrupted
startlingly into the midst of the some-
what languid War Folks Club. Arriv-
ed at his great moment, Buddy con-
trolled himself by a violent effort of
the will and interrupted the storm of
excitement which greeted the reap
pearance of Sp—that is, Sammy.
“Read that!” he said grandilo-
quently. And he presented the Hon-
orable Discharge.
“Gosh!” said the combined mascu-
line membership of the Army Folks
Club, when the contents of the docu-
ment had been digested.
But the female of the species, who
always goes the male one. better,
gathered herself together, considered
the situation for a moment, and in
the person of Dictator Lizzie, pro-
nounced these remarkable words:
“You can git into the Army Folks
An’!
now all right, Buddy Hopkins.
what’s more, you’ve got the only sol-
dier what’s ackchully been in the ar-
my an’ has come back onnerbly dish-
charged. So what I say is that we
gotta make Sp—Sammy the president
o’ this here club. An’ what I say,
goes.”—By Vesta Tharp, in The
American Magazine.
Important Facts About War Risk
Insurance.
Responsible representatives of the
various life insurance companies may
render valuable service to the depend-
ents of American soldiers and sailors
by giving information regarding the
activities of the Bureau of War Risk
Insurance to those dependents. The
following suggestions are made by
the Bureau, with a view to facilitat-
ing correspondence between these de-
pendents and the Bureau:
A large number of men having sim-
ilar names, it is absolutely necessary
to give identifying facts when corres-
ponding, to enable the Bureau to lo-
cate the records. (A striking exam-
ple is that the records of the Bureau
show over 1200 Smiths whose first ini-
tial is E.) The following should al-
ways be stated:
When corresponding as to allot-
ments and allowances: Full name of
enlisted man; present address; his
allotment number or army serial num-
ber; date of enlistment; rank and or-
ganization November 1917, or at en-
listment if subsequent thereto; full
name of allottee; relationship to en-
listed man; address.
When corresponding as to compen-
sation: Full name of enlisted man;
present address: his army serial num-
ber; date of enlistment; rank and or-
ganization; date of death or discharge
from service; full name of beneficia-
ry; address. :
When corresponding as to insur-
ance: Full name of insured; present
address; his army serial number;
rank and organization when insured:
insurance certificate number; date of
birth; date of discharge; full name of
beneficiary; address.
Letters concerning the payment or
non-payment of the allotment or al-
lowance, compensation, or insurance,
should be addressed to the Account-
ing Division of the Bureau. ;
Letters concerning compensation or
insurance claims due to death or dis-
ability should be addressed to the
Compensation and Insurance Claims
Division of the Bureau.
———Of the 336,000 Indians in the
United States about 10,000 served in
the army, many being in the overseas
army, and most of the soldiers volun-
teering in advance of the draft. Yet
the status of these aboriginal Ameri-
cans as citizens is below that of the
immigrants who have their first nat-
uralization papers. One of the first
duties of Congress in recognition of
the patriotic service of the Indian is
to clear the obstacles in the way of
admitting him to citizenship in all
cases where he is worthy.
— Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
Few attributes of character are more
charming than the faculty of gracefully
acknowledging one’s errors.—Anon.
Skirts are still short, and are grow-
ing more skimpy as prices advance.
Hats are small also, made in fine
straw, or satin embroidered with
straw or raffia. The more they cost
the less trimming they seem to have
on them, although a good many have
a straight or a curled feather as an
ornament.
A great deal of satin is used, most-
ly in black, for afternoon frocks, and
some of the best tailor-mades have
plain cloth coats, and the same cloth
for the skirt with a tinv white pin-
stripe running through it. Capes are
very largely used as wraps, and are
obviously adapted from the American
Y. M. C. A. capes, but they have slits
for the arms.
Dont’s for Young Mothers.—Don’t
kiss the baby on the mouth or allow
your friends to do so.
Don’t give soothing syrups to the
cross baby.
Don’t give “patent” cough mixtures
for a cough.
Don’t fail to secure the best milk
you can afford to buy.
Don’t allow flies to rest or feed on
baby’s bottle or nipple.
Don’t fail to wash bottle and nip-
ple before feeding the baby.
Don’t let the baby use a “pacifier.”
Constant sucking of a dummy teat
: causes deformities and interferes with
baby’s growth.
Don’t fail to keep the baby’s food,
| when prepared, on the ice.
i Don’t fail to feed baby at regular
periods, day and night.
i Don’t neglect the daily care of ba-
. by’s mouth—wash out with boric ac-
id after each feeding.
Don’t excite the baby—especially
before sleeping time or after eating.
Don’t rock the baby to sleep.
b Don’t let any one sleep with the ba-
y.
Don’t let the baby sleep in the sun
with light shining into its eyes.
Don’t overdress the baby, and in
summer avoid wool near the skin.
Don’t pick up very young babies
without supporting the back.
Don’t neglect to bathe the baby
daily. In summer frequent wet dips
help.
Don’t fail to clean all folds of skin
and powder well. Don’t let a wet bib
or wet cap string chafe baby’s neck.
Don’t keep baby in the house; fresh
air is necessary for growth.
Don’t permit flies to bother baby
, when sleeping; use a net.
Don’t fail to screen in the windows,
particularly in the nursery, against
flies and insects.
Don’t forget that babies nursed by
their mother’s milk and given plenty
of fresh air have three times the ad-
vantage over others in escaping diar-
rhoea, pneumonia and children’s in-
fections. ;
Don’t expect a quiet, composed,
healthy baby unless you do your part
thoroughly and constantly.
Don’t forget that a mother who
thinks her milk is not right or suffi-
cient for her baby may secure medic-
‘ al advice on how to improve it in both
quality and quantity—she should con-
: sult her private physician.—Bulletin
of the New York Department of
Health.
The wise housewife, who taking
time by the forelock, prepares sim-
ple syrups of fruits in their season,
will find that with these as a basis a
great number of healthful summer
drinks can be easily and quickly made.
Great care, however, should always
be exercised in preparing beverages
for the heated term, so that they are
not over-sweetened, as their mission
is to quench thirst instead of induc-
ing it. Also, it is the better plan to
use the fruit syrup with the acid lem-
on or orange juice and let the combin-
ed liquids stand for an hour or two
on the ice to ripen before adding the
water and ice. In almost all instanc-
es the addition of carbonated water is
a decided improvement, as the life
and sparkle of the water give a zest
that nothing else will.
The following tested Southern re-
cipes for summer beverages can be
very highly recommended:
Iced Ginger Cup.—Place in a large
bowl the strained juice of three large
lemons, one quart of hulled washed
strawberries, one cupful of sugar and
two sliced oranges. Let the fruit
puree stand on the ice for two or
three hours. When ready to serve
mix well, add one quart of chilled
water, two pint bottles of ginger ale
and about one pint of shaved ice.
Serve accompanied by straws and
pour the beverage into slender, high-
stemmed glasses.
Tea Punch.—Make the tea infusion
by pouring a quart of boiling water
over a heaping tablespoonful of Cey-
lon tea. Let stand for three or four
minutes and then strain into a large
bowl. When cold, add two cupfuls of
granulated sugar, the strained juice
of three oranges and three lemons,
the pulp and juice of one pineapple
and one small cupful of Marachino
cherries with the cordial. Stand the
fruit puree directly on the ice and,
just previous to serving, add one
quart of iced carbonated water and
one quart of cracked ice. Serve in
tall glasses with lemonade spoons, so
that the fruit can be eaten.
Sweet Curds Good in Pie.—Sweet
curds make a good filling for pie or
tarts, suggests the home economics
office of the Department of Agricul-
ture. The curd is obtained by adding
rennet to warm milk and allowing the
milk to stand until it hardens. The
resulting curd is then broken up and
strained. To the curd from one quart
of milk add one level tablespoon but-
ter, one-quarter cup sugar, yolks of
two eggs and a few Zante currants or
chopped raisins and a little nutmeg.
Bake it like custard pie.
Washing Tan Clothes.—Get a ten-
cent package of brown dye and dis-
solve in boiling water, bottle and keep
for use when washing tan-colored
clothing. A little of the dye in the
ringing water and tne starch prevemts
such colored garments from looking
faded and washed out.
He rr meee rte
HOW TO SHIFT GEARS.
Best-Known Methods Described by
Expert; Work of a Good Driver.
One of the marks of a good driver
is the manner in which he handles the
gear shifting lever. Of course the
design of the clutch and transmis-
sion has a great deal to do with easy
gear shifting, but even with these
advantages a certain amount of prac-
tice is necessary in order to shift the
gears deftly, without noise or clash-
ing. This clashing is caused by the
outer ends of the gear teeth striking
each other instead of meshing as
they should, with the result that the
transmission gears are sometimes in-
jured by constant improper shifting
of gears.
A clear understanding of what hap-
pens in the process of gear shifting
will enable the driver to master the
process in a very short time.
The transmission is made up of a
series of gears, mounted on the main
shaft and the countershaft, with the
idler gear mounted on the transmis-
sion case. The first speed, second
speed and the reverse combination
are simply three sets of reduction
gears with various ratios, to give the
motor a greater leverage against the
driving mechanism when required.
High speed is direct drive, which
means that the propeller shaft re-
volves at the same rate of speed as
the motor crankshaft. The various
gears are brought into play by mov-
in the gear shifting lever to the
proper positions.
RELEASE THE GEAR TEETH.
When the clutch pedal is pressed
all the way down the power of the
motor is disconnected from the trans-
mission system, which releases the
pressure of the gear teeth against
each other and makes it possible to
shift the gears easily. Also, when the
gear shifting lever is disconnected
from the rear driving mechanism, be-
cause none of the transmission gears
are in mesh.
The lower end of the gear shifting
lever connects with the gear shifting
forks, which are so arranged as to
push the gears forward and backward
on the square main-shaft in order to
make the different gear combinations.
The whole theory of gear shifting
may be summed up in the statement
that the two gears about to be mesh-
ed should be revolving slowly and as
nearly as possible at the same rate
of speed. If one is revolving much
faster than the other it is difficult to
shift without clashing.
It is a mistake, for the above rea-
sons, to let the car gain too great a
speed before shifting into a higher
combination. The following methods
will be found to give good results:
ONE OF BEST METHODS.
With the throttle closed and the
spark lever about half-way down the
quadrant, so that the engine idles
slowly, throw out the clutch and put
the gear-shifting lever in first speed
position. Engage the clutch slowly,
at the same time pressing down on
the accelerator pedal gradually. Let
the car attain a speed of about four
or five miles an hour and then throw
out the clutch, removing the right
foot entirely from the accelerator
pedal. Push the lever slightly for-
ward into neutral position, then clear
to the left and forward into second
speed.
Let the clutch in gently as before
and accelerate the speed of the car
to about 8 or 10 miles an hour. when
the clutch should again be disengag-
ed, the foot removed from the accel-
erator and the gear-shifting lever
pulled straight back into high speed
position.
All of these motions should be made
deliberately, without haste. Most
drivers are in too much of a hurry to
make the shift, but smoother shifting
will result if, after moving the lever
from first or second speed, it is al-
lowed to remain in neutral for a sec-
ond before pushing it to the higher
speed position.
KNACK QUICKLY ACQUIRED
The driver will acquire this knack
much quicker if he will cultivate the
habit of not gripping the shifting
lever too firmly. For example. shift-
ing from second to high speed is a
straight backward movement. By
moving the lever backward with the
finger tips, the driver can actually
feel when the gears are rotating at
proper speed to mesh perfectly. With
the lever gripped tightly this is not
possible.
These rules will apply to all ordina-
ry driving on fairly good and level
roads, where the car does not lose
momentum quickly. But on an up-
grade or in heavy pulling of any
kind where the car slows down the
instant the power is shut off the
shift should be made quickly and
firmly from all speeds.
REVERSE OF MOTIONS.
Shifting from a high speed to a
lower speed is practically the reverse
of the motions described above, ex-
cept in the matter of handling the
throttle. The principal thing is to
make the shifts as firmly and quickly
as possible, so as not to let the gears
slow down. It is also well to press
the clutch pedal down only far
enough to barely release the clutch.
Never attempt to reverse the car
until it has come to a full ston, nor
to shift from reverse into forward
speed until the car is standing still,
because the action throws an enor-
mous strain on the mechanism.
These rules, if observed, soon be-
come as automatic as the act of walk-
ing, and the driver who observes them
will have no difficulty in shifting
gears with perfect ease and silence.—
Pittsburgh Post.
— Of 90,000 Indians of school
age, 28,500 are in special government
schools, 29,500 in the public schools,
5,000 are in mission and contract
schools, 5,000 are physically or men-
tally disqualified, leaving 23,000 little
Indians who have no school at all.
Yet most of the treaties by which the
United States acquired Indian lands
and moved the owners to reservations
stipulated that the Great Father at
Washington should supply teachers
and school-houses—one to every thir-
ty children! The Centenary will pro-
vide fund for meeting a part of this
obligation, but there remains a great
burden of neglected educational duty
on the part of the government which
ought to weigh more heavily than it
does upon the conscience of America.
——They are all good enough, but
the “Watchman” is always the best.
“ir
oo’