Beworraic Wan
Bellefonte, Pa., June 27, 1924.
LIFE.
Life is a puzzle, life is a game,
Life is something we love, just the same;
Life makes us happy, life makes us blue,
Life's always bringing in something that’s
new;
Something that’s different, maybe a smile,
Maybe a something that’s wicked and vile.
Life brings us poverty, life brings us gold;
Life brings us death, when we're feeble
and old.
Millionaire, pauper—it’s life just the same,
Hardly a difference, except in a name.
Onward and onward, the same as before,
Many with riches, the most of us poor;
Some of us sorrowful, some of us glad,
Some of us hopeful, and some of us sad.
Days filled with toiling, the same bitter
grind, *
Nothing ahead of us nothing behind.
Struggling, idling, on through the years,
Most of us smiling, often through tears;
Dreams that are wonderful, dreams that
are sweet,
Soar to the heavens, then crash at our
feet;
Poverty, riches, joyousness, strife;
What is it, anyway? Nothing—just life.
—Lamar Wendell Phillips.
THE FUGITIVE FROM FINLEY’S
ALLEY.
A Story of a Rescue and a Revelation.
He was a tramp—ragged, dirty, un-
kempt, with the half-suspicious, half-
surly manner that comes from contin-
ved painful contacts with life. His
brown eyes were all that gave the lie
to his general disreputable appear-
ance, and most people did not trouble
to look at them until they had given
him a quick kick or cuff. Then it was
too late, for the shaggy curtain of his
brows was drawn, and the snarl he
had been forced to cultivate in self-de-
fense was revealing his white teeth
instead.
Nobody but a stray child here and
there had ever discovered those limpid
brown pools of absolute longing which
were his eyes. For in the strange
cosmic scheme of things he had been
perfectly made, this homeless, friend-
less tramp, for one end and one only—
to love, to worship, to serve loyally a
master.
And here among the garbage pails
and ash cans of Finley's Alley he
slunk, furtive, watchful, ready to snarl
and run at a danger signal, ready to
fight for a bite of moldy bread or
other questionable scraps—anything
that would prolong his life and there-
by prolong the quest which the speck
of sentient matter within his tattered,
tired little body never gave up. Some-
where,—vaguely his god must be
waiting, and he must seek to find him.
On this dry, hot June morning, he
scudded at last out of Finley’s Alley,
evaded a hurtling stone by a hair's
breadth, and turned into a road that
led out of the city. He trotted alertly
along until the weeds appeared at the
edge of the macadam, and autos be-
came less plentiful; then he ran close
to the fences, nose sniffing, eyes peer-
ing. Even though he had to return to
the Finley’s Alley region at night for
a bite to eat, he would wander now in
sweet-smelling grasses, where small,
soft quick bodies were always darting
here and there. :
So ran the little tramp dog, his four
bruised paws thudding softly, that
tiny sentient spark within him always
pressing on yearningly, but no part of
him suspecting that on this golden
June day there lay waiting for him
just around the corner Death and
Fear and Flight and Freedom and Joy
Supreme, and the End of the Quest!
At that moment, in one of the neat
suburban residences which had been
advertised as “Dutch Colonial, six
rooms, tiled bath, fire place, garage,
cash deposit, balance as rent,” there
was approaching a crisis. Dan Hast-
ings knew it as he slowly dressed for
the day. He wondered if Helene real-
ized it too. She had been early astir,
and with few words, except that she
must go to the city that morning to
buy one or two things, had hurried
down to get breakfast.
The bedroom was large, but it
seemed to Dan to be choked with gar-
ments. A trunk, half filled, stood
near the door: the trays, already
packed, lay on either side. On every
chair were dresses, skirts, hats, shoes.
The whole house, indeed, had had
for a week the dusty, disordered look
which a house acquires when left en-
tirely to care for itself. There had
been shopping and sewing, and more
shopping and sewing; there had been
dinners hastily prepared and careless-
ly cleared away; there had been quick
words and still more deadly silences,
And all this because Helene was going
to Maine,
It was on a day in April that the
letter had come from Helene’s aunt
Marcia. Dan had come home early to
work in the garden, of which he was
inordinately fond. A home of their
own! A garden! No boarding-house
stuff that summer. Fresh peas and
beans and lettuce of his own raising!
And sweet peas and nasturtiums for
Helene to gather for the house! He
had begun to plan for the garden in
January, to Helene's great amuse-
ment. He had pored over catalogues
and sketched his careful diagrams
long before it was time to turn over
the first spadeful of earth.
He had come home jubilantly this
evening with six more packages of
seed and a rambler rosebush for the
porch, to find Helene waiting for him,
radiant. His heart leaped as it
always did at her bright beauty. Hair
like golden mist; eyes like the sky!
“Pan!” she had cried, without wait-
ing to look at the rosebush. “What
do you think? I’ve had a letter from
Aunt Marcia! Listen, I'll read it!”
Aunt Marcia wrote that she would
expect Helene as usual, from the sec-
ond week of June till the first of Sep-
tember, and Dan also for his two
weeks’ vacation the last of August.
She did not expressly state it, but
there lurked in the letter the sugges-
tion that any girl who had kept house
for six months, without a cook and
a butler and two maids, such as Aunt’
Marcia herself had, must be a wreck.
Helene was to reply promptly, so
i that the other girls who always came ' was any less attentive now than be-
! at various times through the summer fore they were married.
‘ weekly dinner dances at one of
to visit with her, could be invited and
dates arranged. She. was also to
bring more party dresses this summer
than usual, because there were to be
the
hotels. : : ]
Dan stared in heavy amazed si-
lence as Helene finished the letter and
cried, “Isn't it too glorious? I didn’t
know whether she would keep on in-
viting me now that I'm married!”
Dan still stood, looking down at her,
the rosebush in his hand, the seed en-
velopes protruding from his pocket.
“But, Helene, you don’t mean you’re
going for all summer!”
Helene’s blue eyes . ed...
pression; her lips fell too easily into
a pout. The amazement was now
transferred to her face.
“Going! Why, Dan, what do you
mean? Would you want me to stay
here all through the awful heat, just
to cook your meals? And miss all
this wonderful time just because you
have to stay? Why, Dan!”—her
voice was half reproachful, half indig-
nant—*“I never dreamed you wouldn’t
be delighted that I have the chance!”
“But. ..the garden! You won’t be'
here for any of the— What’ll be the
good of it now? And you know we
were going to get the awning for the
porch and those chairs... and fix the
lawn all up....Of course I want you
to have a nice vacation. I'd counted
on your being away a month; but,
Helene, this is all summer!”
They discussed it that evening;
Helene, petulant and eager by turns,
setting forth all the delights of the
visit; Dan, listening, anxious, hurt, P
then repeating again and again his
first amazed: expostulations.
In the end, however, Helene wept
bitterly, and Dan kissed away the
tears and said that of course she must
go; he would get along somehow.
But after they had gone to bed and
Helene was breathing with comfor-
table regularity, her hair spread like
golden mist upon her pillow, Dan had
lain awake for a long time, thinking.
There was something wrong. Mar-
riage was not what he had dreamed
it would be—a blissful partnership.
There had been growing, he knew it
now, all through the months, a vague
feeling of something lacking, some-
thing fine and sweet and essential.
His loyal, loving heart had brushed
the thought aside before. How dared
he harbor it in connection with
Helene! The little dancing fairy!
Lovelier in his eyes than anything of
which he had dreamed! Helene, who
had consented—wonder past belief—
to become his wife! It had been a
brief and ardent wooing, climaxed by
the resplendent wedding of last fall.
It was not till the tender, blind wor-
ship of the honeymoon was over and
they were settled in the Dutch Colon-
ial that Dan began to find a small
wistful feeling growing. He had
worked hard; he had put himself
through college; he had made a place
for himself in the world of business;
it looked as though some day there
might come real wealth. But never
since his boyhood had there been any-
one to give him the little endearments,
the foolish solicitudes which mothers
give—and wives. He knew what it
wgs to be homeless; to be very ill in a
city boarding-house, and have nobody
to care; to be weary and discouraged
when night came, and have no haven
of sympathy and cheer.
So, deep in his heart, as he gave all
the strength of his love to Helene,
he had kept certain shamefaced ex-
pectations, built upon what he imag-
ined a wife would mean to him,
But they were not fulfilled. Hel-
ene seemed te assume that husbands
were made to serve and give and do,
as a matter of course. It never ap-
peared to enter her pretty golden
head that there was such a thing as
reciprocity. ;
One February night, when Dan and
Will Carson, a neighbor, had walked
from the station through a sudden
drenching rain, the yearning in his
heart had grown greater than ever.
“Holy Mackerel!” Will had sput-
tered, as he pulled his hat further
over his face. “Won't we be the cod-
dled little boys when we get home?
Gee, Amy will have me in bed with
hot-water bottles if I don’t stop her!
Women are all alike—always fussing
over a fellow!”
Will’s tone had in it the proper
masculine contempt for such weak-
ness, but beneath it poor Dan caught
the triumphant note of a man who |
knew he was loved! Who, in spite of
his lordly disclaiming of attention,
would inwardly gloat over every prec-
ious, foolish feminine fear for his
health and safety.
Helene on that occasion had not
thought of the rain in his connection
at all, though she showed concern
later when she found his wet shoes on
the light bedside rug.
Of course, Dan stoutly maintained
to himself, it was a man’s place to
take care of a woman and be solici-
tous about her. Any man who didn’t
carry more than half the burden was
no man at all. Oh, he ridiculed him-
self mercilessly. And yet—that long-
ing, lonely corner of his heart!
As Dan lay awake this spring night
his heart was sore. This visit of He-
lene’s! How could she do such a
thing? She knew how he had worked
and planned for the garden! How
could she go away for three months
and Jeave him alone! Their first sum-
mer
And without allowing the words to
form, Dan knew in the back of his
brain that, instead of a comrade, a
woman, steady and true of heart,
ready out of her devotion to sacrifice
something for him, as he was to love
her to the uttermost, Helene, with all
her bright beauty, was a child, with
a child’s self-centered desires, a
child’s lack of sympathy and under-
standing. A child to be petted and
caressed and served by him, Did He-
lene realy love him? Was she cap-
able of love? And, ghastly thought,
if she was not, would his own love for
her endure? Could it? Dan buried
his face in the pillow while waves of
bitter fear swept over him.
The next morning Helene was
bright, and full of carelessly happy
plans for her trip.
new clothes, quite a number. Where
would Dan take his meals? He could
easily find some good place. Remem-
ber, she wanted a letter every day
‘and a Special Delivery on Sunday.
She didn’t want the girls to think he
changed ex-
She would need | lif
i In the end, Dan wrote a check for
the wardrobe that made him wince a
little, and the price of the awning and
(the porch chairs went into Helene’s
beaded bag to pay for the trip and
| provide spending money during the
' summer,
| Then, toward the middle of May,
there came to Dan a hot, hard day in
the office, a blinding headache, with
| the heavy weight on his heart and the
long, lonely summer foreshadowing
“him. He knew when he got home that
| something more than ordinary weari-
ness was the matter. Even Helene
| was startled. But her ery, “Oh, Dan,
you're not going to get sick now!”
‘ somehow did not ease the pain. ;
The doctor came, pronounced it
summer flu, a light attack—a week in
bed, possibly—not longer. Helene
! fluttered about. She told the doctor
nervously, appealingly, about her trip.
The old man, falling under the spell of
her blue eyes, as most men did, pat-
ted her shoulder reassuringly.
“Now don’t you worry, little girl!
‘We'll have him out of here in a few
days. You'll get your visit all right.”
The doctor’s medicine was effica-
cious. In a week’s time, Dan, rather
pale and shaky, was out of bed. Hel-
ene had been a careful if somewhat
distracted nurse. There had been an
afternoon’s shopping and a vast
amount of planning, and delicate
stitching on this and that. One day
as she hurried past the bed with a col-
lar and cuff set she was working on,
he reached for her hand and laid it
across his eyes. Her cool, soft little
alm!
But Helene only said, “If your head
starts to ache, I'm to give you one of
the white tablets.”
On the doctor’s last visit he pre-
scribed for the patient plenty of eggs
and milk, with a round of golf each
morning before Dan started for the
office, and very light work for some
time to come.
Dan felt weak. He hated himself
for hoping, but each day, as he came
home from his short experimental
walks and threw himself down weari-
ly on the davenport, he hoped that
Helene would come to him, would say
the words that would knit their hearts
together, establish the perfect bond,
lift the barrier. :
But Helene was busy working on a
hemstitched voile dress. She left it
thoes days only to prepare their hasty
meals.
As May moved brightly on its way
to June, Dan grew more and more
quiet, as Helene grew more busy and
nervous and irritable over her prepa-
rations, After his first day back in
the office, he was exhausted. It was
hard to make himself eat. What
would it be in a restaurant?
“Helene,” he said slowly, one even-
ing, “it’s going to be pretty hard
without you. You don’t suppose you
i could wait a few weeks longer, till I
| get a little bit more on my feet?”
| Helene’s blue eyes went wide with
distress. “Why, Dan, now when I'm
all ready! You know. Aunt Marcie
{ wouldn't like it. She’s having Maude
i Warren there the first two weeks for
“me. It would be awful for me not to
igo when she has everything planned!
i And it would just break my heart to
"miss Maude. Why, Dan!” The voice
twas full of anguished reproach. “If
you were really ill! But the doctor
! said all you needed was to get out mare
:in the fresh air and not to work so
hard!”
So Dan went on keeping his own
: counsel. Each morning he drove du-
tifully to the public golf course in
Lockwood Park. He tried to get back
some of his old energy, his enthusiasm
for the game, but he had to stop after
three holes. He worked as little in
the office as his conscientious soul
would permit, and reached home each
evening as dead tired as he had been
the night before. He was not gaining
strength. And in his dispirited heart
he felt that no one in the world cared.
One frail hope alone occasionally
projected itself: Dan wondered in
his earnest, just, seeking soul, wheth-
er he might be misjudging Helene.
Was it possible that far beneath her
careless exterior there lay a tender-
ness asleep ?
Could it be that the petted, spoiled,
care-free years of her girlhood had
imposed upon her merely a veneer of
selfishness for which she was not in
truth responsible ?
But this hope always flickered and
went out in the face of the daily facts.
His outward relationship with Hel-
ene had grown mechanical. He tried
to acknowledge with animation that
her dresses were pretty, her new
sweater becoming; he consulted time-
tables, ordered her reservation, prom-
ised to write every day. He tried hon-
estly to see her side—every reason for
her going. He called himself weak,
silly, exacting. But under it all was
the heavy fear that a crisis was com-
ing, was almost here. A time when
something dark and impenetrable
would shut his heart away from Hel-
ene’s, and leave between them nothing
but empty physical contacts.
It was with this thought upon him
that he dressed slowly on the morning
of the day before Helene left. It was
still with him as he kissed her good-
by and started for the golf course.
She was going into the city as soon as
he left, for the last purchases, so
when he brought the car back to the
house she would be gone.
Dan drove slowly through the fresh,
early morning air. Sweet odors were
abroad even on the traveled highway.
It was a time for hearts to love and
rejoice. And his own had never been
more heavy.
He reached the links and found,
early though it was, a half-dozen men
before him. He tried to interest him-
self in the teeing off; he concentrated
on following each ball.
Suddenly, as the sixth man stood
poised, there was a shout from the
driveway that skirted the small lake
and the woods. After the shout there
was visible a small ragged object, ears
back, tail dowh, chest straining, com-
ing like a dusty streak along the
drive. It was a dog, running for its
e.
Dan walked across the short plateau
to see better. Another shout made up
of unintelligible words came from just
around the curve, and after it, a po-
liceman, stout, red of face, glaring o
eye, his fingers clutching a metal ob-
these monsters!
ject that shone in the sun. Dan step-
ped quickly out on the road. Some-
or the children who are hers, the love
that comforts, that sustains, that
FARM NOTES.
thing in the small, forlorn, desperate yearns over and cheers, that knows | —Use disinfectants before the mites
figure, fleeing from the big policeman
and the shining object, touched him. '
He whistled softly. He held out one
hand and motioned gently. i
In one brief, amazed flash, up came
the limpid brown eyes of the little
tramp dog. For the first time in his
starved, friendless, knocked-about
life, he saw a human haven of refuge. |
Swiftly as an arrow to its mark, the turned and softly fled back up the!
bruised feet carried him straight to
Dan; he jumped up and licked the out- '
stretched hand with queer, stifled
barks, then-cowered, shivering, close
to Dan’s legs. |
Dan picked him up as the red po-
liceman approached. !
“What’s . the trouble, Officer?” he
inquired.
The large man grew more apoplec-
tic. ’
“Trouble! I been chasin’ that dary '
dog all over this here park! I took
him in them woods over there to shoot
him, an’ he got away from me! Ill
see to 't he don’t do it again. Much
obliged for ketchin’ him.”
He came closer. The dog trembled
violently. Under the shaggy brow
one brown eye, pleading, looked up at
an.
“What’s he done, Officer? Why
were you going to kill him?” ;
“Done! Why, he ain’t no good. He
don’t belong to nobody. He’s a tramp,
he is; I'm going to shoot him. He'll
mebbe go mad an’ bite somebody.”
“Well,” Dan said, “I hate to hand
him over to be shot. If there’s noth-
ing wrong with the dog except that
he has no home, I'll remedy that. I'll
take him with me.” :
“I tell you he ain’t no good! If he
goes mad an’ bites somebody, I'll ar-
rest you! You mind that!”
“All right,” Dan said equably. “It’s
a bargain!”
The policeman, still breathing out
threatenings and slaughter, put up
his revolver, and Dan, carrying his
charge, turned, picked up his golf bag
and went to his car. A queer elation
filled him. He had won in a sharp
contest, and here was a small living
creature that seemed to appreciate
his efforts.
As he drove back home, the dog
snuggled close to him, rubbing against
his arm, scarcely moving the brown
eyes from his face. !
He put the car in the garage, lift-
ed the waif from the seat and led the
way to the house. The little beggar
was probably starved. It was a right
good thing Helene was gone, he!
thought, as he let himself into the
kitchen.
both the glad hope of the joyous day
and the tender fears of the night
watches, the love that never faileth—
such a stream came flowing through
the arid, selfish little heart of Helene,
as miraculously as the water rolled
from the rock under the rod of the
prophet! i
She took a quick step down, then
stairs.
Dan pulled himself together at last,
with the shame any strong man feels
when he has given way to his emo-
tions. :
The dog ate greedily now,
trotted happily behind him to the ga-
rage, where Dan left him with some
extra food, before hurrying off to the
station. paiok :
That day marked the crest of the
early heat wave. Stifling! Intolera-
ble! The city steamed and glared and
blistered. Dan tried to work, but
- strange black spots kept dodging in
front of his eyes. In spite of the
pleasurable feeling in his heart caus-
ed by the dog, his mind kept traveling
wearily on its old circles. Their life
together—Helene’s and his. What
were they going to make of it.
At four o'clock he left for home.
At five he was starting up the street
that led to the Dutch Colonial. He
wondered how the new occupant of
the garage had spent the day * * *
if Helene had finished packing * * *
if she had time to prepare anything
tasty for dinner. Not that it matter-
>a much with the little appetite he
He had come in sight of the house.
He looked up at it, as he always did
at this spot. Then he stopped, star-
tled. He rubbed his eyes; he mutter-
ed to himself, then started hastily
forward. Was there something wrong
with his head? One, two, three, four,
from the corner—that was certainly
his house. But why—how— what
the—
This house he was regarding was
not the one he had left that morning.
This house had a lawn that had been
freshly sprinkled. The steps that led
to the front door were damp and clean.
And the porch! Could it be? Instead
of the bare, dusty spot of the morn-
ing, here was a cool refuge for a hot,
tired maan. A wide awning of the
pattern he had admired gave a com-
fortable shade; a big green fern flank-
ed the steps, and, yes, beyond were
two deep, easy porch chairs!
Then his eye caught the last detail.
On the lowest step, one ear cocked,
and then
become too plentiful in the poultry
buildings. Spray the quarters three
‘times at about three day intervals.
Many people use the drainings of the
auto crank case for the roosts and
dropping boards, and a finer material
to spray the walls and nests. Clean
j the nests frequently during the sum-
mer months.
—One hundred pounds of average
milk contains about 87 pounds of wa-
ter. The dairy cow’s water supply
therefore, demands the dairyman’s
most careful attention. Cows giving
milk drink about four times as much
water as dry cows. High-producing
cows sometimes drink from 200 to 300
pounds of water a day. See that your
herd is supplied with plenty of pure,
' fresh water this summer. ,
I Due to the wet, cold spring, corn
is from two to three weeks behind and
many of the fields are likely to have
a poor stand. If your stand is 60 per
cent or better, it is probably not ad-
visable to replant. There is no crop
which can replace it at this time that
will pay out any better. What may
seem to be a poor stand now may be
found to be a sufficient stand when
the corn is fully developed. Good
warm weather from now on and a
late fall may still mature a good corn
crop.
—A flock of pullets that can be
brought to laying in the fall will give
the largest yearly profit. The aver-
age poultry keeper fails either to
hatch early enough in spring, so that
the pullets may reach laying matur-
ity in October, or he does not keep
them growing rapidly enough to bring
this about. Pullets that do not get to
laying well before the arrival of cold
weather and the short days of Decem-
ber will seldom start egg production
before February. Thus two or three
months of additional feeding are re-
quired, and the advantage of this per-
iod of highest egg prices is lost.
| —Eighty head of purebred Berk-
shire pigs have just been sent to the
Pennsylvania State College by about
forty breeders in all parts of the state,
and will be put on feed immediately
in preparation for the International
Livestock Exposition at Chicago next
fall. This project of sending a car-
load of Berkshires to the famous fat
stock show is made possible by the
Pennsylvania Berkshire Association
! cooperating with the animal husban-
dry department at the college.
Outstanding barrows have been se-
lected from the best herds in the state
land will be fed and developed under
He brought bread and cold | waiting, eager, sat the small tramp ‘the best conditions at the college hog
meat and milk and placed them on dog! But, oh, no longer a tramp. A plant. Last year, a similar carload
the floor. {
And then, at last, the little tramp A washed, shining brown head to the tip
dog knew beyond a shadow of doubt
that he had come home! Home to the
end of his quest! Home to a master
from whose hand he would be fed,
whose hearthstone he would guard’
with his very life. And with only a
glance at the food, he flung himself
upon the man who knelt beside him.
He licked his face, his hands; he leap-
ed upon him; he barked his starved,
lonely heart out in joyous yelpings; '
he groveled in every form of worship-
ful contortion; he looked up at his god
with. brown eyes of utter adoration. |
And, as he watched, something
strange happened to Dan. He was
physically weak; he was nervously ex-
hausted; he was hurt and lonely and
love-hungry! And because there was
no one to see or hear, he buried his
face in the dog’s dusty, ragged coat, !
and let the tension break. His shoul- |
ders heaved. He heard his own voice
in foolish, choking sentences.
“You little loyal mutt!
sent little beggar, you! You care
what happens to me! You care! I:
know! You’ll never leave me. You'll
follow me to the corner in the morn- |
ings and watch me out of sight! And
you'll be here when I come home
evenings. You'll be looking out for |
me and be restless and anxious if I'm
late. Then you'll run to meet me, and
jump and whine and lick my hands!”
Dan’s voice broke in a great sob, as
he held the small body to him. “You'll ‘ sion that arrangements are being growth and maturity.
love me, you loyal little mutt! You'll |
love me!” |
Now, if the iceman had not been '
late and the milkmaan had not arriv-
ed with his bill that morning, there !
would have been no witness to this
extraordinary scene taking place up- :
on the kitchen floor. As it was, how-
ever, there had been the delays which |
every housekeeper experiences when |
trying to get an early start from!
home.
When Dan drove into the garage,
Helene had only just closed the kitch-
en door and reached her room to
change her dress. She heard the door
open, and came to the landing on the
back stairs and peered down. And
then as she saw * * * and heard
* * *# her face grew flushed, and
then turned deadly white. Her hands
clutched the railing; her eyes, strain-
8 intense, were riveted on the scene
elow.
Had the neat garden just outside
been suddenly rent by an earthquake,
there would not have come upon Hel-
ene a more astounded terror than she
felt at that moment!
Dan, the strong, the unfailing, the
self-contained! Quiet, steady, un-
changeable Dan! Who had never in
all her knowledge of him lost his self-
control or his firm poise by a hair's
breadth! To see him now, broken,
shaken, clasping to his breast a
strange, dirty dog! Raising his face
hungrily for the animal’s caresses!
To hear his voice—Dan’s low, sure,
comforting voice—now sobbing! Cry-
ing out for love, with that agonized
loneliness.
It was as though the solid founda-
tions of her life had given away! It
was as though the great forces of
Pain and Despair, which had been to
her before but vague names, v.ere now
beating upon Dan, under her very
eyes, with strong, merciless, living
hands; and with every blow she felt
her own heart smitten!
To save him! To shield him from
To bring back to
him gladness and strength! And oh,
to lift from herself this new burden
of crashing guilt! .
And with the thought, something
happened also to Helene. The springs
of the maternal, that deep, undefiled
fountain, welled up within her. Sud-
f |denly the stream of leve such as
every good woman knows for the man
gentleman dog now, from his clean
of his smooth brushed tail! He had
caught sight of his master. Like a
Streak of living joy he came toward
im.
Dan’s heart was pounding with a
fearful ecstacy. He climbed the steps;
he reached the door. There, in the
new hemstitched voile, was Helene—-
hair like golden mist, eyes like the
sky, lips tremulously tender.
She reached up and drew his head,
hot, aching, city-grimed, down to the
curve of her soft shoulder. Her cool
little hands stroked his cheek. He
heard her voice, the voice of a woman,
a wife who loves even as she is loved,
whispering brokenly:
“Dan, dearest, I'm not going! I'm
staying here with you * * * to make
you happy * * * * I love you so,
Dan * * *'] love you * * * %?
And even in this, the great, shining
moment of his life, as he held his wife
| to him and felt again the thrill of
You God- | love, confident and supreme, Dan re- |
membered to reach a hand down to
meet the eager brown head of the dog
that was raised to its god!—By Ag-
nes Sligh Turnbull.
PENN STATE TO GRANT
DIPLOMAS IN MID-SUMMER.
So many students of The Pennsyl-
vania State College are now complet-
ing their courses at the summer ses-
made for a special commencement on
Thursday evening, August 14th, the
day before the coming six weeks’ ses-
sion is closed.
Heretofore it has been customary
for those completing their collegiate
work during the summer session to
return in January to receive their de-
grees at the mid-year convocation.
But the number has increased to such
an extent that the summer commence-
ment has been made necessary.
Degrees will be awarded in the us-
ual manner at that time by president
John M. Thomas. There are about
250 of the winter term students now
enrolled for the summer session which
begins on July 7, and it is possible
that fifty or more of these may quali-
fy for graduation. This will make
three graduation periods for Penn
State during the current year. The
mid-summer commencement feature
will be continued as long as it is jus-
tified.
Present indications point to an en-
rollment of 2000 or more for the Penn
State summer session this year. Ap-
plications are coming daily to the of-
fice of Dr. Will Grant Chambers, di-
rector of the session. The special
courses for athletic coaches, school
nurses, in speech correction and ex-
pression and in modern geography are
proving more popular than ever.
A Pretty Good Estate.
The announcement that the estate
of Victor Herbert, famous composer
and conductor, is valued at only $5,000
will occasion considerable surprise
among those familiar with Mr. Her-
bert’s popularity and varied activi-
ties during the past quarter of a cen-
tury. And yet it will be recalled by
the musician’s close friends that he
had frequently declared he had never
acquired much more than “a good liv-
ing” out of his labors. But it must be
remembered, also, that it is impossible
to place an exact valuation upon his
interest in copyright and royalties up-
on the many light operas and lyrics
written by him or in collaboration
with others. This revenue will con-
tinue for many years, and for some
time it may be expected to be heavier
than usual, for there is already an in-
creased interest in his works since his
sudden death last month.—Philadel-
phia Record. ’
‘was assembled and succeeded in cap-
turing second place and sold at a
premium price. A Berkshire Field
Day has been scheduled at State Col-
lege on October 18, when all the
, breeders are invited to inspect the car-
load before they go to the big show
and to see the college hog plant with
its 300 or more hogs.
i —Very few eggs are secured on the
average farm during awumn and
‘early winter, but experienced.poultry-
men by better management seeure a
fair egg production during these sea-
.sons. It is advisable, although not
(essential, that the cockerels and pull-
ets be separated as early as possible
and given separate free range.
i Avoid overcrowing, especially at
night. A coop that will hold 100
| young chickens will not house proper-
ly more than half as many growing
' pullets. Their maturity will be re-
tarded if too many are kept together,
or if they are annoyed by lice or mites.
Frequent inspection of the houses, es-
pecially after the pullets have gone to
roost, is advisable. If mites are seen
crawling on the perches or are found
by a careful inspection of the house,
| prompt measures must be taken to
{ kill them by spraying the interior of
{ the house, as advised by the United
' States Department of Agriculture,
with crude petroleum, kerosene, cresol
, Solution, cattle dip, or some other ef-
| fective solution. Body lice frequently
cause much annoyance and retard
Individual
treatment of each pullet with sodium
floride or mercurial ointment will
clean up these pests on the birds
themselves.
Feed freely of a good egg-laying
ration, give plenty of range, and be
sure they get plenty of mash. It is
a help to keep it in hoppers where
they can have free access to it. A
light feeding of moist mash, especially
if mixed with milk, may induce them
to eat a little more. If 25 per cent of
buckwheat middlings is added to the
allotment of mash to be moistened
with milk or water it will be eaten
eagerly by the pullets and force them
along a little faster. A liberal a-
mount of meat scrap in the mash is.
advisable at this time, particularly if
plenty of milk is not available.
Corn, wheat, oats and barley are
the principal grains fed. Kafir and
buckwheat also are used, but are not
so generally available and usually
cost more. Corn and wheat are the
two best grains and are about equal
in value, although wheat can be fed
alone better than corn, which is in-
clined to be fattening. Oats and bar-
ley, on account of their hulls and
higher fiber content, are not so good
as corn or wheat. Rye is not well
relished and is seldom fed.
Wheat screenings or slightly dam-
aged grains sometimes may be
bought to advantage, their value de-
pending entirely upon their quality
and condition, but as a rule only
sound grains in good condition should
be fed and moldy grains should never:
be used. The locally grown grains
which poultry will eat freely may
generally be used to the best advant-
age. A scratch mixture, consisting
of whole or cracked grains made of a
' combination of any two or more of
those mentioned, can be fed to ad-
vantage. It is not advisable to feed’
continuously any single grain, espec-
ially corn, owing to its fattening pro-
perties. :
Corn meal, wheat bran, wheat mid-
dlings, and meat scrap form the basis
of a good mash, while corn chop,
corn-and-cob meal, ground oats, and
low-grade flour also may be added or
substituted to advantage. Just as:
good results can be obtained from a
simple mash containing three or four
ground grains and meat scraps as:
from a highly complicated mash con-
taining 10 or 12 products.