Boonie
Bellefonte, Pa., December 12, 1924.
IF.
If all who hate would love us,
And all our loves were true,
The stars that swing above us
Would brighten in the blue;
If cruel words were kisses,
And every scowl a smile,
A better world than this is
Would hardly be worth while;
If purses would untighten
To meet a brother’s need,
The load we bear would lighten
Above the grave of greed.
If those who whine would whistle,
And those who languish laugh,
The rose would rout the thistle,
The grain outrun the chaff;
If hearts were only jolly,
If grieving were forgot,
And tears and melancholy
Were things that now are not—
Then Love would yield to duty,
And all the world would seem
A bridal bower of beauty,
A dream within a dream.
If men would cease to worry,
And women cease to sigh
And all be glad to bury
Whatever has to die—
If neighbor spake to neighbor,
As love demands of all,
The rust would eat the saber,
The spear stay on the wall;
Then every day would glisten,
And every eye would shine,
And God would pause to listen,
And life would be divine.
THE KEY TO CHRISTMAS.
“The miserable traitor I am, Sister!
Deserting you just before Christmas!”
quavered Bess.
“Traitor? Nonsense. I shan’t be
lonesome. “Never!” I gulped. We
stood close to the steamer rail, and
clung tight to each other's cold, shaky
hands. Bess was enchanting in her
brand-new traveling array, but she
was white to her sweet lips. As for
me, I was putting up what Ned
Truesdell would call a dreadnaught
bluff. But my heart was breaking,
inch by inch. John Carroll, my tall,
brand-new brother-in-law, stood some
yards away, gazing earnestly at a pile
of freight.
“John is a dear, to let us have these
minutes all to ourselves,” choked
Bess.
“John is a pirate,” I choked back.
“To come racing up from Buenos
Aires, on nine days’ notice, and marry
you, and carry you back to South
America the day he landed. Highway
robber!”
“W-well, but I wanted him to.”
Bess, a bride of two hours, but a wife
to her very bones, made haste to de-
fend her man. “But for me to rush
off and leave you, soul-alone! If only
cousin Lucretia was in town! She'd
take care of you over Christmas, I
know.”
“Well, cousin Lucretia isn’t. She’s
away in the wilds of the Berkshires,
managing Dr. Sayre’s House of Peace
for the Neurasthenic Rich. Don’t fret,
sister. I’ll be all right.”
“Or—if Ned Truesdell was station-
ed ashore.” Bess’s voice was elabo-
rately unconcerned. But her fingers
tightened on mine.
“Well, Ned Truesdell is afar on the
rolling deep. Trying out submarines,
i Pensacola,” said I, rather hurried-
y
“Seems to me that he squanders a
shocking lot of his pay on postage.
What does he find to write about,
Babe?”
“Oh, shoes, and ships, and sealing-
wax. And target practice, and fleet
maneuvers—QOh, Bess! Hark!”
Up the deck echoing like the trump
of doom, rang the relentless cry; “All
ashore! All ashore!”
John shouldered up, his kind face
full of abashed sympathy. Bess's
dear eyes brimmed. A long minute,
she held me close.
“Little Sister! Little Sister!” she
whispered. “Margery, my own dear-
est! Good-by! Love me always—"
One last passionate trembling clasp,
and I stood alone on the dock, watch-
ing the great steamer back out into
the gray, misty river. Another breath;
it had melted into the dusk. And
Bess, my beloved elder sister, the only
one of my blood left to me, was gone.
I don’t know how I made my way | P
through the cluttered warehouse to
the street. I was so sick with pain,
so dazed, so overwhelmed.
“If only Lucretia was in town!” I
sobbed, stumbling on through the mi-
ry snow. For cousin Lucretia, stur-
dy, cheery, a tender nurse to ailing
bodies, is a most wise counsellor to
aching hearts. “Or—if just Ned
Truesdell was stationed ashore!”
I swept the tears from my eyes, and
plodded on. Not even my keen-eyed
sister could know what it would mean
if Ned Truesdell was stationed ashore.
One minute, I let myself look back io
last summer, that windy, sunshiny va-
cation that Bess and I had spent at
the Cape, near Oldport. All that en-
chanted month. Ned Truesdell’s ship
had lain at anchor in Oldport Harbor.
Ned, as behooved the youngest ensign
aboard the North Atlantic Fleet, had
worked like a nailer, all season. He
had led smoky gun-drills of mornings,
and dusty land-drills of afternoons;
he’d danced attendance on the Cap-
tain at review, and bent his stately
red head over blue-prints in the chart-
room o’ nights. But, incidentally, he
had made the best of his rare hours of
shore leave! Deck dances, and cliff
tramps, and jolly water picnics;
moonlight strolls down the silent, sil-
ver beach—surely no penniless little
schoolma’am ever knew so wonderful
a summer. But nowadays—Ah, well!
What concern has a penniless little
schoolma’am with the concerns of an
equally penniless young ensign, pray
tell ?—particularly when the young
ensign was merely a gay comrade.
A gust of sleet swept down on me,
like malicious elfin bayonets, I stop-
ped short, trembling. “I'm not going
home to our empty flat! I shall catch
the Limited, this minute, and go
straight up to cousin Lucretia. I can-
not face Christmas alone. Although
—if just Ned Truesdell was stationed
ashore * * wn
“Keep you over Christmas? Bles- l smile. The gaunt old gentleman gap-
sed, homesick lamb!” Lucretia, rous-
ed by my late coming, led me into the
great fire-lit living-room, and clasped
me in motherly arms. “Why, child,
I’ve longed, all day, to rush down to
New York and snatch you up and
bring you home with me. Nothing
but heaped-up calamity held me back.”
“Calamity?” :
“Yes, raging seas of it. Yesterday
I stretched a point, and let two nurses
go home for Christmas. Alack, this
morning rose on three of the Faithful
flattened out with tonsilitis. That
leaves only four nurses on deck. We've
had to serve meals in relays, all day.
Imagine how our lordly inmates have
growled at a dessert that dares be
three minutes late!”
“Can’t you wire a registry for ex-
tras?”
“Two days before Christmas? To
come up to this wilderness?”
“I suppose it does seem quiet.” I
glanced through the great east win-
dow. Up the black pine forest lifted
a waning moon. Terrace on ivory ter-
race, the mighty hills rose against a
starry sky. :
“Quiet is our aim, child,
House of Peace. (Though it’s the
Cave of Adullam I'd be calling it,
more often!) Not another house for
a mile, except the Berks County Or-
phanage, that glint of light away on
the farthest hill. And nobody there
but a baker’s dozen of babies, and a
cook, and a matron. I’d planned to
send those weans some Christmas do-
ings, but with the House of Peace in
such a turmoil, I haven’t a free min-
ute. Scamper to bed now, Margie.
I'll need your help, as soon as you've
slept ’round the clock.”
“Need my help? Wh-why, I came
came up to be helped out, myself!”
“Precisely!” Lucretia chuckled, and
pinched my cheek. “Come along,
honey-child, I'm going to tuck you in.”
Tucked up tenderly, I slept around
the clock, and then some. I woke to
a world all sparklingly white and gold.
All rested and aglow, I raced down to
the big, bright sun-parlor. But, on
the threshold, I stopped short. The
Cave of Adullam, forsooth! All the
lordly inmates were drifting about,
waiting for their eleven o’clock eggs
and cream. The gloom was thick
enough to slice.
in the
At the fireside sat a gaunt, pallid
old gentleman, fumbling a heap of
newspapers. Nearby, a fat, sulky la-
dy in a lavish purple mandarin robe
played solitaire. She slapped the
cards down angrily. Her eyes bent
glowering on the wispy little woman
perched beside her, who was declain-
ing in infuriated whimpers:
“And when I awoke at three this
morning, positively famished, I had to
ring twice—twice! before that heart-
less night nurse brought my bouillon.
When she came at last, she had the
impudence to say that another patient
had detained her! By that time, I
was almost unconscious. But I gave
her a piece of my mind, depend on
that.”
“Indeed you did. I heard you—
through two closed doors. It wrecked
my first sound sleep in a month.” The
fat lady shot the words out like bul-
lets. TH wispy, lady reddened, blaz-
ed.
“Of course, if my only ailment were
a fancied insomnia like yours! But
when you consider my symptoms—"
She whimpered on. Nobody listen-
ed to her. The sphinx-faced woman,
in furred velvet, worked on absently
at her crochet. The gouty, surly man
in a wheeled-chair scolded his valet in
acrid undertones. The fluffy lady in
pale-blue crepe mulled over a handful
of Christmas cards, and presently
flung the whole heap into the fire.
But the beautiful, ashen woman who
lay in a great sleepy-hollow, her
watchful maid close by, never spoke
nor stirred. Her great dark eyes
stared, blank. Her hands lay lax on
her knee.
“Good-morning, folks. A merry
Day-Before-Christmas!” In swung Lu-
cretia. She tripped abeut with her
tray of egg-nogs, administering each
with a gay, friendly word. Nobody
noticed her. The gaunt old gentle-
man swallowed his tumblerful without
looking up. The beautiful, wan
woman did not stir when the maid put
the glass to her lips. Her face lay
white as alabaster. Her lovely eyes
stared always at the wall.
“How can you stand this, Lucre-
tia?” 1 whispered, following her
down the hall. “They’re not real peo-
le. They're as listless as slaves.”
“Slaves they are, Margery. Every
one.” Lucretia’s merry eyes darken-
ed. “Slaves to their tired bodies, to
their griefs, their selfish whims.
Sometimes I think I can’t live in this
house another hour. It nigh smoth-
ers me. The minute Doctor Sayer
comes back from his Red Cross work,
I shall run away, up the hill to the
Orphanage, and spend a solid week,
playing with those blessed babies, to
chirk me up. But speaking of slaves,
you're a slave for today, my child.
Another tidal wave has struck this
House of Peace. The diet cook joined
the tonsilitis squad this morning.”
“The diet cook? Oh, let me take
her place. Please!”
“Just what I hoped you’d say. But
it will mean a busy day, Margery.”
It did mean a busy day. Blessedly
busy. Back in my mind, I knew that,
with every minute, Bess was sailing
farther out of my life. But even my
heart’s sorrow must stand aside while
I broiled thick fillets of steak, and did
stunts with toast, and jelly, and airy
omelets. By the time I'd put eigh-
teen dainty suppers on eighteen trays,
I was tired to my bones, and I felt like
Napoleon at Toulon. Lucretia, too,
had spent an active day. Between
putting down double silence mats in
the sulky lady’s corridor, hanging
gray curtains for the wispy lady (“I
can’t stand this outrageous sunlight
another moment!”) decorating a
charming Christmas tree, and calming
five teapot tempests per hour, twi-
light found her a bit fagged. :
“I'd rather attempt a Christmas
frolic in the Catacombs,” she remark-
ed, as she lit the last sparkling can-
dle. “There'd be more spontaneity
among our guests. But here’s hoping
our celebration does not fall entirely
a 3
_ Alas! When the inmates dawdled
in, and saw Lucretia’s tree, standing
by the fireplace like a fairy seneschal,
they couldn’t pay it the tribute of a
ed, silent. His eyes held only ghosts
of piteous memories. The sulky lady
sniffed. The fluffy lady wondered au-
dibly why the manager hadn’t
brought up some cabaret dancers from
the city. A mere Christmas tree—
how naive! The wan beauty never
looked at it. She stared past, at the
blank wall.
“I thought that we’d share our tree
this Christmas eve. Then send it to
the Orphanage babies tomorrow.”
Lucretia spoke briskly. Her cheeks
were very pink. “I've bought some
toys, too. She tumbled a bewitching
menagerie of wooly dogs and ging-
ham pussies on the floor. “But I find
that the babies need practical pres-
ents, so I'm sending to town for a box
of clothing. Do—do you folks care
to send, too? For little boots, may-
be? Or snug little sweaters, or mit-
tens?”
The sulky lady sat up with a click
of jet. “I always give to deserving
causes. But why cannot rich Berks
county support its own orphans?”
“I wonder whether the poor little
creatures ought to be supported,”
sighed the velvet-robed sphinx. “I’ve
thought about it a lot. Their lives are
so evidently waste material in the
Larger Plan.”
“Well, Id send them something, but
I simply cannot afford to,” declared
the fluffy lady. “I’ve spent over four
hundred dollars on gifts this year,
paying up a lot of tiresome people. I
can’t buy them a pair of mittens. Not
one mitten, even.”
There was a pause. Lucretia, crim-
son now, swept up her menagerie,
and started away. But as she passed,
the wan, silent woman stirred. One
thin hand caught at Lucretia’s arm.
“Buy them something for me,
please, a little dress, or a suit,” she
whispered. Lucretia’s flushed face
softened.
“Thank you, dear Mrs. Thorpe. I'll
love to. But—won’t you drive to the
Orphanage with me, tomorrow, and—
and take your gifts to the babies, in-
stead of sending them? Could you do
that?”
The woman flinched. Her great
eyes widened with pain. “Oh, no! Oh,
no!
“There, there! I won’t say another
word.” Lucretia soothed her tenderly.
Almost at once, she lay motionless,
passive.
“I wanted to rouse her, poor girl. I
roused her only too well.” Lucretia
dumped the menagerie on the hall ta-
ble. “She lost her husband and her
little child a year ago, and she has
lain ever since, sunk in that dreadful
stupor of grief.”
I glanced back at the dull group.
Yes. Every soul in that great, bright
room lay under hateful enchantment.
Even as I looked, the wispy lady
sprang up and craned her head to-
ward the window. Then her voice
rang out, a wild, scared cry.
“What is that red light on the
snow? Yonder—Oh, oh, look! It’s
the Orphanage, the Orphanage! And
those babies—Oh, oh!”
I cannot tell what happened next.
It was like a mad nightmare. Out of
the house we poured, a shrieking crew.
The sulky lady dashed ahead, her jet
train whipping through the snow. The
sphinx-woman screamed at her heels.
The gouty man hobbled frantically
down the steps, waving his crutch.
But past us, flying like the wind, sped
a white, ghostly figure, a white face,
terribly awakened—Mrs. Thorpe. On,
on, light as a swallow, she sped, while
Lucretia and I puffed and labored be-
hind. And always her voice rang back
to us, piercing cry on cry: “Hurry,
hurry! The babies, the babies! Hur-
ry, hurry, hurry!”
We breasted the last slope. Smoke
and sparks blew in our faces. The
whole west wall of the Orphanage was
a sheet of flame. A hundred yards
away, staring, dazed, stood the old
matron. Around her huddled a flock
of terrified children.
to her.
“Are all the children out? Count
them quick!” she screamed.
“Ten, twelve, sixteen— Yes, they
are all here,” muttered the old woman,
stupidly. “A lamp tipped over. It
caught the curtains. The blaze went
like a prairie fire. So we just ran
with the babies.”
“But—listen! There are seventeen
children in the Orphanage. There are
only sixten here. Where—who—"
“It's the littlest Viera!” wailed a
scared small voice. “We forgotted
her! She’d snuggled way under her
blanket.”
Lucretia dashed across the yard.
Inside the door, we halted, strangling
in clouds of smoke.
“I can’t see the stairs,” sputtered
Lucretia. “But I'll crawl up, one step
at a time. Margery, go back!”
Something fled past us, swift as the
wind. In the leaping blaze, I saw a
misty white figure dart away up the
stairs. Blundering, half-blinded, Lu-
cretia and I plunged after. But as we
reached the landing, the figure came
flying down. She held a tiny bundle
in her arms. Her hair was singed,
her eyes bloodshot.
“I've got her! She isn’t even scorch-
ed. Into the air. Quick!”
Half an hour later we plodded up
the steps of the House of Peace, and
into the living-room. Kvery one of us
carried a shivering baby. We made
for that glowing hearth like so many
perishing Arctic voyagers. But I
don’t believe that one of us realized
how soaking wet we were, how chilled,
how utterly tired. Down we plumped
with our precious armfuls, and strip-
ped the wet clothes off those half-
frozen little bodies, and toasted them
before the fire, and hugged them, and
etted them, and crooned over them.
e gaunt old gentleman, his weary
eyes radiant, crouched on the hearth
and rubbed two little cold feet with all
his tremulous might. The gouty man
sat hugging a wee boy fiercely. The
sulky lady, her sodden train dragging
in wet mermaid streaks, paced up and
down, hushing a tiny, scared wean-
ling on her jetty shoulder. But Mrs.
Thorpe had sunk again into her deep
chair. She did not speak. She never
stirred. Her dark eyes were fixed no
longer on the blank wall, however.
Insted, they bent, shining, on the’ lit-
Rest Viera, curled sound asleep on her
ee.
Then, after a long while, the House
of Peace sank to quiet, and to sleep.
And Christmas Day came striding
Lucretia rushed
wild, preposterous, glorious scramble!
I greatly fear that not one lordly in-
mate was served with his due and‘!
proper ration, for the diet cook could
waste no time on invalid fare. In-
stead, she was flying about, mixing
plum-pudding, boiling cranberry sauce
and roasting a huge and lucious tur-
key. And of all the interruptions!
Now the gouty man, strutting with
pride over a rickety board wagon he
had contrived for one small guest.
Now the velvet sphinx, desiring the
telephone, “To order a Santa Claus
costume for tonight. The old gentle-
man says he’ll play the part. And
some boxes of merino stockings.
Those darling ducks have only the
coarsest ribbed cotton. It’s a burning
shame!”
Christmas dinner went off with
glorious pomp. Christmas afternoon
was one long, rejoiceful riot, broken
only by Lucretia’s stern decree that
every last orphan must trot off for a
nap, else miss the Christmas tree.
But not one inmate dreamed of nap-
ping. No indeed. They were far too
busy. Luecretia’s gifts were all very
well, but what is one gift to a child?
proclaimed the sphinx; and the oth-
ers echoed her question. With scis-
sors, and cardboard, and ribbons, and :
but |
glue, they worked like slaves;
surely the happiest slaves that ever
bent to their toil.
At four o'clock, Lucretia came in, | |
i heart a child, whether her own flesh
waving an envelope. “Christmas gift,
honey! A wireless from your sister,
I'll wager!”
“From Bess!” Wretch that { was,
I'd utterly forgotten that my sister
had deserted me. I'd forgotten that I
ever had a sister. Guiltily, I tore it
open.
“Please don’t grieve away your
Christmas, darling, when I’m happy
as a queen,” the tender message ran.
I crammed it into my pocket, and
shook the Viera baby loose from the
molassus jug.
“No, grieving doesn’t come handy
today,” I remarked. But I kissed the
baby and the envelope, too. “And I'd
be happy as a queen, my own self, if
only—if only—” There was the one
tiny prick; the one black drop in the
gold cup of that day. Of course, 1
didn’t expect Ned Truesdell to send
me a Christmas gift. Penniless young
ensigns have no business squandering
their, pay on roses or chocolates for
penniless young schoolmarms. Yet—
well, he might have sent me just one
word of holiday wishes.
At last, the great golden day sank
to a golden twilight. Lucretia sent
me outdoors with the six rambunc-
tious orphans, with orders to let off
steam by a half-hour’s coasting. Sleds
being unknown to the House of Peace,
I hunted out two battered tea-trays,
four planks, and a large dust-pan,
which neatly accommodated the
youngest and podgiest. We had a
sumptuous slide. It was late dusk
when I called a halt.
“Just one more!” they besought.
“Just one more, then.”
Away we sped down the long slope.
Suddenly around the hill, flashed a
broad white glare. A motor-car—in
this wilderness! With a ‘glad yelp,
Podgy promptly fell off his dust pan.
His wild clutch jerked me headlong
from my plank. Bumping and squeal-
ing we rolled down hill and landed in
a snow-drift. The car stopped, dead
ahead.
“Say, by Jove, that was a grand
spill. Either of you kids hurt?”
I sat up, breathless with laughter,
eyes and mouth full of snow. Then
my heart stopped short. And then,
with a wild leap, it began to pound
like a runaway engine. That voice!
I'd have known that deep, gay, friend-
ly tone beyond the farthest seas.
“Either of you kids hurt, I say?”
A tall figure sprang from the car.
“Hop up, youngster. And you—Mar-
gery! It isn’t Margery!”
“Ned Tuesdell,” I clutched Pod-
gy’s fat shoulder. “But—you’re try-
ing out submarines, off Pensacola!
You can’t be you.”
“I'm nobody else.” Ned stooped
and gripped my hands till they hurt.
He looked taller and stronger and in-
finitely more splendid to me than ever | S
in his brand new uniform. He held
his red head with a royal air, but his
dark face was flushed to the temples.
A long minute we faced each other.
And then I said (Oh, unmaidenly
goose, to speak right out), “But you—
you didn’t send me any Christmas
present!”
Ned’s black eyes flashed. His hard
grip tightened on my fingers. And
now he was more splendid than any
young king.
“No. I didn’t send you any pres-
ent. Fact is, I—I had the brass to
think that you’d be glad to see me on
Christmas Day, instead. And—I
wanted to see you—tremendously. So
I got a week’s leave, and beat it to
New York. Got there this morning,
and piked right up to your apartment.
But no one answered my ring. At
last, one of your neighbors happened
down, and told me that your sister had
married and sailed for South America,
and that you had gone up to this San-
atorium, the—what d’you call it?”
“The House of Peace.”
“Yes, the ‘House of Peace.’” He
added: “Saw in the morning paper
that they had a bad fire. Maybe you
can guess how that placid remark
sounded to me. Hit me like a falling
house.” His arm shot out and drew
me close. His deep voice husked. “I
hot-footed it for the Grand Central,
scared within an inch of my life. For
if anything had happened to you—if
anything ever did happen—
“Well, I reached the Junction an
hour ago. There they told me that it
was the Orphanage, nct the Sanator-
ium. For a minute, I “clt mightily
foolish. Thought I'd go ba‘: to town,
and not break in on your holiday
plans. But, somehow, I covidn’t. I
had to see you. And now that T am
here, you—you won't order me uray,
Margery? You'll let me stay my
leave out? Stay long enough to”--
his eager face bent closer still—“to
tell you I love you, that I’ve loved you
since the first minute—Margery! Tell
me you’ll let me stay!”
“W-well—" I began, calmly enough;
but then my face was hid on his dear,
rough shoulder, and his arms were
ne me close against the world,
and the rest of my words were lost
against his kisses: “Oh, stay your
cE ORB aaa a -— -—
over the hills, before I'd had forty ; leave out, Ned. Stay forever, if you
winks. And, oh, what a day, what a ' only will!”
Slope on slope, the mighty hills rose
against a starlit sky. Out on the dark
portico we stood, the hushed winter
night around us. And we talked and '
talked, pouring out all the things we’d
been saving to tell each other, through
the months that were past. Then,
suddenly, it came to us that we could
never tell it all. That would take a
whole lifetime together. So, silent-
ly, hand in hand, we turned and stood '
looking into the great firelit living-
room.
Close by the hearth, guarding its
flame like a brave little seneschal,
stood Lucretia’s Christmas tree.
Around it sat our household, quiet
now, in happy weariness. Lucretia
cuddled two sleepy kiddies. Nearby,
the gouty man made shadow-pictures
for a rapt, pop-eyed row. Across the
hearth sat the sulky lady, her bro-
cade lap overflowing with one drowsy
three-year-old, two Teddy bears, a No-
ah’s ark, and a railroad train. The
gaunt old gentleman rocked the mid-
dle-sized Viera, while Podgy perched
squirrel-wise on his frail old shoul-
ders.
Only one figure sat apart from that
quiet group. Throned in her sleepy- '
hollow, her face like a pale rose, her
dark eyes soft with dreams, sat Mrs.
Thorpe. The littlest Viera slept on
her breast. And, on her face shone '
that undying radiance which illumines |
every mother-woman who holds to her |
or’ no.
{
“Look at ’em!” said Ned, under his
breath. “They're working like Turks
to give those youngsters a good time,
caring for them so tenderly! Yet you
say they’re all invalids. Cantanker-
ous invalids, at that. Well, all I can
say is, the’re a highly unconvincing
bunch!” %
“They’ve been so busy, trying to
give the children a happy time, that
they've forgotten their own woes,” I
explained.
“Dare say that’s the reason, all
right. I reckon that’s the ome real
key to Christmas, isn’t it?”
“The key to Christmas?”
“And the key to everything else
worth having, maybe. To work your
level best, earning happiness for oth-
er folks, and take the chance of earn-
Ing your own happiness along with
theirs.” A bit shamefaced at his own
eloquence, Ned turned and stared out
across the black sea and the forest, the
star-lit hills. “Listen, Margery. You
can all but hear the watchman’s call,
in Noel, that old miracle-play, you
know: ‘Christmas night—and all’s
well!’ ?
“Tiny Tim put it better, still,” I
whispered. And my own eyes turned
from the silent hills, the watching
stars, to the happy faces by the fire.
“‘Christmas night—God bless us,
every one!’ ”—By Katharine Holland
Brown, in McCall’s Magazine.
Real Estate Transfers.
Fannie G. Uzzle, Exr., to Oranzir
Nastass, tract in Snow Shoe; $350.
Centre County Commissioners to H.
E. Young, tract in Curtin township;
$12.26.
W. S. Williams, et ux, to Virgil
Heaton, tract in Huston township;
$350.
W. L. Spangler to Ernest W. De-
Hass, tract in Liberty township; $525.
Shem Hackenberg, et ux, to Jacob
itis ech; tract in Miles township;
John W. Neese, et ux, to Andrew
G. Garver, tract in Spring township;
$2,500.
David Houser to Mrs. Edith Cole-
Tan, tract in College township; $2,-
David Houser to Annie S. Kusten-
border, tract in College township; $5,-
Sarah E. Shivery, et al, to Ells-
i E. Ardery, tract in Bellefonte;
Joseph C. McCloskey, et ux, to M.
M. McCloskey, et al, tract in Snow
Shoe township; $1.
Bellefonte Trust Co., Exr., to John
. Spearly, et ux, tract in Spring
township; $300.
Edith F. Sunday, et bar, to A. L.
Auman, tract in Spring township;
$1,800.
Mary I. MacMillan, et bar, to Emi-
ly Stephens, tract in College town-
ship; $300.
J. Lynn Woomer, et ux, to Park R.
Homan, tract in State College, $1,391.
Clara Thomas, et al, to Lewis J.
Casselberry, tract in Howard town-
ship; $4,000.
Nora M. Barr, et al, to Newton T.
Krebs, tract in Ferguson township;
$1,000.
Frank M. Fisher, Exr., et al, to
William R. Neese, tract in Gregg
township; $2,675.
S. G. Rote, et al, to William H.
Musser, tract in Haines township;
$3,030.
Marriage Licenses.
William H. Shuey and Helen E.
Gettig, Pleasant Gap.
A. M. Zucker, Cannonsburg,
Leah N. Nieman, Millheim.
Peter Tirch, Osceola Mills, and An-
na Gunta, Philipsburg.
Otto C. Dietz and Lena M. Klinger,
Benton.
Eldridge V. Burkholder and Anna
E. Kelley, Avis.
John Martin Howarth and Gertrude
May Bryan, Sandy Ridge.
George J. Ellenberger, State Col-
lege, and Beatrice P. Waite, Port Ma-
tilda.
Ward Moore, Sandy Ridge,
Phyllis Hardy, Philipsburg.
James Williamson, South Philips-
burg, and Arline Dixon, Clearfield.
and
and
Highway Binds Nations Together.
A smooth, unbroken highway now
stretches from Vancouver to Los An-
geles, linking two nations and joining
three States to Canada. The last of
the cement completing the highway
from Vancouver to the border town of
Cloverdale, British Columbia, was
poured in the presence of thousands
of motorists who met there to attend
the ceremony.
SEER
FARM NOTES.
—One ounce each of tincture of
ginger and gentian at a dose in a pint
of cold water twice each day for two
or three weeks will start the thin an-
imal to laying on flesh. The medi-
fing can be mixed with a little soft
—Cut straw has been highly rec-
ommended in place of hay for horses,
because it is cheaper, is less likely to
cause colic, contains less foreign ma-
terial than hay, and serves as an ex-
cellent medium for the distribution of
the grain.
Feed and House Cows.—Not only
are pastures short but the frosted
grass contains little nourishment.
Cows in milk should now be put on
winter rations and kept housed on
cold days. Milk pail results will show
that it pays.
Watch Egg Production.—Birds that
have been laying well under artificial
lights will have a tendency to increase
in production still more with the com-
ing of spring. Over production will
be distastrous to birds already pro-
ducing well. Feed plenty of grain to
‘ keep the production down to normal.
Take Care of £ggs.—Now that cold
weather is coming on, carefully col-
lect the eggs and store them in a suit-
able place. Eggs should be held at a
temperature of 50 to 60 degrees Fah-
renheit. The storage house should be
free from odors and not too dry.
Make a practice of shipping your
eggs regularly.
Some Garden Hints.—Before the
ground freezes hard is time to clean
out the hot bed pit, repair the frame-
work if necessary, and cover with
boards for the winter. Everything
will then be ready to place the manure
in the pit in March. Store the sash
under cover during the winter. Also
secure enough soil for the hot bed and
place under protection so that it will
be in good physical condition next
spring.
With the Lilies.—Some of the Jap-
i anese lilies, such as Auratum, Spe-
ciosum, and Longiflorium often do
not arrive until late in December.
They can be planted in December if
the ground has been mulched to keep
out the frost, or if the frost crust is
removed. - Where it is not possible to
plant them the bulbs should be care-
fully packed in sand and stored in a
dry, cool cellar until spring.
—Quarantining does not mean sim-
ply putting an animal alone in a pen,
even if that pen adjoins other pens.
If a hog is purchased and quarantined
he must be placed by himself at least
500 yards from the rest of the herd.
To make the quarantine absolute, he
should have a special attendant, who
will never go even near the other herd.
Every animal shipped to a farm
should be treated for lice and skin
disease and otherwise thoroughly dis-
infected. Unless the animal is kept
in real quarantine for a month, the
breeder is only endangering his herd.
—The successful storage of vegeta-
bles is not difficult; in fact, good sto-
age facilities already exist in most
homes, it being only necessary to
make use of the cellar, the attic, a
large closet or other parts of the
dwelling, depending on the character
of the product to be stored.
A cool, well-ventilated cellar offers
good facilities for storing vegetables
and some fruits. Cellars containing
a furnace frequently are too warm
and dry for storing root crops, but it
often is possible to partition off a
space in one corner or at the end of
the cellar as far from the heating
plant as possible. Preferably there
should be an outside window in this
storage space, which can be used to
let in cold air at night or at other
times for the purpose of keeping down
the temperature. Sound, dry apples,
beets, carrots, onions, parsnips, pota-
toes, pumpkins, squash, sweet pota-
toes and turnips may be kept in such
a room in good condition for winter
use.
—Brushes for applying stain, var-
nish, paint, and oil are manufactured
in various sizes and qualities. In
general, a wide brush of good quality °
will be found most convenient and ec-"
onomical, and if properly cared for
can be used over and over again, it is
pointed out in Farmers’ Bulletin 1219,
“Floors and Floor Coverings,” recent-
ly issued by the United States De-
partment of Agriculture.
A varnish brush may be kept in the
varnish in which it is used, or, in case
of shellac varnish, in alcohol; but
brushes used in oil paint and oil stain,
unless they are to be used again with-
in a few days, should be thoroughly
washed in turpentine or kerosene,
rinsed in gasoline or benzine, washed
again in warm soapsuds, thoroughly
shaken, and hung up to dry with the
bristles down. Paint-brushes that are
to be used again the next day may
simply be wrapped in several thick-
nesses of paper, or they may be kept
for several days with the bristles sub-
merged in turpentine or kerosene. If
kerosene is used, the brush must be
shaken and rinsed in turpentine be-
fore it is put into paint again. Brush-
es used in water stain may be washed
and rinsed in clear water.
—There are tricks in all trades but
once in a while a motorist runs agross
a trick that is distinctly out of place,
as witness to the following incident,
described by a member:
Coming over the boulevard one
evening, a motorist had his machine
stop dead on him in the midst of the
congestion surrounding the Metropol-
itan opera house. He and his friends
got out and vainly looked for the trou-
ble. The chauffeurs of the machines
parked near by did the usual amount
of joshing at his expense, but offered
no help. Finally a young man from
Chester, who was in the automobile
business, happened along and offered
his services. After looking over the
engine, wiring, carburetor, vacuum
system and gas line, he finally opened
the gas tank which happened to have
a good-sized aperture, which admit-
ted his hand and part of his arm.* As
there were three and a half gallons in
the tank the puzzle was all the great-
er. Upon reaching in the tank, how-
ever, he found the suction gas’ line
was turned up instead of down. It'is
supposed that this was done by a sec-
ond-hand dealer so that he could re-
urchase the machine at a low price
ause it would not run.