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Bellefonte, Pa.,, March 6, 1925.
A MAN’S DOG.
A man may lose his house and lot,
His friends may pass him by,
He may not have a thin dime left
To rent a slab of pie;
But if he owns the homeliest
And saddest dog in town,
He has one pal whose honest love
Will never turn him down.
A man may kick his mangy pup
And cuss him day and night,
Still will the faithful cur be true
And greet him with delight;
Lifelong he sits upon the porch,
And wags his happy tail,
To greet his lord when he shall come
From Congress or from jail.
JACKSTONE QUALIFIES.
The Story of a Courageous Dog.
Ever since he could remember,
Jackstone had lived in a small, peak-
roofed house standing in the mathe-
matical center of a penlike yard.
Jackstone would have liked it better
if both the house and the yard had.
been a little larger; for, although he
was only a puppy, he was as long and
as tall as he ever would be.
Around him lived other dogs. But,
although he often talked with them,
he never saw these neighbors; the di-
viding fences were tight and higher
than he could leap.
There was little in this life to in-
terest an active puppy, and the vague
hope of escape filled his mind. At the
sound of a footstep on the graveled
path outside his gate, at the first snap
of the catch on the gate, Jackstone
would stiffen; and as it swung back,
he would spring for the top of the
closed lower half of the gate, scramb-
ling desperately to thrust through and
over.
Then came the day when the form
of the master was framed in the epen-
ing as the gate swung back. No in-
stinctive understanding that this was
to be the master came to Jackstone,
as, heedless of the presence of this
stranger, he sprang upward.
Most strangers would have shrunk
back; but this one stood his ground,
seizing Jackstone by the loose skin of
his shoulders, holding him as he sway-
ed jerkily to his precarious foothold.
1 “Steady, puppy,” he said soothing-
y.
Jackstone, thrilling ecstatically at
the sound of the sympathetic voice,
ftantically licked the hands that held
im,
Then a strap was buckled around
his neck, a leash snapped to the ring,
and Jackstone was on the gravel path,
outside the yard at last. Almost mad
with joy he bounded to reach the face
that smiled above him, springing
again and again to meet the hands
that pulled at the wrinkled skin of his
face and neck, scratched his ears, his
back, sending delightful chills through
his quivering body.
And then the master straightened
up, moving forward, and Jackstone
strained at the end of the leash, bark-
ing chokingly as he lunged forward,
the gravel snapping back from his
scrambling feet.
And so they came out upon the soft
grass under the waving trees, and
Jackstone stood panting, his eyes ex-
pectant, eager, searching the face
above him. Two days later he and the
master reached Beauford.
When Jared Folkeston was a boy,
he dreamed of some day owning a
vast shooting preserve, with fields and
forest, wide-stretching upland and
spreading marsh, of bay and reedy
river. Years later, he became the
owner of Beauford. But as the slim:
boy had changed into a grizzled man,
50 his original idea also had meta-
morphosed.
Now, instead of a shooting pre-|
serve, with kennels containing hunt-
ing dogs, Beauford had become a
game sanctuary, within the bounds of
which no wild thing was harassed or
destroyed, and where no hunting dog
was allowed.
At fifty Jared Folkeston found that
the will te kill had left him and in its
place was a stronger desire to protect.
But he soon realized that without dogs
there would always be something lack-
ing at Beauford; and the journey
which made him the owner of Jack-
Stone was the result of this realiza-
ion.
The family at Beauford consisted of
Jared, his wife, their daughter, Pa-
tricia, their son Paul, his wife, Betty,
and Barbara, the only grand-child.
To none of them had Jared confided
the reason for his absence; and no one
had suspected it until he returned,
bringing Jackstone with him. The
entire family was gathered under the
wide portico when he arrived.
“Oh! What? How?” gasped Patri-
cia.
Jared Folkeston turned with a
whimsical smile to his daughter.
There was a gleam of satisfaction in,
his eyes as he stood before them grip-
ping the leash, at which the puppy.
pulled frantically.
In color the dog was a solid, dark-
mahogany brindle, almost black; all,
but a patch of white that began mid- |
way of the throat and covered the up- !
per part of his breast, like a baby’s
bib tucked under his chin. It was
difficult to see just what the puppy |
did look like as he strained toward |
one and then another of the momen-
tarily silent group, his eyes eager, a)
rumbling growl in his throat. He was :
doing his best to express his friendly
desire for closer, more intimate con- |
tact, but the effect was disconcerting.
“Is it safe to unleash him, Jared ?” |
gasped Mrs. Folkeston, as her hus-
band, dragging the puppy back, stoop-
ed to grasp his collar.
“Safe?” he smiled up at her. “He |
is nothing but a bundle of affection
wrapped in a skin several sizes too
large for him.” He was roughing the |
puppy, rolling him about, and the dog
appeared to be doing his best to swal- !
low the hands that grasped him. Then
Folkeston unsnapped the leash and
straightened up. The puppy was free.,
For a momeent he stood uncertain,
his round, eager eyes searching the
distrustful faces around him. Then,
with a rumbling growl he darted up-
on Patricia, who had but time to
thrust out a warding hand, which was
instantly swallowed to the wrist.
“Qh!” she gasped. But the excla-
mation changed abruptly to laughter.
There had been no pinch to the mas-.
sive jaws that enclosed, and as in-
stantly released, her hand. ;
For a moment she strove fruitlessly
to thrust away the thirty-odd pounds
of quivering energy; and then the
puppy slipped from the insecure foot-
ing of her knees and sprawled upon
the brick-paved floor. Patricia, a lit-
tle remorseful, pulled up a porch chair
‘and dropped into it. The puppy
sprawled at her side, hind legs thrust
out straight behind, his great head
raised to her as she stroked his soft
wrinkled skin. :
“He does not seem to be as fright-
ful as he looks, Patty,” her mother
ventured.
“Exactly!” Jared Folkeston ex-
claimed. “He is almost everything he
is popularly supposed not to be. That
is the reason I have selected an Eng-
lish bulldog.” :
“Whatever the reason, I endorse it,
Daddy,” cried Patricia.
“It’s too soon to decide. The indi-
cations are hopeful, but it remains to
seal |
be seen whether he can qualify.” The | He was searching the bank for a piece
lof driftwood.
satisfaction in Jared Folkeston’s face
disputed the cautious answer.
“The buildog is one of the oldest of
breeds.” he went on. “He possesses
braver 7 in a superlative degree. But
he is | entle, affectionate, and tracta-
ble, with an extraordinary fondness
for children.”
“His growl doesn’t sound reassur-
ing, Father,” ventured Betty. At
Jackstone’s first appearance she had
snatched up Barbara and still held her
close in her arms.
“His growl, Betty, like his appear-
ance, is deceiving. That particular
growl expresses what a puppy of
another breed would convey by a
whine.”
Jared Folkeston called, and Jack-
stone left Patricia and came to him,
though he moved slowly.
With deft assurance Folkeston
swung the blocky body up to stand it
posed squarely. “Look at that head,”
Le said proudly, exhibiting the mas-
sive flatness of the skull, the deep
stop, the large, open nostrils, the well-
wrinkled face, the up-turn of the un-
der jaw, the rose ears. “He is good
enough in head and face to win
against strong competition. I chose
him from a kennel of puppies, and
yet his front legs, as they are now,
would probably disqualify him.”
Folkeston straightened up, releasing
his hold on puppy’s collar, and Jack-
stone bounded back to Patricia.
Her father, smiling at her evident
conquest, continued:
“The former owner was thoroughly
honest about it; called my attention
to the weak pasterns that give an ef-
fect of splay feet. I suggested that
the trouble might be remedied by
proper feeding and exercise, but in the
opinion of the owner it is too late. I
have an idea.” He caught the amused
glance that passed from mother to
on “Yes, I have an idea,” he laugh-
ed, x
Dong ind his feet, Daddy!” cried
Patricia.” *This puppy is perfectly
adorable, just as he is. But what is
his name?”
“His registered name is ‘Jackstone.’
His kennel name is ‘Jack.’
“Dak,” repeated Barbara, squirm-
ing to get down from her mother’s lap
to investigate this possible playmate.
“Dak, he shall be hereafter, baby
dear,” said Folkeston, as he lifted his
small grand-daughter from her moth-
er’s reluctant arms, and the newly
christened “Dak” growled his ecstasy
at the thrill of the pulling baby hands.
Followed wonderful days for Jack-
stone. Never before had he known
liberty or a playfellow. Existence
had been bounded by a fence. Here
were endless fields and woods, and no
fences he could not get through or un-
der. And here was a great central
place where he could wander at will
and stretch cut, on cool boards or soft
rugs. .
Better than all, here were always
playfellows. He could distinguish be-
tween them now, and preferences
were developing. He knew the big
man who brought him here was the
master. He understood that he must i Barbara had accompanied him this far |
whether a bulldog would take readily
to water. But he knew that a dog
swims with a paddling stroke, thrust-
ing out and down. And he reasoned
that the tendency of this downward
stroke must be to straighten the weak
_pasterns that were Dak’s flaw.
It was the day after Jackstone’s ar-
rival at Beauford when Jared Folke-
ston and Paul, accompanied by Jack-
stone, walked down to the river.
Father and son were deep in consid-
eration of methods to be employed
should Jackstone prove reluctant to
enter the water, when the dog, run-
ning ahead, plunged in with the ea-
gerness of a water spaniel, striking
out boldly, swimming in widening cir-
cles, barking hoarse delight.
“There won’t be much difficulty
about his swimming exercise,” laugh-
ed Paul, carelessly tossing a stone in-
to the water. It was an idle gesture,
directed by no conscious purpose, and
the stone splashed into shallow water
but a few feet from shore.
Jackstone, swimming farther out,
saw the splash and made for it. When
his feet touched bottom he plunged
forward, his entire body submerged,
to reappear with a stone in his mouth.
“I've seen a few other dogs do that
sort of thing,” said Paul admiringly.
“I wonder—” He
found and tossed a small block of
wood.
Instantly Jackstone went after it,
seized and brought it back. After
that, swimming became part of his
daily exercise and he became a fin-
ished retriever.
But while the master was his chief
companion, there were others upon
whom Dak bestowed his affection.
Toward baby Barbara affection
mounted to a devotion that claimed
her as particularly his own; and from
the first she had calmly appropriated | -
him as her own.
Jackstone poured out love unques-
tioning. Whenever he was about the
house he was with or searching for
Barbara. When she took her after-
noon nap, he sprawled close to the
nursery door, where he was always to
be found sleeping in the morning.
The family grew accustomed to feel
in the dog’s love for Barbara a pro-
tective quality. The vigilance that
guarded the little one unconsciously
relaxed when it was known that Dak
was with her. Even Betty, who could
never overcome a certain timidity in
her own approach to the dog, felt
nothing of fear for her baby when
Dak was near her.
“I am sure Dak would never allow
anything to harm her,” she said.
“We can’t be sure,” Jared Folke-
ston warned. “Dak is only a puppy.
We can’t be certain of his quality
yet.”
It was four months since Jackstone
came to Beauford. He was thirteen
months old, weighing over fifty
pounds and steadily growing heavier.
To Jared Folkeston he was still a
puppy, and the full maturity that
would demonstrate his quality was
months away. Although Jackstone
knew nothing about it, he was still on
probation for his breed.
Then came a hot, breathless after-
noon, when Barbara, restless from the
heat, and finding the usual short nap
impossible, had been brought down to
the cooler portico. Folkeston, decid-
ing that there would be no walk to-
day until after sundown, was striving
to become interested in a magazine.
Paul was the first to start up with
purposeful intent. He had laborers
at work, ditching in a back field.
“I faney my gang has slept enough
for today,” he said ruefully, stooping
to swing Barbara up for a good-by
SS.
“Take me!” she begged.
Jackstone, too, was on his feet, cir-
cling expectantly around them.
“All right, Chick,” Paul consented.
“But only a little way.” And to the
nurse, who started from the doorway,
“There is no need for you to come. I
will carry her only a little way into
the grove, and she can run home with
Dak.” At the rear of the house a
spur of the forest, that stretched for
miles to the cedar swamps and the
bay, had been cleared of underbrush
and the trees thinned out to a park-
like grove. Just within the edge of
the trees Paul put her down. Often
obey when this one spoke, and he had ; and returned home.
no other desire.
In the woods and fields were
strange, interesting creatures. These
sprang up ahead of him, sometimes to
bound away over the ground, some-
times to rise in the air. It puzzled
him when they rose in the air and al-
ways he stopped to watch them going.
He could never understand. When
they darted away running, he would
gather himself to follow. He wanted
to play with these strange creatures,
but they never waited; they left him
standing, and vanished from his sight.
The sight or sound of these crea-
tures aroused no desire to harm them.
They did not threaten him, and he
never, therefore, thought of molesting
them.
But there is one instinct perhaps
more highly developed in the bulldog
than in any other breed; the bulldog
knows an enemy! It is not necessary
to make a hostile gesture. Action
follows recognition. There is no con-
sideration of consequences, for there
is no fear. He does not plan to strike
and evade and strike again; he does
not maneuver and dodge, wait for a
more favorable chance. The bulldog
knows but one method of dealing with
an enemy—to seize and hold him.
The puppy’s conduct was a delight
and a revelation to Jared Folkeston.
Dak was as eager to go as ever his
pointers had been; but, unlike the
pointers in the excitement of the
game, he never forgot the person who
accompanied him.
Folkeston had never known a dog
with a more expressive face. Where
others saw only a mask of ferocity,
he read, beneath the wrinkles, good
nature, patience, docility; in the ‘round
eyes, eager curiosity, appreciation,
and a vast affection.
In order to strengthen Jackstone’s
weak pasterns they had begun with
short rambles, gradually lengthening
them, until their walks covered many
miles. And these walks were inter-
spersed, for the dog, by swims.
Swimming was the basis of Jared
Folkeston’s idea. He was uncertain
“Take her home, Dak,” Paul order-
Dak, understanding, stood close at
Barbara’s side as she waved good-by.
Paul, looking back, saw the two as
they turned toward the house. Then
the trees hid them from view, and he
did not see when Barbara turned from
the direct way to investigate some-
thing that caught her attention.
Deeper in the grove the shadows
looked enticingly cool, and Barbara
walked on. Then she saw a flower,
and a new purpose formed. She would
gather a whole bouquet.
Dak hung back, following reluctant-
ly. Dimly he sensed something
wrong. He had been told to take her
home, and now the house was no long-
er in sight.
Dak knew where it was. It was
close by. They were walking where
the ridge sloped downward in gentle
undulations before it dipped steeply
and the carefully tended grove merg-
ed in the untouched forest. But Bar-
bara was moving away from home,
away from the place where both be-
longed. Dak stopped with a low, pro-
testing bark.
“Come, Dak,” called Barbara.
For a moment Dak hesitated,
swinging his massive head uncertain-
ly toward the house, and then plunged
forward, crowding close to her side.
After all, this was Barbara, the one
he loved best. He forgot everything
else, growling his satisfaction as her
hands pulled at the loose skin of his
neck while they played on together.
More than enough time had elapsed
for Barbara to .have returned before
the nurse started out to find her. As
she turned the corner of the house she
could see far into the grove; but Bar-
bara was not in sight. She crossed
the grove to the edge of the meadow,
but there was no sign of Barbara or
of Dak.
She suddenly remembered that, just
before starting out, she thought that
she heard Dak bark. But that signi-
fied nothing; doubtless Mr. Paul had
changed his mind and taken Barbara
with him. She strove to thrust away
a growing apprehension. Momentari-
ly comforted by the thought that Bar-
bara was with her father, the nurse
turned back, walking slowly. But
half way through the grove she was
running, reaching the house frighten-
ed and breathless.
“Paul must have taken her with
him,” Folkeston explained as the
nurse panted out her story. “I'll stroll
down that way.”
But out in the grove Jared Folke-
ston’s fears swept him. Paul had said
he would carry Barbara but a little
way. To have taken her with him |
after that would not be like Paul. And |
if not with Paul, there were the dense |
woods beyond the grove, and beyond, |
the swamp. It was a long mile to
where Paul was at work, but Jared
Folkeston, despite his fifty years, ran |
most of the distance. Barbara was |
not there, |
“I stood her down with Dak, just’
within the edge of the trees,” said |
Paul.
“It’s too hot for her to walk far.
We'll find them close by in some shady |
spot.”
“The nurse searched through to the
meadow and back, before she told us. |
I looked carefully as I came through
the grove,” said Jared Folkeston,
growing more troubled.
“Don’t worry, Dad. We'll find her
quickly. Come.” Paul had started |
forward when he turned to call back
an order to his laborers. Then father
and son hurried on and the workmen
dropped their implements and follow-
ed. i
At the upper edge of the grove they
separated, calling continually as they
searched through the woods. Midway
they came upon Betty and the nurse,
with some of the house servants.
There was no trace of Barbara.
Barbara found no more flowers, and
presently abandoned the one she had
picked. The ground sloped gently
here, and walking was pleasant in the
heavy shade.
Then the trees grew closer together,
and everywhere were thick bushes
that scratched. She did not like this
and would have turned back, but the!
ridge fell away steeply and Barbara
found herself slipping, sliding down.
It frightened her. She was crying as,
with a sliding rush, she and Dak
brought up at the bottom of the pitch.
Finding that she could walk again
without slipping reassured her.
“Barba doin’ to find Daddy, Dak,”
she explained bravely.
But the way grew rougher. Her
hands and face were scratched. Mos-
quitoes and gnats stung her. She was
crying now as she stumbled along.
They had covered an incredible dis-
tance for a baby of three to walk un-
der such conditions when Barbara and
Dak came to an opening in the trees.
Before them stretched a reedy marsh
interspersed with slimy pools.
There they stopped, standing close
together on a ridge of higher ground
where, years before, a tree had blown
down. Branches and bark long since
gone, it lay a snarl of twisted roots,
the naked, rotting trunk thrusting out
into the ooze.
Plainly it was water upon one side
of the trunk, but to Barbara it seem-
ed smooth ground upon the other.
There was nothing in the experienca
of a three-year-old baby to warn her
of a quagmire. On the contrary, the
open space reassured her. Having
come out of the woods they must be
near Daddy.
Choking back her sobs she pressed
forward to the edge of the bank. Dak
followed close, his troubled eyes
searching about them.
Then, Dak saw it! A sensation he
had never before experienced stung
him. The hair on his back tingled,
lifted. Overwhelming, impelling rage
swept him. His body quivered, froze,
striking against Barbara as it stiffen-
ed. Barbara, wavering weakly, grasp-
ed at his neck to steady herself, but
Dak never felt the pull of her hand.
Out toward the sunken end of the
rotting tree trunk, something like a
thick ridge of mud had moved; a flat
head, a wide-open white-lined mouth,
a tail that moved in slow vibrations.
Dak had never before seen a cotton-
mouth moccasin; he did not know
what it was, but he knew menace.
With a growl like a strangled curse,
he hurled himself at the wide-open
mouth.
Barbara clinging to the dog’s neck,
was jerked sidewise, falling outward
and down, sinking in the mire.
But the jerking weight of her body,
before the grip of the tiny fingers
broke, spoiled the aim of Dak’s spring,
brought him, too, into the mire, but
far short of the menacing shape at
which he had sprung. At the splash
of the dog’s body into the quag, the
snake slipped into the water on the
opposite side of the log, and disap-
peared.
To him it was all part of the men-
ace—the menace he had failed to
seize. It was the menace that was
dragging Barbara away from him,
hurting her. She was crying, calling
to him.
With mud-plastered hair and face,
tiny body sinking deeper as she strug-
gled, Barbara screamed in terror.
Dak, sunken to his wide chest, half-
swimming in the clinging mud, strain-
ed up and saw that the menace was
gone from the log. Saw Barbara
struggling, screaming in terror.
With convulsive fury he struggled
to reach her, fighting against the mire
that was holding him back, that would
neither let him run nor swim. And
in his desperate effort one hind foot
struck against a buried spur of the
half-sunken log, affording a purchase
for the one thrusting push that sent
him within reach of her.
Instantly Dak seized her, even in
his desperation careful not > harm
her, seizing from behind, striking
through dress and underwaist, but not
touching the tender flesh.
Then desperately he struggled t~
lift and drag Barbara away, fighting
harder as the straining lift of his up-
flung head sunk his body deeper into
the mire. For a moment he perform-
ed the impossible, lifting himself and
his burden. Then slowly, the broad
shoulders and the curving back went
under.
But the jaws held—until death and
beyond that grip of his would hold—
and the courage that would never
yield nor falter drove the corded legs
ya,
in the ceaseless effort that would not
reckon cost or consequences. Then one
thrashing foot struck against some-
thing solid. This time it was a pas-
tern, that had once been weak, that
caught over one of the tangled roots;
caught, curled over, clung.
Barbara was struggling weakly now
in the last instinctive effort to keep
her face from the smothering mud.
Steadily Dak drew her up, thrusting
his foot down until the bulging mus-
cles of the foreleg gave a lifting pur-
chase, and there he held. Come what
might, he would never let go!
And there he still held when Paul,
with white, convulsed face, plunged
through the trees to the quag’s brink.
“Daddy’s here! Daddy’s here, Ba-
by!” he cried in sobbing gasps, not
knowing what he said.
Straining from the bank he sought
to reach her, but failed. Sliding down,
clinging to the roots, sunken to his
armpits, his outstretched hand failed
to reach.
“Hold her, Dak! Hold her, Dak!”
It was a prayer. The straining fin-
gers touched the lpose skin at the
dog’s throat, drew it in, gripped and
pulled.
“Hold on, Dak!” he prayed as he
drew in the dog, whose eyes turned to
his face but whose vise-like jaws
clung only tighter under the choking
strain.
Then, following close behind, two
workmen reached the bank. Linked
together they reached Paul, freeing
his hands to seize the baby. They
Old Japanese Legend
of Lantern and Fan
A story of the origin of the lantern
and the fan, as told in Japan, concerns
a public official who had two beautiful
daughters As the story goes, the
girls, who were the treasures of the
father’s heart, longed to pay a visit
to a friend in another city. a
The father, however, was unwilling
for them to go, as he feared some
young man of high degree would win
their love and thus take them from
him. In reply to their entreaties the
father told them they could go, pro-
viding they promised to bring back to
him fire wrapped in a paper and wing
wrapped in paper.
The girls did not know what to do.
They were in despair until one of their
maids told them not to worry, but go
and consult a certain wise woman
who lived near the home of the friend
whom they were to visit. After prom-
ising their father they would fulfill
his wishes they set out for the friend's
home. The father was greatly sur-
prised when, upon their return, the
daughters presented him with fire en-
closed in a beautifully designed paper
lantern and wind in a quaint-shaped
paper fan. Thus, it is sald, accord-
ing to a story printed in the Path-
finder Magazine .the lantern and fan
came into use.
drew them in, all three; sought to lift
Barbara first, but failing even now to
i break Dak’s grip, lifted dog and child
together.
When Jared Folkeston came
through the trees, Paul sat upon the
ground holding Barbara to him, wip-
ing away the mud, kissing her face
and hair, great sobs shaking him. At
his feet stretched Dak.
“She’s alive?” His father gasped
the question,
than Paul’s own. Paul nodded.
“It was Dak—Dak saved her!”
They were nearing home, Barbara
held close in her father’s arms.
“And there Dak held her,” Paul
completed the story as he knew it.
“Held her while I dragged him and
Barbara through that tar-like
mire by the skin of his throat. Both
were sunken deep and the quagmire
not only held them, it sucked them
back. It did not seem possible that
Dak could hold his grip against that |
choking strain. But he never made a
sound or a movement after I got a
hold on the loose skin, just looked at:
me, and held.”
A faint gleam of the old whimsic-
al smile flickered in Jared Folkeston’s
tired eyes.
“I guess Jackstone qualifies,” he
said softly.—By Heenry Francis
Granger, in The American Magazine.
Business Now Made of
Producing Spider Silk
Spider farming is one of the little
known industries of modern times.
The end in view is not the intensive
fighting of the fiy peril, but the produe-
tion of spider silk, than which there
is nothing better for the cross lines of
surveying and other instruments.
Supplies in vastly larger quantities
ure needed for the manufacture of spi-
der-silk stockings, and it is to meet this
demand that special spider farms have
been started from time to time, says
Tit-Bits.
It is no easy matter to keep and
feed the spiders, to prevent them from
engaging in mortal combat, and to
collect their silk in suitable form. The
process of “silking” the spider amounts
to playing catchball, with the spider as
ball. In its passage through the alr
the spider instinctively pays out silk,
and it can be induced to part with a
hundred yards or more during a suc-
session of such flights.
Secret Safe
“Oh, Alice!” Virginia exclaimed.
‘have you heard about Gladys?”
“No; what about her?” Alice de-
vanded.
“Well, she and Dick Rodney are
toing to be married in June!”
“You don't say! Well, 1 always
tnew Dick thought a lot of Gladys,
s>ut I never did think she would agree
‘0 marry him.”
“And Alice,” Virginia continued,
‘the engagement is a secret just now.
{ promised Gladys I wouldn't tell a
dving soul, so don’t you breathe 8
word of it to anyone.”
“Why, Virginia,” Alice replied, “you
know I wouldn't any more think of
telling it than you would!”
Genuine Article
Salesmen may be gracious and cheer-
gal and yet lack knowledge of the
goods they are expected to sell. This
is a sad fault and a handicap to good
salesmanship. A story is told of &
genial storekeeper in central Ohio
swhose education in selling was of the |
kindergarten variety. A customer
came in and asked for a little cheese-
cloth.
The storekeeper disappeared, but
same back lugging a large specimen of
a New York cheese. “Here's the
cheese,” he said, “but I'll be ding-
busted if I know how I'm goin’ to get
the cloth offen it!”
Bog Ornaments Irish Asset
One of the industries of Ireland has
iong been the manufacture of bog oak
ornaments. Before the period of up-
heaval in Ireland the export of these
goods from the Emerald isle through
the port of Dublin equaled a value of
5100,000 a year. The trade originated
in the reign of George IV, soon after
is visit to Ireland in 1821, London Tit-
Riis says. At first all the ornaments
were hand carved and polished, but
machinery was used with the increased
demand. Yew, fir and birch, as well as
eak, are woods used by the makers of
the ornaments. The one necessity 18
that the logs shall have been lorg
hurled in the bogs.
his face more drawn
Blind Persons Read
| Character by Voice
‘The similarity of voices is not con-
rusing (to the blind) as a rule. Many
are similar, to be sure, but I have:
never encountered absolute doubles,
and in general voices are as sharply
differentiated as faces—in fact, often
far more.
i The only difficulty I have experi
; enced, strangely enough, is caused by
"one person's having several voices. All
of us have; we change tone and qual-
ity more or less unconsciously accord-
ing to our mood and condition. But in
some the change {is dismayingly
marked. One woman, for example,
has as many as five voices, each quite
| distinct.
The physical condition is also re-
vealed by the voice in a striking de-
gree, both as to change and normal
characteristics. Fat people, for ex-
ample, have a voice quality which is
all but invariably detectable.
Character, too, is easily read. In
fact it seems that character is re-
vealed in the voice even more fully
and accurately than in the face, no
doubt because the subject, failing to
recognize this, makes less of an at-
tempt to mask the voice.—Charles Mec-
Gee Adams, in the Atlantic Monthly.
Odd Garden Products
Little Johnny, who was of schoor
age, was on his way home from the
week-night prayer meeting, where he
had fallen asleep, a writer in the
Youth's Companion reports. His
father, who had had great difficulty
in waking him at the close of the serv-
ice, was walking by his side, holding
his hand. Fearing that the boy would
go to sleep again and that he should
have to carry him, the father quick-
ened his pace and, twitching the little
fellow’s hand vigorously, asked him:
briskly where he had been that day.
“Over to Mr. O'Neal's,” was the
drowsy reply. :
“And what were they doing at Mr.
O'Neil’s?” \
“Makin’ garden,”
listlessly.
“And what did they plant?”
Johnny yawned. “Planted lett's an
onions an’,—" he stumbled, and his:
tongue grew thick,—“an’' rad'shes an’
peas—an’ q's—an’ r's—an’ s's—"
At that point the father picked him.
up and carried him.
Johnny replied.
Tailteann Games
The Teailteann games which have-
been successfully revived in Ireland:
are so called in perpetuation of the:
name of Queen Tailte, who tradition:
says reigned over Ireland some hun-
dreds of years before Christ. Beling-
childless, she adopted a youth named
Lugh, who succeeded to the throne at
her death. In grateful memory of his:
foster-mother, King Lugh organized:
an “Aonach Tailteann”—that is,
Tailte’s festival—to which each Irish
chieftain brought his star athletes, his:
best horsenien, his most expert harp-
ists. The festival, once established,
was continued, with certain interrup-
tions for nearly 2,000 years. Then:
it lapsed, to be revived by the Free-
State government.
To Hesitate Is Fatal
They stood in the wings of the-
opera heuse. In a few moments she:
was te go on.
“One last word,” said the conductor.
“Yes, maestro?”
“If you forget your lines do not hesi-
tate. Never falter.”
“But what shall I sing?” asked the-
new diva.
“That is the point. Be prepara
Sing the multiplication table with your
best rung and trills. Nobody will e. gr
know the difference.” — Pittshurg
Chronicle-1'elegraph.
Slight Misunderstanding
A seamstress employed by a chari-
table institution had her wages raised’
to such ap amount that she wus eli-
gible to an income tax. When she re-
ceived the usual forms from the col
lector with the request that she fill:
them out and return: them, she sent
them back with the following note:
“Dear Sir: I have always been in-
sured with the Safety company and I
have ne intention, ef changing myr
company now,"