ILLUSTRATIONS BY CLARK AGNEW. Copyright by Doubleday, Page & Co. WNU Bervice, ! (Continued from last week.) —Introducing “So Big” SYNOPSIS in his infancy. And his OT Dajon rk DeJon DeJong, daughter of Big ther, Selina meon Peake, gambler and gentleman f fortune. Her life, to young woman- 00d in Chicago in 1888, has been un- oonventional, somewhat seamy, but generally enjoyable. At school her chum is Julie’ Hempel, daughter of fugu .Hempel, butcher. Simeon is lled in a quarrel that is not his own. and Belina, nineteen years old and Faoiicaily destitute, becomes a school- hy er. : CHAPTER II—Selina secures a posi- gion as teacher at the High Prairie pohool, in the outskirts of Chicago, {ving at the home of a truck farmer, laas Pool. In Roelf, twelve years ld, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a finared spirit, a lover of beauty, like reelf. : CHAPTER I11.—The monotonous life of a country school-teacher at that ime, is Selina’s, brightened somewhat y the companionship ot the sensitive, artistic boy Roelf. - CHAPTER IV.—Selina hears gossip ncerning the affection of the “Widow saflenberg rich and good-looking, for Pervus DeJong, poor truck farmer, who is insensible to the widow's at- ractions. For a community “sociable” elina prepares a lunch basket, dainty, ut not of ample proportions, which is “auctioned,” according to custom. The smallness of the lunch box excites deri- ion, and in a sense of fun the bidding ecomes spirited, DeJong finally secur- ng it for $10, a ridiculously high price. Over their lunch basket, whic eling end DeJong share together, the school- teacher arranges to instruct the good- atured farmer, whose education has en neglected. CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in their gitione of ‘teacher’ and “pupil,” and Belina’s loneliness in her uncongenial urroundings, lead to mutual affection. ervus DeJong wins Selina’'s consent to be his wife. CHAPTER VI.—Selina becomes Mrs. eJong, a ‘farmer's wife,” with all the hardships unavoidable at that time. irk is born. Selina (of Vermont stock, businesslike and shrewd) har plane for building up the farm, which re ridiculed by her husband. Maartje ool, Klaas’ wife, dies, and after the requisite decent interval Klaas marries the “Widow Paarlenberg.” The boy oelf, sixteen years old now, leaves i¢ home, to make his way to France and study, his ambition being to be- @ome a sculptor. CHAPTER VIL-—Dirk is eight years old when his father dies. Selina, faced with the necessity of making a living for her boy and herself. rises to the occasion, and, with Dirk, takes a truck- oad of vegetables to the Chicego mar- ot. A woman selling in the market place is an innovation frowned upon. CHAPTER VIII.—As a disposer of the vegetables from her truck Selina is a flat failure, buyers being shy of dealing with her. To a commission dealer she sells part of her stock. On the way home she peddles from door to door, with indifferent success. A oliceman demands her license. She as none, and during the ensuing alter- cation Selina's girlhood chum, Julie Jismpel, now Julie Arnold, recognizes ‘her. CHAPTER IX.—August Hempel, risen to prominence and wealth in the busi- ress world, arranges to assist Selina in making the farm something more of a paving proposition. Selina grate- fully accepte his help, for Dirk's sake. Dirk could laugh at that picture. But he protested, too. “Bat there's no native architecture, so what's to be done! {You wouldn't call those smoke-blackened old stone and brick plles with their iron fences and their conservatories and cupolas and ginger- bread exactly native, would you?” “No,” Selina admitted, “but those Italian villas and French chateaux in north Chicago suburbs are a good deal like a lace evening gown in the Ari- zona desert. It wouldn't keep you cool in the daytime, and it wouldn't. be warm enough ut night. I suppose a native architecture is evolved from bullding for the local climate and the needs of the community, keeping beau- ty in mind as you go. We doen't need turrets and towers any more than we need draw-bridges and moats. It's all right to keep them, I suppose, where they grew up, in a country where the feudal system meant that any day your next-door neighbor might take it into his head to call his gang around him and sneak up to steal your wife and tapestries and gold drinking cups.” Dirk was interested and amused. Talks with his mother were likely to affect him thus. “What's your idea of a real Chicago house, mother?” Selina answered quickly, as if she had thought often about it; as if she would have liked just such a dwelling on the site of the old DeJong farm- house in which they now were seated so comfortably. “Well, it would need big porches for the hot days and nights so’'s to catch the prevailing southwest winds from the prairies in the summer—a porch that would be swung clear around to the east, too— or a terrace or another porch east so that if the precious old lake breeze should come up just when you think you're dying of the heat, as it some- times does, you could catch that, too. It ought to be bullt—the house, I mean—rather squarish and tight and solid against our cold winters and northeasters. Then sleeping porches, of course. There's a grand American institution ‘for you! England may have its afternoon tea on the terrace, and Spain may have its patio, and France its courtyard, and Italy its pergola, vine-covered; but America’s got the sleeping porch—the screened- and 1 sleeping i shouldn’t wonder if the man who first ‘ thought of that would get precedence. ! on Judgment day, over the men who invented the airplane, the talking ma- in open-air porch, | chine, and the telephone. After all. { he had nothing in mind but the health | of the human race.” After which grand period Selina grinned at Dirk. and Dirk grinned at Selina and the two giggled together there hy the fire- place, companionably. “Mother, you're simply wonderful !— only your native Chicago dwelling seems to be mostly porch.” Selina waved such carping criticism away with a careless hand. “Oh, well, ! any house that has enough porches, and ‘two or three bathrooms and at least eight closets can be lived in com- | fortably, no matter what else it has or ! hasn't got.” Next day they were nore serious The eastern college and the architec- tural career seemed to be settled things. Selina was content, happy. Dirk was troubled about the expense. He spoke of it at breakfast next morn- ing (Dirk's breakfast; his mother had had hers hours before and now as he drank his coiTee, was sitting with him a moment and glancing at the paper that had come in the rural mail deliv- ery). She had been out in the fields overseeing the transplanting of young tomato seedlings from hotbed to field. She wore an old gray sweater buttoned up tight, for the air was still sharp. On her head was a battered black fekt soft hat (an old one of Dirk's) much like the one she had worn to the Hay- market that day ten years ago. “I've been thinking,” he began. “the expense—" 2 “I’ve been wanting to put them in for three or four years. It's August Hempel’s idea. Hogs. 1 should have said.” He echoed, “Hogs!” rather faintly. “High-bred hogs. They're worth their weight in silver this minute. and will be for years to come. in for them extensively. Jusi enough to make :n architect out of fr. Dirk DeJong.” Then, at the expression in his face: “Don’t look so pained, son. There's nothing revolting about a hog —he's a handsome, impressive-looking animal, the hog, when he isn’t treated like ope.” Ye looked dejected. “Td rather not go to school on—hogs.” She took off the felt hat and tossed it over to the old couch by the win- dow ; smoothed her hair back with the flat of her palm. You saw that the soft dark hair was liberally sprinkled with gray now, but the eyes were bright and clear as ever. “You know, Sobig, this is what they call a paying farm—as vegetable farms go. We're out of debt, the land's in good shape, the crop promises well if we don’t have another rainy cold | spring like last year’s. I'm having a grand time. When I see the asparagus plantation actualy yielding, that I planted ten years ago, I'm as happy as if I'd stumbled on a gold mine. I think, sometimes, of the way your fa- ther objected to my planting the first one. April, like this, in the country, with everything coming up green and new in the rich black loam—I can't tell you. And when I know that it goes to market as food—the best kind of food, that keeps people’s bodies clean and clear and flexible and strong! I like to think of babies’ mothers say- ing: ‘Now eat your spinach, every scrap, or you can’t have any dessert! Carrots make your eyes bright. Finish your potato. Potatoes make you strong!” Selina laughed, flushed a little. “Yes, but how about hogs? Do you feel that way about hogs?” “Certainly,” said Selina, briskly. She pushed toward him a little blue-and- white platter that lay on the white cloth near her elbow. “Have a bit more bacon, Dirk. One of these nice curly slivers that #ve so crisp.” “I've finished my breakfast, Moth- er.” He rose. The following autumn saw him a student of architecture at Cornell. He worked hard, studied even during his vacation. He would come home to the heat and humidity of the Illinois summers and spend hours each day in his own room that he had fitted up with a long work-table and a drawing board. His T-square was at hand; two trian- gles—a 45 and a 60; his compass; a pair of dividers. Selina sometimes stood behind him watching him as he carefully worked on the tracing paper. His contempt for the local architec- ture was now complete. Especially did he hold forth on the subject of the apartment houses that were mush- rooming on every street in Chicago from Hyde Park on the south to Evanston on the north. Chicago was very elegant in speaking of these; never called them “flats”; always “Pigs’ll do it,” Selina said, calmiy. I won't go | : apartments... In front of each of these (there were usually six to a building) was stuck a little glass-enclosed cubi- cle known as a sun-parlor. In these (sometimes you heard them spoken of, grandly, as solariums) Chicago dwell- ers took refuge from the leaden skies, the heavy lake atmosphere, the gray mist and fog and smoke that so fre- quently swathed the city in gloom, They were done in yellow" or rose cre- tonnes. Silk lampshades glowed there- in, sand flower-laden boxes. In these frank little boxes Chicago read its pa- per, sewed, played bridge, even ate its breakfast. It never pulled dewr the shades. : .“Terrible!” Dirk fumed. “Not only are they hideous in themselves, stuck on the front of those houses like three pairs of spectacles; but the lack of decent privacy! They do everything but bathe in 'em. Have they never heard the advice given people who live in glass houses!” By his junior year he was talking in a large way about .the Beaux Arts, But Selina did not laugh at this. “Per- haps.” she thought. “Who can tell! After a year or two in an office here, why not another year of study in Paris if he needs it.” Though it was her busiest time on the farm Selina went to Ithaca for his graduaticn in 1913. He was twenty- two and, she was calmly sure, the bhest- looking man in his class. Undeniably Le was a figure to please the eye; tall, well-built, as his father had heen, for his eyes. These were brown—not so dark as Selina’s, but with some of the soft liquid quality of her glance. gave him an ardent look of which he was not conscious. Women, feeling the ardor of that dark glance turned upon them, were likely to credit him with feelings toward themselves of { which he was quite innocent. They dil not know that the glance and its | effect were mere matters of pigmenta- tion and eye-conformation. always more effective than that of one who is loquacious. Selina, in her black silk dress, and her plain black hat, and her sensible shoes, was rather a quaint little figure among ull those vivacious, bevoiled, and heribboned mammas. But a dis- tinctive little figure, too. Dirk need not be wshamed of her. She eyed the rather paunchy, prosperous, middle- aged fathers and thought, with a pang, how mvch handsomer Pervus would have been than any of these, if only he couid have lived to see this day. Then, involuntarily, she wondered if this day would ever have occurred. had Pervug lived. Chided herself for thinking thus. When he returned to Chicago, Dirk They sirengthened his face, somehow; " sourse. in the couch-swing, and blond, too, like his father, except ' Then, too, | the gaze of a man who talks little is | " went into the office of Hollis & Spracue, architects. But his work | ! there was little more than that of Udranchtsman, and his weekly stipend eould hardly be dignified br the térm of sajary. But he had large ideas | wbous architecture and he found ex-! pressicn for his suppressed feelings on his ween ends spent with Selina at the farm. “Baroque” was the word with which Ie dismissed the new Beachside ho- tel, norch. He said the new Lincoln park handstand looked like an ixleo He seid that the ¢ity council ought to erder the I'otter Palmer mansion de stroyed as a blot on the landscape, and waxed profane on the subject of the east face of the Public Library building, downtown. “Nevef mind,” Selina assured him, happily. “It was all thrown up so hastily. Remember that just yester- day, or the day before, Chicago was an Indian fort, with tepees where tow~ ers are new, and mud wallows in place of asphalt. Beauty needs time to perfect it. Perhaps we've heen waiting all these years for just such youngsters as you. And maybe some day I'llbe driving down Michigan bou- levard with a distinguished visitor— Roelf Pool, perhaps. Why not? Let's say Roe!f Pool, the famous sculptor. And he'll say, ‘Who designed that building—the one that is so strong and yet so reticent!” And I'll say, ‘Oh, that! That's one of the earlier efforts of my son, Dirk DeJong.” But Dirk pulled at his pipe mood- ily; shook his head. “Oh, you don’t know, mother. It's so d—d slow. First thing you know I'll’ be thirty. And what am I! An office boy—or little more than that—at Hollis.” During his university years Dirk had seen much of the Arnolds, Eugene and Paula, but it sometimes seemed to Selina that he avoided these meetings— these parties and week-ends. She was content that this should be so, for she guessed that the matter of money held him back. She thought it was well that he should realize the difference now. Eugene had his own car—one of five in the Arnold garage. Paula, too, had hers. Her fascination for Dirk was strong. Selina knew that, too. In the last year or two he had talked very little of Paula and that, Sellna knew, meant that he was hard hit. out to the farm. Eugene would appear in rakish cap, loose London knickers, queer brogans with an English look ebout them, a carefully careless loose- ness about the hang and fit of his jacket. Paula did not affect sports clothes for herself, She was not the type, she said. Slim, dark, vivacious, she wore slinky e&lothes—crepes, chif- fons. Her eyes were languorous, lovely. She worshiped luxury and said so. : * “I'll have to marry money,” she de- clared. “Now that they've finished calling poor grandpa a beef-baron and taken I don’t know how many millions away from him, we're practically on the streets.” “You look it!” from Dirk; and there and yet so light? So gay and graceful | was: bitterness beneath his light tone. “Well, it’s true. All this silly muck- raking in the past ten years or more. Poor father! Of course, granddad was pur-ty rough, let me tell you. I read some of thre accounts of that lasr indictment—t¥e 1910 one—and I must say I gathered that dear old Aug made Jesse James look like a philanthropist. 1 should think, at his age, he'd be a little scared. After all, when you're over seventy you're likely to have some doubts and fears about punish- ment in the next world, But not a grand old pirate like grandfather. He'll sack and burn and plunder until he goes down with the ship. And it Jooks to me as if the old boat had a pretty strong list to starboard right now. Father says himself that unless a war breaks, or something, which isn’t at all likely, the packing industry is going to spring a leak.” “Elaborate figure of speech,” mur- mured Eugene. The four of them— Paula, Dirk, Eugene and Selina—were sitting on the wide screened porch that Selina had had built at the southwest corner of the house. Paula was, of Oceasion- ally she touched one slim languid foot to the floor and gave indolent impetus to the couch, “It is. rather, isn’t jt? Might as well finish it, then. Darling Aug's been the grand old captain right through | the viage. Dad's never heen more than a pretty bum second mate. And as for vou, Gene my love, cabin boy would be, y'understand. me, big.” Eugene had gone into the business a vear before, “What can you expect,” retorted Eugene, “of a lad that hates salt pork? And every other kind of pig meat?” He despised the yards and all that aent with it. Selina got up and walked to the snd of the porch. “There's Adam *oming in with she last load for the jay. He'll be driving into town now. Dornelius started an hour ago.” She went down the steps on her way to yversee the loading of Adam Bras’ wagon. At the bottom of the steps she turned. “Why can’t you two stay to supper? You can quarrel com- fortably right through the meal and jrive home in the cool of the eve- aing.” “I'll stay,” said Paula, “thanks. If you'll have all kinds of vegetables, ~ocked and uncooked. ‘And let me 70 out into the fields and pick 'em nyself like Maud Muller o~ Marie An- :oinette or any of those make-believe -ustic gals.” - In her French-heeled slippers and jer filmy silk stockings she went out ‘nto the rich black furrows of the jelds, Dirk carrying the basket. “Asparagus,” she ordered first hen. “But where is it? Is that it!” “You dig for it, idiot,” said Dirk stooping, and taking from his basket the queerly curved sharp knife or spud. used for. cutting the, asparagus shoots. “Cut the shoots three or four inches below the surface.” “Oh, let me do it!” She was down on her silken knees in the dirt, ruined tender n goodly patch of the fine, shoots, gave it up and sat watching Dirk's expert manipulation of knife. “Let's have radishes, and corn. and tomatoes and lettuce and peas and artichokes and—" “Artichokes grow in California, not Liinois.” He was more than usually uncom mdnicative, and noticeably moody. Paula remarked it. “Why the Othello brow?” “You didn’t mean that rot, did you? about marrying a rich man. You were Joking, weren't you?’ “I wasn’t. I'd hate being poor, or even just moderately rich. I'm used to money—Iloads of it. I'm twenty- four. And I'm looking around.” He kicked an innocent beet-top with his boot. “You like me better thar any man you know.” “Of course I do. Just my luck.” “Well, then!” “Well, then, let's take these weg- | gibles in.” him nnk She made a pretense of lifting the heavy basket. Dirk snatched it rough- ly out of her hand so that she gave . a little ery and looked ruefully down Sometimes Paula and Eugene drove" “You Like Me Better Than Any Man You Know.” at the red mark on her palm. He caught her by the shoulder—even shook her a little. “Look here, Paula. Do you mean to tell me you'd marry a man simply because he happened to have a lot of money!” (Continued next week.) the! PLEASANT GAP PHILOSOPHY. By Levi A. Miller. Pure zir is essential to the health of well persons. The laws of life and health are in- flexible; they are as fixed and certain, and as plain as any other laws of na- ture. Parents must give good example, and be reverent in deportment in the presence of their children. Blessed is that person who is en- dowad with a pleasing utterance. Out of a kind heart comes, natur- ally, kind feelings. The mind is fashioned and furnish- ed principally at school, but the char- acter of the affections is derived chief- ly from home influences. Parents, in making choice of schools should select those presided over by teachers who know their duty better than to flog dull children for not learning. Every person ought to have phys- iical exercise in the open air, that will ! occupy several hours every day. | - Benevolence, friendship, love, =a good conscience, with tender, refined and elevated thoughts, are never-fail- ing sources of delight and health. W hereas, pride, envy, jealousy, covet- ousness, anger, and all the rassions, habitually indulged in to excess, have a tendency to sap the foundations of health and shorten cur existence. Saul went out in search of his fath- er’s asses, and found himself a King. , The selfish politician goes out in search of the. crown and throne and scepter of office, to which he is not en- titled; and the people find a fraud : who need not envy the donkey its re- dundancy of ear. Solomon speaks of braying a fool in a mortar, yet will not his folly depart from him. The political adventurer, when beaten in i that mortar, the ballot-box, will con- tinue to bray and show his ears. i There is no eagle’s nest so lofly that the cock-sparrow will not at- tempt to reach it. He fiits from house ito house, and under the eaves listens for the sentiments of his neighbors. You may see him about election time hopping here and there to pick up "crumbs of consolation and soft things | with which to feather his nest; and | there is nothing that flies that can compare with him in putting in a bill, . although he is nothing but a common i Fome sparrow, and cannot soar above i the clouds to the lofty mountain crag , where the eagle builds its eyrie of i sticks and clay. Adam and Eve were "our ancestors, hence we all have roy- lal blood running in our veins; but we | have violated the physical laws, de- | ranged our systems, making the blood thin and scrofulous; and in a thous- and ways have been enfeebling and | deforming the body. However, there {are some respeetable politicians, but many there are who require watch- ing; otherwise the public will be vie- timized. It is to be hoped that the time will come when truth and veraci- ty shall thunder all around the hosi- zon, and the lightning of law strike and paralyze the protane hand that touches with fraud that ark of tie covenant, the ballot-boxy Wa. Manage Flock Well to Get Summer Eggs. Th: two outstanding causes of low | egg production in many fiocks in Cen- tre county during the summer months are lack of culling and improper mai- agement. Housing is one of the | points in summer management that | needs attention. In too many cases the laying flock is shut up at night in houses that are hot, poorly ventilated, dirty and overrun with mites. Under such housing conditions the birds, no { matter what they are fed, cannot lay many eggs. All laying houses which have not received a spring cleaning should be cleaned before hot weather arrives. Any good disinfectant will answer the purpose in spraying. Use plenty of it so it will reach all the cracks and crevices. A spray pump will force the spray into all the cor- ners. It is a good plan to use white- wash on the interior of the house as it makes the house much lighter. After a thorough cleansing open the house as much as possible so as to af- ford plenty of ventilation. Feeding is another important fac- tor of summer management for the laying flock. Mash is recommended as the great egg producer at this time of the year and the birds should consume more of this than grain. Feeding grain very lightly in the morning will accomplish this. If properly fed each bird should consume about four pounds of mash and two pounds of grain dur- ing the month. Along with the feed- ing of mash and grain give each bird plenty of succulent green feed and be sure to have a good supply of clear fresh cool water available at all times. Dairy Cow is Market. The dairy cow is the dairy farm- er’s market, or rather, his channel to market. His crops move to market through his dairy cattle. No dairy- man can hope to prosper unless he re- ceives a good price for the hay, grain, and other crops he raises on his farm. The price he receives is dependent up- on the working ability of his dairy cows. High or low prices will be re- alized just according to his cows whether they have the ability to re- turn large amounts of milk for feed consumed. Whether the dairy cow is a friend or an enemy is a question every farm- er should ask regarding every cow in his herd, and then find the facts. If she yields him a good price for hay and other feeds consumed she is a helper or a friend; otherwise she is a robber and an enemy. When the facts are learned, in many cases the cow should be labeled with a sign reading ' something like this: “I ~m a market ' for your hay and pay $2.50 per ton for it" Uther cows in the herd might carry lake.s showing $5.00 per ton or $6.00 and +0 on up or down the line. Good cows will return $20.00 or more per ton. No man can thrive on a dairy farm unless he gets good prices for the crops consumed. Every herd should be carefully checked over and each poor cow weeded out. No man can afford to sell hay at $5.00 per ton. RRR — FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. DAILY THOUGHT. Hard things are’ pit-inidgur way not to stop, ‘but to call out our @ourage and our strength.—Anon. : ; 1. What is a smart woman? One who chooses the right sort of dress for every occasion and knows how to put on what she chooses. Chic is not really a question of spending great amounts of money on clothes, of having a great qua.tity of dresses hanging in closets, or of in- dulging a taste for every luxury. The rich woman is not, by any means, al- ways the well-dressed woman. It is, perhaps, hard for Americans—easy spenders that we are—to realize this. We like to buy lavishly. The French or the international well-dressed woin- an buys only what she needs. The loss in every fortune after the war, and the increasing price of everything since, has forced her to economy, and that attitude on her part has had some influence upon the mode. 2. What is still required of the smart woman? To have a distinct style of her own. This is very important, as a substi- tute, perhaps, for the luxury of the past. It is the artist’s touch of today. ‘The woman with strong personality unconsciously develops a style in her appearance. The word type could be substituted here for personality. But how many women have the rare char- acteristic of recognizing type, or per- sonality, and making . capital of it? Every woman has, however, the «chance to do so, and any woman who has not a strongly developed person- ality must at least study her type and find out what is most becoming to it. Beautiful, as well as plain or ugly women should study this, because, to be really smart, each one must thor- oughly understand the sort of looks she possesses. Sometimes, by accen- tuating her most prominent fault of face—such as a large mouth—with her make-up, a woman can give her- self such character as to lend to her ugliness a certain interest and fasecin- ation. Then, by bringing out her good points—a fine figure, for instance— and wearing the kind of dresses which flatter both face and figure, she may acquire a very definite personality that makes her stand out as an .indi- vidual instead of remaining just the plain woman she is. The American woman seems to have very little un- derstanding of this; she fears to look different trom her friends and feels self-conscious about doing anything which would make her, as she thinks, conspicuous. That is why we say that to find out and dress one’s type re- quires courage, as well as taste and intelligence. 3. How can economy be shown in choosing a smart wardrobe ? By buying only what is necessary and letting it be of the best. _ Cheap ciothes are expensive. The initial cost ‘of ‘good things may be high, but their wearing power is high also. It is not necessary to buy ex- travagantly. A smart woman never exaggerates the mode, and she does not buy what is sold to. and worn by the great public at the moment, but selects a mode that will be of the fu- ture. She will have whav might be called the “advance fashion sense.” This has its advantages, for the gar- ments selected will be as good the sec- ond year as the first. Dresses should last two years. If one wants to know just what kind of things will be worn, one need only look in Vogue. From an economic point of view, it is of great importance to plan out . the wardrobe from year to year and never deviate from the plan. Dresses should be bought twice a year—spring and summer outfits in March v: April, winter models in September and Oc- tober. This saves time and money. The different collections should be carefully looked over and carefully thought over before making a selec- tion. Buying in a hurry is a mistake. it is well to select a colour (a becom- ing colour, and a practical colour) and wear only tones of this one shade, since whatever goes with one costume will then go with all. White, black, and dark blue should be represented in every wardrobe, but, beside these, the single colour, adopted and adhered to, will be found an economy. There are, however, certain parts of the ward- robe on which it would be a mistake to economize. Coats should always be of the best, as should furs, tailleurs, win- ter evening gowns, and shoes of all sorts. 4. What are the occasions which a smart woman must consider? Those upon which she must show her good taste by dressing appropri- ately, such as: Traveling; shopping; lunching (at home or at restaurants); going to weddings, receptions, garden-parties; attending races, polo, or outdoor amusements; taking up any kind of sport; having afternoon tea at home; dining, formally or informally, at home cor abroad; dining at a restau- rant and going to the theatre; going to the opera; going to balls. For all such occasions, a woman who has any pretensions to chic will have a suitable outfit, and, as long as it is suitable and smart; she will not mind wearing it often. The real ele- gante of any nationality does not at- tach much importance to having a great many of the same s..t of gar- ment, nor care if she is seen in one gown day after day, so long as it fits her and is admirzbie of its kind. She knows that si.c must dress more plain- ly in pubiic than in private places, that to travel in a black velvet dre. > with a fountain of aigrettes on !l.cr hat, or to dine at an ordinary resta.- rant in a siiver ball-dress with a deep decolletage, would be absurdly out of place. When in doubt as to wlich of several costumes will better fit her aeeds, she will invariably chouse the plainer. To be overdressed is aways wrong; while to be simply dressed is seldom a mistake. For lemon sauce for fich, squeeze and strain the juice from a large lem- on into a saucepan, then add to it one- quarter pound butter, one-half sait- spoonful of salt and a saltspoonful of pepper. Beat over the fire until thick and hot, but do not let it boil. When done, mix with the beaten yolks of two eggs and serve at once.