Bemorai fatcan
Bellefonte, Pa., January 17, 1829
A
AFTERWARD.
There's never a storm so wild
But after it follows calm;
There's never a hurt so great
But somewhere’s provided a balm;
There's never a night so dark
But after it follows the dawn.
There’s never a shadow falls
But after it follows the light;
There's never a SOITOW comes
But after it comes delight.
There's never a sky so great
But after it follows the blue;
There's never a false friend found
But later you'll find a true.
There's never a heart that breaks
But after a while it will heal;
There’s never a moan of pain
But after a laughter peal.
There's never a sin so black
But forgiveness is found at last;
There's never a weary day
But sometime ‘twill be past;
There's never a night so dark
But dawn will come at last.
(RE————
WHO KISSED ME?
Yarn street is made of Chinese al-
leys tangled together, narrow and
cobblestoned—dingy fronts packed
in with sagging stairways.
In the daytime, there it is—China-
men inside their doors, talking sing-
song, scuffling out of one place into
another: a laundry, steam standing
around the door; little frames of
colored beads to count with; holes in |
the wall for shops, with cases of |
thick; heavy cakes, sweet and over-
flavored; dim stores with dried food |
in glass jars, noodles, rice and |
bamboo; windows piled with goods
in pink-red Chinese paper, yellow
labels, straw bags of tea, black |
Chinese letters up and down every-
thing, slippers hanging on gut like
strings for fish. And then at night,
flaring gaslights in among senseless,
fluttering Chinese trinkets; signs of
gods; bunches of brass-green coins;
silk coats with embroidered pat-
terns; colored lanterns ugly with
painted faces, or beautiful with
struggling willow branches and cher- |
blossoms.
A balcony of heavy gold, with
dragon corners, is uncovered at
night across the front of the Port
Saavo. Music begins inside, Haze
of incense gathers around the door,
and people who are looking for
Chinatown come there to sit at
black teakwood tables, eat kum-
quats and chow mein, scald their
fingers on cups of tea with no
handles. They look out on a pack
of Chinese children whom the man-
agement has paid to scramble in the
street, and on flowers of Chinese
girls, in silk coats and trousers and
little flat embroidered shoes, black
hair shingled in fashion, cheeks
roughed, lips like poppies—and down
along a couple of crooked blocks,
where Chinatown with sateen coats
and wadded queues sit outside half-
open doors, the windows painted
over yellow faces—street of a thou-
sand secrets. |
A blue lantern hangs out at Joe
Yung’s place—ring of dusty light,
- streak of yellow down three steps
to the door, bare tables and wooden
chairs, walls blotched with names
and marks and pictures,
It is to Joe Yung's that sailors,
rocking down the middle of the
street, are going perhaps to sleep
on his floor all the next day.
Twenty blocks away, across a
dirty wooden street, is the wharf,
slimy green posts, rotten sides—the
river crawling in, freight tugs
sloughing. tramps of boatmen com-
ing up like river muck, sailors
starting out of Yarm Street, and
Joe Yung’s.
One night, past the music of the
Port Saavo along in the thin light
of the dirty windows a straggling
sailor saw a white girl, frightened,
walking, half running close to the
buildings, cheap sleeveless dress just
to her knees thick light hair pin-
ned in curls around her head, a
scarf her hand catching it against
her, her eyes darting from one
thing to another.
She was a pretty girl, slim legs
silk stockings, high-heeled slippers.
“Where's Joe Yung’s?” the sailor
heard her ask a Chinaman sitting
ina shop door, bales of tea behind
him, and racks of ginger jars.
The Chinaman looked at her,
puffed his pipe, shrugged his shoul-
ders and looked down again at a
newspaper he had—Chinese letters
jiggling ‘in the gaslight.
The sailor pushed his hat back
and spoke to her. id
“Baby” he laughed,
in the world forgets
Yung's is, I'll still know.”
And he caught her arm and
swung her down the street with
him her heels tripping on the cob-
blestones.
Joe Yung was half white, big as
a white man, face like a white
man’s. :
The sailor led the girl down Joe
Yung’s. three steps and inside. It
was early—only a - dozen there,
greasy cards, bowls of soup; but
already pipe smoke folded around
the walls, spreading, clinging tothe
ceiling.
“Sit down baby,” the sailor grin-
ned and took her across and scrap-
ed two chairs out from a table.
“if every guy
where Joe
“I want to see Joe Yung,” she
said.
“Joe” the sailor called out.
“Skirt ta see ya!! 3
He took a book of cigaret-papers
out of his pocket, a sack of tobac-
co rolled a cigaret, lighted it and
put it in her fingers, :
Joe Yung. cap pulled over his
eyes, shirt open at the throat, came
across the floor from a table where
five men were playing poker.
“Where's Jimmy Lord?” the girl
said to him.
All the men in the place turned
around to look at her—waited
play their cards, wiated to chunk
their bread in their. soup.
“Jimmy Lord?” . Joe sald, “Who
wants fo mow?”
The girl pushed the cigaret the
Iwas always hurryin’
sailor had given her into the tallow
of a candle that was burning upon
the table.
“You heard who asked you,” she
said. “Where is he? He hasn't
been home for two days.”
“The sailor who had brought her Kay! ~~ ~~... 0 {.
One night he saw another man:
shoved his hat back and leaned
against the table, “I guess he
aint” he roared. “He's in the jug!
The girl flashed around to face
him—caught her hands on the table.
“What do you mean—jug ?” she said
sharply.
The sailor sat down in one of the
chairs he had pulled out, “Aint
you never seen one, baby?” he ask-
ed, and winked broadly at Joe.
The girl looked up at Joe Yung,
her hands opening and closing on
the edge of the table. “What's he
talking about?” she said, her voice
quiet—steady. “Where's Jimmy ?”
Joe Yung took off his cap and
put it on again. “I don’t know who
you are, miss, or what reason you
got to be askin,” he told her, “but
what he says is the goods. A man
from uptown got the cops on Jim-
my Monday night, and caught him
with a box a jade and a load a
happy dust done up in a bale of
sitk, I was sorry as the devil to
see a kid like Jimmy get the works,
but Itold hima year ago he show-
ed up too conspicuous around here
with Chinamen. Too clean he was!”
The girl had been staring at Joe
Yung. Suddenly she turned and hid
her face in her arms against the
open door.
“But Jimmy didn’t want the
stuff,” she said, choking—sobbing.
“Why don’t they get the men he
works for? Why don’t they get
the man who sends Jimmy down
here after it?”
“Jimmy wouldn't tell
Joe told her.
“Well, I'll tell a name!”
shrilled, facing the dingy
no names,”
she
room.
“Glover McKay ! Glover McKay !”
“I told the cops that myself” Joe
Yung said, “and they found Mr.
Glover McKay, and he didn’t know
what they are talkin’ about, he says.
Would demand an apology from the.
Court, he says. Never seen the kid
before—don’t know what it’s all
about! Politics tryin’ to throw mud
‘on ’'m, he says.”
Joe Yung made a gesture with his
hands. “And Glover McKay bein’
Glover McKay,” he said, “that’s all
there is to that, girlie. Jimmy'll go
up, and what you goin’ to do?”
The girl was crying and laughing.
tears dropping on her cheek.
“Going to do?” she said. I'll tell
you what I'm going to do! I'm go-
ing to put a bullet in McKay's vest
pocket, and when he’s dead, his
bank books will be somebody's busi-
ness besides his own, and they'll find
out who paid Jimmy Lord and taught
him smuggling and dodging the law,
and lying! I knew something had
happened. Jimmy never stays away
from home, He's such a good kid!”
She caught her scarf against her
eyes, dropped into the chair the
sailor had pulled out from the table
and tried to keep from sobbing out
loud.
The sailor stared at her. Joe Yung
came over to her, stood looking
down at her trembling hands, tum-
bling curls.
“Say, girlie,” he said at last, “don’t
be so tore to pieces! Jimmy Lord
ain’t the world!”
She looked up at Joe Yung, tears
in her eyes. “He is to me,” she
said. “Jimmy's my kid. I'm his
mother.”
She smiled then, “I'm twenty-
nine,” she said. “Jimmy's fifteen.”
“I seen your picture in his pocket,”
Joe Yung grinned, “but I didn’t
know who you was. No wonder he
home!” He
reached out and put his hand over
hers. “Girlie, can I help you?” he
said. “If you need an
from inside his shirt, with the hand
that was free, he brought out a pack-
age of money—‘“here’s a thousand
you're welcome to,” he said. “I'd ’'a’
done anything for Jimmy even be-
fore 1 seen you.”
She told him they didn’t need any
money. She said they had five thou-
sand dollars. All they had wanted
was to get away somewhere, and in
another day they'd have gone! They
had even had their tickets! But Glov-
er McKay was afraid of what Jim-
my knew! He has said if Jimmy
tried to quit, he’d turn him over to
the law, and now he’d done it!
She looked squarely at Joe Yung.
“I'll kill Glover McKay before morn-
ing,” she said. “I never saw him,
but I know where to find him!”
She walked past Joe Yung into
the street. He wanted to say some-
thing—wanted to stop her—but he
didn't.
watched her go along half running,
keeping close to the buildings.
Down by the wharves a boat whis-
tle dragged a wail along the river.
Le Beau Cavalier,
It is one of those restaurants
where the ceiling is clouded silk, and
waterfalls of light behind stained
glass make the walls. And after
midnight lost balloons bounce ainst
the silk canopy, and paper ribbons
uncurl. Derby hat on the trombone
—syncopated drum shuffle—crowds
swaying around the floor, lights turn-
ed into moonlight, tables white in
the darkness; then the lights on
again, and waiters hurrying.
night looking on alone—amused, his
car, waiting to take him home when
he had enough of the place.
Everybody talked about why Glov-
er McKay was always alone—but
nobody knew why, only Glover Mc-
alone at a table near by.
Forty or forty-five, distinguished,
handsome, ordering cocktail, steak,
mushrooms and a dessert—Ilookin,
on amused. North Pole Number, the &
girl in the long train a little un-
steady, glass waterfall, derby haton
the trombone.
Glover McKay was curious about
a man so hike himself.
“Small-town official trying to kill
an evening,” he thought, “Shocked
at all the women. Thinks he’s great
in a dress suit! Vest a little too
tight for him. Getting a bay win-
dow, old man!”
And the stranger thinking the
same about Glover McKay.
And then, at the head of the vel-
vety stairs, Glover McKay saw a
girl—slim, rather shy, her shoulders
and arms bare and white, her hair
pinned around her head in little un-
even curls—wide eyes, beautiful
mouth,
She was looking for something.
She was looking for someone. She
had a handful of violets and rose-
buds.
She was still standing there on
the steps when the jazz band crash-
ed, and the dancers crowded out on
the floor again, lights turned to
moonlight again; and then suddenly
a flame scratched the darkness, a
dish shattered, a woman screamed, !
And when the lights came up and
the dancers stopped, women clutch-
ing at the men's shoulders, there,
sprawling over the table, was that
man near Glover McKay.
Panic! Buzz! A crowd closing
around the sickening sight of it!
Policemen coming!
Glover, McKay left the place.
His car was waiting where it al-
ways waited, his driver peering in at
the restaurant door with all the oth-
er drivers, :
Glover McKay opened the door of
his car, and there staring out at
him, was the girl he had seen on
the velvet steps!
“Well, my dear,” he said to her,
‘you are mistaken, or I am!”
“I—just got into the car nearest
the door,” she said. “You came out
of the Cavalier, didn’t you? I am
the one who shot Glover McKay.
I'm not trying to escape,” she said
quickly. “I don’t want to. i
He got into the car beside her—
she, white and frightened—and he—
Glover McKay.
“So you shot Glover McKay,” he
said.
“Is he—dead?” she wanted to
know. He told her he didn't know,
,He said he hadn’t waited to find
money’ —
|
|
The chorus girls down stairs in the .
room hear the orchestra
Peggy Fay, who
is dizzy from a
dressing
and hurry her.
leads the number,
highball.
“Girls, I'll never make it!
handle this train even
per! And keep on an icicle head-
piece and a six-foot collar, and get
down on one knee and up again in
six counts, with some man at the
tables putt Vichy down my back!
Tl never make it! For Pete's sake,
get some coffee!”
Drums crash!
Number! Snow falling!
lights dancing!
'A man of forty or forty-five, hand-
some, wealthy and always alone,
is jomething o talk about. Every-
body said Glover McKay had been
. too handsome. So many women af-
ter him that he wanted only to be
The North Pole
Northern
to rid of them all!
He had a table by the season at
the Cavalier. Every night at tenor
eleven, he would be there for dinner.
Cocktail, steak and mushrooms, chic.
ory salad, and a dessert.
i
I can’t «7 don’t know, he told her,
when I'm S0-' anyone see you when you shot him?”
1
out.
His chauffeur saw him and‘ hur-
ried back to the car. “Home, sir?”
he asked.
Glover McKay told him yes, home,
and then he sat back and looked at
that girl, He realized she was more
than white and frightened. She was
beautiful. Soni se gr
“If I killed him” she said, “Im
ready to give myself up.” ~~
The flowers were still in her hand,
Now in’ the half-darkness he saw
that. they were tied with pale rib-
bon to a stubby automatic... =“ -
“pid you expect to kill him? he
asked her. ;
“Yes,” she said, “1 don’t care
what they do to me, if only I've
killed Glover McKay. But if I
haven't I must be free to try
again!” She looked up at him
quickly. “I shouldn’t have told you
anyway.
“Tell me why you shot him.”
But she didn’t tell him. She sat
there shivering.
Glover McKay took a robe from
the rack and put it over her shouil-
ders.
She had beautiful eyes and lovely
lips, The fact that Glover McKay
had spent his life without women
did not make him blind to them.
Made him see, rather, how insipidly
they followed Sim piquantly, looked | gir
after him, their eyes gave
themselves to him. A man of mon-
ey, good looks and distinction? Of
course they did!
Nothing wears false
faces as Love.
so many
a uerade of Love in false fac-
es! You carry like stale rpast on a
silver platter something worn. “out
and done with, that
as “love.” Or you
yourself something for nothing with
what you called “love”
was the easiest money to spend.
Wearing a hundred different faces,
you speak
He only stood there and yoy have said the same thing a
hundred different moments, and call-
ed it all “love”!
For twenty years Glover. McKay
had watched the masquerade and
laughed at it—and kept out of the
crowd!
Now here a girl, Lord knows
who, is trying—what is she trying?
Not to intrigue him. She doesn’t
know who he is, or care, And
Glover McKay—She
kill Glover McKay! Thinks perhaps
she has! Hopes she has, to save
her the trouble of tryl again !
Is ready to go to the police for it!
Fragile hands—beautiful eyes—here
beside him !
She felt him looking at her, turn-
ed suddenly and t her hand over
his. “Do you think I killed him?”
she said.
He closed his fingers around hers.
“Did
She told him no, it had been in
the dark.
He is thinking how he can pro-
tect- her if she has killed the man,
because suddenly he. knows he will
protect her. ‘It does mot form in
his mind at all that the other man, |
dead or not. really has nothing to do
with it! It does mot form in his
mind that Glover McKay is the man
she hopes is dead! He is only think-
ing how he can protect her!
Glover McKay lived in a house
built against the sidewalk, a tall
white-stone house with an iron gate
across the steps.
Through the gate ‘you could see
the hall inside, velvetlike luxury and
white wax candles at a door that
would lead to the dra -FOOM.
Amber torches burned outside the
gate.
The whole world is. hou
0 eak of |
long ago bought
“because it
has tried to
The butler took the robe from
around the girl's shoulders and hur-
ried ;ahead of
library... :
“Shall ‘I take your flowers?” Mc-
Kay asked her. He didn't say he
‘knew what was in them.
She told him she would keep them.
{ The library was heavy with carv-
ed mahogany, and dark Chinese
rugs.
Glover McKay sent the butler to
et some wine,
“Would you like anything else?”
he asked her.
“Will you telephone,” she said
“gnd find out whether Glover Mc-
Kay is dead ?” He wondered what the
butler would have thought if he had
heard her.
“Yes. All right. Ill telephone,”
he said. “Won't you sit down?”
But she stood by the table, awk-
ward and rather shy, watching the
butler b.ing the wine and fill two
glasses.
Her face was like a cameo against
the dark room. Glover McKay won-
dered if her hands were cold, they
were so White,
“Edward, fix the fire,” he said to
the butler. .
, He gave her one of the wine-
glasses. She took it but she didn’t
drink, and after a minute put it
down on the table.
i Wood in the fire made orange
flames and put a glow all over the
shadows,
The butler went away. Then
Glover McKay picked the girl up in
his arms and carried her to a silk
pile of pillows by the fire.
“There,” he said. :
He tucked pillows around her feet
and stood watching her, while he
! brought out a cigaret from a case
in his pocket. The silence came
around them like curtains closing,
and there was Glover McKay looking
at a beautiful woman in his library,
her eyes full of his firelight.
| Do you ever think what life is
made of? Dreams. You think a
dream is nothing.
| Realities are only worth something
ito you when they are your dreams.
And when you have reality, what do
.you do with it? Make it into
dreams again!
| Glover McKay had dreamed all his
life of a woman he would pick up
in his arms and put down on the
pillows by his fire. A woman who
would seem to belong in his arms
and by his fire. And what came ov-
er him now was that he had always
dreamed she would be a little awk-
ward and shy, like a child—not wis-
dom in masquerade!
He stared at her suddenly, because
her eyes were closed and she was so
white! Slender arms, white throat,
. curls catching the threads of the
pillow, She seemed to him suddenly
the most beautiful thing he had ever
seen! *
“What a fool I am!” he thought.
If an hour of June could come in
' November—in the bleakness of No-
vember just one hour of chiffon sky,
tender buds folded up like sealed
perfume, a little spilled on the edg-
es trees ruffled with pale young
green little warm shadows lacing
oge if + sueh an hour could
come in November, it would seem
like no hour that ever had been be-
fore’! “ “It ‘would “be. like a bubble
a on your finger tips! You
would hold your breath with ecstasy.
4m a fool” he thought. -He
could still feel her’ agaimst- him as
|
he had carried her to the fire, the
slender weight of her, her face
against his arm.
How talk would scatter if he
! should suddenly be in love! The
| world waiting for scandal like a
puppy for a bone!
Was he in love! What was this
fear and frenzy to lock this girl in
his arms so there would never be
an end to it?
His thoughts had seemed an
hour. It was only a minute.
“Will you telephone?” she said.
«please ask if he is dead!”
He had forgotten all that—Le
Beau Cavalier —this girl who had
been standing there on those velvet
steps such a little while before—a
1 with a boquet of flowers he had
just happened to jook up and see—
som y —mnobody —just a
standing there to shoot a man; she
was wondering now if she had kill-
And here she was in his
se! ;
“What if the man is dead or
isn’t?” he mused, “I
court I" I ‘am. Glover McKay 4d
“And what he continually ‘forgot
was that it was Glover McKay she
had wanted to. kill! Glover ~&
Kay she was hoping was: dead! =
She ed herself up on the pil-
lows and smiled st nim. prey were
ve to ng me here,” she
hii | Bo go, now, if you'll call
on the telephone.”
He walked across to where she
was and looked down at her.
he said. “I’ve never wanted tosay
that to a woman before. I have
always thought someone would come
to me as you have come, when I
wouldn’t expect it—wouldn’t seek it;
and I have waited all my life for
just what seems to be happening
now !”
He picked up her hand that lay
on the satin pillow.
«1 don’t know who you are,” he
said; “I don’t know why you want-
'ed to kill Glover McKay; but I
want to say before I call the Cava-
lier that whatever they tell me” —
he kissed her fingers, held them a
moment against his lips—“and who-
ever you are—you dare mine, if you
| want to be.”
The man she had
| dead. He was not dying.
wound was not serious, He declined
‘to press a charge against whoever
might have shot him. He wanted no
| notoriety.
So that was what Glover McKay
had to tell her.
She listened until he finished, then
crumpled into nothing in the pillows.
He caught her and held her, talk-
ed to her in words that meant
pothing at all, told her over and
over he loved her.
“But Glover McKay isn't dead!”
dhe said. “I have to find him—
and kill him!”
He drew Her closer to him-—so
shot was not
© His
close she couldn't get away—and
told her Glover McKay was him-
self.
«Dearest. I'm Glover McKay,” he
them - to arrange the
It is everything.
together around -his-neck
girl ¥
“I can buy the
Glover. Mc-
“1 believe I'm in love with you,”
said. “The man you shot is aman
from Texas, they say. Why did
you want to kill me? Tell me right
here in my arms!” . }
For a moment it - seemed she
didn’t know what he said, and then
she was fighting to get away from
him-—beating arms with her
fists, tearing at his hands till at
last he let her go, hatred screaming
in her eyes. She faced him like a
little crazed thing.
“You're Glover McKay!” she
screamed. You are!”
In the far corner of the room be-
hind him, she saw a Chinese coat
fastened on the wall, scarlet em-
broidered in gold.
Once, one night when ice and
sleet had been driving - down the
river, when the boats had been
frozen in the docks, she had sat
through the dawn, wrapped in a
quilt, waiting for Jimmy, till he
could fight his way through the
storm after what a freight boat had
brought from China—unset topazes,
sewed along the seams of a scarlet
coat embroidered in gold. Jimmy
had brought it home, and she had
mended a place his fingers had torn
in unwrapping it. She had embroi-
dered a Chinese letter in gold
thread.
And now across that room what
stared at her? A Chinese letter in
gold thread! Jimmy, tumbled and
sleepy on the bed, trying to stay
awake so she wouldn't be alone!
Her kid! i
“Yes, you are Glover
she said. “Well,
kill!”
She ran to those flowers, stood
there with them in her hands, as he
had seen her in the Cavalier. He
didn’t move—didn’t say anything—
only watched her! 5
An then the telephone rang.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is, No,
I've been out all evening... . They
let who go? Jimmy Lord? If he
didn’t tell anything—all right; let
him go!”
Glover McKay turned to face the
girl again. But now she was
standing by the fire watching the
logs fall to pieces, her flowers left
on the table.
Glover McKay came over to her,
“Well?” he said.
She looked at him.
won't kill you,” he said.
She waited for him to move or
speak, but he didn’t—only looked at
her.
McKay,”
then, it's you I'll
“Perhaps I
“Are you sure you'll still love me '
tomorrow ?” she said. “And the day
after? Are you sure there’s no
one else you ever wanted? Are you
sure?”
“I have never thought of love un-
til tonight” he said. “I will love
you tomorrow, and to the last day
I live! I love you so much” he
said “I'm—afraid—to kiss you!”
She laughed and tucked her head
on his shoulder, and out of his
pocket unfolded a white linen hand-
kerchief.
«I'm not afraid to kiss you,” she
said, “Here let me show you.”
She stood on tiptoe and bandag-
ed his eyes. He felt her fingers lace
“It's odd,” she -said.
know my name, do you?
I am nor where I came’
“No,” he laughed; mor
tried to kill Glover McKay!” :
could feel »the ends of the
“You don’t
from!"
handkerchief hanging foolishly over
his ear.’
“But now I'm not going to kill
you she said, “because you've
waited so long for love and found it
tonight !”
He felt her lips against his—a
kiss that clung to him—held him!
And then her hands were gone !—Her
lips were gone!
He tried to find her—groped for
her.
“If you do love me,” he heard
her, saying just one of his reach,
“when you try to forget, you'll only
remember—and remember! So
haven't killed you” she said. “I've
only kissed you—and said good-by!”
He pulled at the band across his
eyes, “But don’t say good-by now,”
he said. “I don’t know who you
are! I don't know where to fi
ou!”
from the street
He felt a wind
door as it opened and closed, heard
e outside on
the clatter of the gat !
the stone steps! Stupid. bewildered,
he blundered to the hall—to the
street, ;
Jt was two, o'clock by Melville
Towers. The streets lights were
out. The boulevard was empty,
The night was ‘deserted. :
Miles away he “heard a boat whis-
tle drag a wail along the river.
Hearst's International Cosmopoli-
tan,
——————————r————————
TIMBER IS RIPE DUR-
: ING WINTER MONTHS
|. When cold weather closes in tim.
ber is in its prime for cutting. The
sap which has been coursing Le
the tree during the summer months
leaves the tree to a large extent un-
til Spring comes again.
| imber cut during this season will
femain sound and good much longer
than if it were cut when the trees
in full growth. The bark sticks tight
to the log or timber and as aresult
it may be years before insects get
beneath it and damage the timber.
The stains which are a form of rot,
enter a log very slowly when it is
cut in winter,
The farmer who owns a woodlot is
fortunate with respect to this timber
crop. He must use his time’ in the
fields during the summer, When
winter comes, he has a great amount
of spare time. This spare time may
be profitably used in getting out tim-
ber for the market.
A woodlot grows only about a cord
of wood to the acre a year when it is
growing at its best. The farmer
should keep this fact in mind so
that he can take off a crop each
winter. If he cuts too much he will
eventually lose this winter crop.
To make sure that he will get the
biggest and most valuable crop he
should keep his woods weeded of
poor trees, Farmers who cut their
woods carefully get from $5 to
return each year from every acre of
their woods.
——————————————
1
._Subscribe for the Watchman.
Nor who
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
rine.
i
i oy
3 It is
To apologize,
To begin over,
To be unselfish,
To take advice,
To be charitable,
To be considerate,
To keep on trying,
To think and then act,
To profit by mistakes,
To forgive and forget,
To shoulder a deserved blame—
BUT IT ALWAYS PAYS.
—Straws are already weaving the
story of next season’s hats. If one
can judge by present indications,
straw hats will be more popular
than ever next year, especially the
soft, pliable linen and cellophane
weaves.
These can be gracefully draped
and manipulated to form a pleas
frame to the face, Pleats, inside
tuckings on the brim and other
clever touches, combine to give
the new hats, charm and distinction.
The models shown just now are
mostly of straw combined with
felt or satin, :
Hats are trembling on the brink
of the brim and those that have
taken the plunge use the brim in a
variety of clever ways concentrat-
ing much of the manipulation on
both front and sides.
Some stylists venture the predic-
tion that the small brimmed hat
will vie with the turban and the
beret for sports and general wear,
and now that the hat has crept off
the forehead and down the nape
of the neck perhaps we shall see
the return of the cloche.
The revival of the brim certainly
indicates a change of some sort in
the shape of our head-gear, and this
must be apparent to those who do
not take a professional interest in
the trend of the mode.
—Every house here is displaying
pyjama ensembles in endless and
fascinating variety.
Sumptuous fabrics, ingenious and
sometimes daring color combina-
tions, cleverly cut silhouettes that
retain the characteristics of the
mode as it pertains to more formal
clothes, these are some of the fea-
tures that make pyjamas choosing
2h interesting and delightful adven-
ure.
Every woman who longs for col-
or can gratify that yearning by
wearing a pyjama suit that runs
the color scale from green to orange
with a dash of red and a leaven of
black to set off more vividly the
brilliant hues,
not se Easy.
—There is to be sure, some satis.
faction gained from wearing the
featured colors and shades, provid-
ing they are becoming. One should
bear always in mind, however, that
these exploited colors usually suffer
from over popularity and before a
short season has passed they are
commonplace rather than distine-
tive.
For this reason the wise thing
is to make use of them in connéc-
tion with a dress, hat scarf or oth-
er set of accessories that are worn
only for a short time, rather than
to base the: entire. season's - ward-
robe on them
The more substantial items of the
wardrobe; ‘things that’ are. likely to
be worn throughout the season, are
more suitably chosen in some neu-
tral or permanent shade—beige,
brown, gray, navy blue, black or
white, while the more striking new
color may be used in the guise ofa
little hat, purse or scarf that may
be cast aside when the freshness of
the color vogue is over.
; : —
—Uusually the less finish on hard-
ware the better, especially on door
knobs and handles that have con-
stant wear. There are different
kinds of metals finished in various
wa, 1 with a brass finish
brass with a bronze finish and sc
on,
M of these finishes are plated
Hd cee
on. ey come off parts like the
find goor knob that are subject to wear
almost as easily as they go om, St
that after a time the highly orna.
mental finish you started with give:
way to the honest brass or steel be.
low. :
After all, the brass looks pretty
i “there—so mucl
have: been bette:
ed “out © with th
with it.
well shining thro
‘80 that it might’
you had - star
brass and finished
' | Cocosnut Pudding: — Soak %
cup bread crumbs and 2 cup co
coanut in 2 cups milk until soft
Mash well, then add Hues Sable
spoons sugar, 2 teaspoon , am
1 tablespoon melted butter. Ad
one egg yolk, beaten and lastly
fold in the
beaten white of the egg
Pour into greased baking dish or i
individual baking cups, and set i
pan of hot water. Bake in a mod
erate oven about 30 minutes,
—The laws of social uf
we call etiquette ar
and rightl
Etigu
age wihch
strict in some things,
so.
In the ackowledgement of giftsb
a prospective bride they are ine;
orable, Good form demands the
every one be acknowledged by tk
bride herself if possible within 2
hours after its receiving, but if th
is impossible, by some member (
the family.
But a little license is now pe
mitted. The bride may send .
ten thanks while she is enjoyir
her honeymoon trip, and this st
should surely do. She should Tr
member that the donor of evel
gift wishes to know that her or h
especial selection is meant, and
list should be carefully kept fi
fear of errors. A girl in the hun
and confusion and delight of recei
in her gifts is very apt to thir
she can recall each one and its don
but this will not do, and she shou
never omit the list.
In acknowledging it is a pret
fashion to bring in the name of t
bridegroom as also pleased at t
friendship shown by the gift. It
purely a matter of taste as to lea
ing cards on the gifts. Some H
to do so; others remove the cart
but display the gifts ina room £
aside for the purpose.