HH EE mmm—— There, little girl, don’t cry; They have broken your slate, I know; And your tea set blue And your play house, too, Are things of the long ago; But childish trouble will soon pass by, There, little girl, don't cry; There, little girl, don't cry; They have broken your slate, 1 know; And the wild glad ways Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago: But life and love will soon come by: There, little girl, don’t cry. There, little girl don’t cry; They have broken your heart, I know; And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams Are things of long ago; But Heaven holds all for which you sigh; There, little girl, don't cry. James Whitcomb Riley GREEN ORCHIDS You noticed her eyes first. Green eyes resembling the impatient sea. ou noticed her hands next Little hands with long, slim fingers that painted sleek ladies for magazine covers and drew broad-shouldered heroes for magazine stories. Then you became conscious of her name— Dorine—an odd name, but one that suited her slim person. You heard talk about her, laugh- ing talk. “She has no inhibitions,” people would say of Dorine. They said that when they found her telling the world, “I'm in love 1" or “I've just met a man who positively is breaking my heart!” Hannah smiled at these outbursts. Hannah, a kind, loving sister, with her protruding teeth, her unattrac- tive figure, and her great heart. It was she who pettee and worshipped and spoiled Dorine because she con- sidered her pretty and popular and a genius, Because Dorine enjoyed life and liked being admired. “When you're really in love” Hannah said, “you won't talk about it” Then Dorine would smile. Smile charitably, What did Hannah know about love? Hannah who had been adored by only one beau, an indus- trious young doctor whom she mar- ried. For that matter, what did any one know about love? privately estioned Dorine. She, who had ry herself in that state dozens of times, but secretly wondered if there was such a thing. The real thing. The thrilling, heart-to-heart ideal, soul-mate romance you read about and wished you could believe from the time you first envied Cin- derella and her Prince, until, per- haps, the day you died. urely somewhere, somehow, she would meet him. The genuine him. She used to think that, feeling foolish, when she was alone. Other women must have the same sort of thoughts she reasoned, or why Hr mr rere competent, slender, fascinating fin- gers over black and white piano keys. They were introduced in a noisy song-publishing house, while the racuous voices of vaudeville sopranos conflicted with the tin-panny selec- tions being in the various small booths that lined the place. The manager had sent for her to de- a dozen song covers. . “Dorine, of course you've met Scott Mason,” some one said, She dimpled. “No, I haven't.” Scott laughed, that roaring laugh of his. And they both thought it was fate. For had he not, only the previous season, composed the score for “Don’t, Don’t Dorine,” the in- ternational musical comedy success! “You're the first authentic Dorine I've ever met,” he said. “Most girls claim that's their name because they want me to play my Dorine tunes.” Right then and there he sat down at the piano. “Do you remember this?" he ask- ed, as those fleet fingers of his traveled swiftly over the keyboard. “Don't, don’t, Dorine That's what they say, Tum—tum—tum —tum—" A final, quick smashing chord, then he suddenly swirled around on the piano stool and impulsively clasped both her hands within his own is my lucky “It earned me “You see, Dorine name,” he explained. a million dollars.” Next, in his characteristic fashion, he changed the subject. ‘Come on, let's get away from this bedlam!" And she had gone. Gone out with this self-centered boy. A boy so young, so talented, so impetuous, so —-so—like herself. He helped her into his car. They sped up the Drive. It was spring. The trees were commencing to bud, and the grass to show green on the dark brown soil. The very air seem- ed happy. They talked about things. Peo- ple and life. Books and music. But of themselves mostly. They laughed a gread deal and the time flew by as if on wings. One hour. They were in the country now. Two hours. The sun went down. They took no notice. Three. The stars came out. The moon was bright, Dorine's heart sang, and her eyes shone with a soft, glad light. She knew now. There was such a thing as love. So it began. Their wonderful, too- good- to-be-true companionship. broadcast This time Dorine did not would they sing such songs? There was one now, one of Gershwin's. Ironic, that it may have epitomized every girl's dream, when most effectually by a hard- boiled night-club hostess. “Some day he'll come along, e and strong, The man I love.” ne In the meanwhile there was her work, her absorbing work, She had watched her friends. Leatrice, who married for money. Leatrice, who proffered advice in her smug, self-satisfied way, as she sat in her smug, over-decorated, too new apartment. after “Love comes Leatrice had said. Dorine did not believe this. May- be it never came at all, but it did not, it could not, come that way. Be like Leatrice. Marry a man for support. Marry a man because he had a bank account. a man for the sake of getting married. A man not repulsive, not attractive, just negative. The very thought made Dorine cringe. There was Evelyn, To Dorine her case appeared worst of all. Evelyn who had everything. Looks and brains and money and youth. Evelyn who, like Dorine, always obtained exactly what she wanted, so when she wanted Henry Patterson she simply went out and got him. “It's love, real love,” she had told Dorine. It seemed like love. Hel pos- sessed eyes for no gir! Be i and Evelyn was unable to see a man outside of her Henry. Thus they were married. Dorine had been bridesmaid. Everybody said it was a love match. Now, two short years after their wedding, ple saw Evelyn going places with various young men, and there was talk of Henry making love to another girl. “Sooner or later one or the other gets bored,” Evelyn explained to Dorine. Then Dorine had dinner with them ~Evelyn and Henry, They fought. Hurled nasty words at each other in the presence of strangers. It was disgusting. Their semi-public quarrel made rine vow that if she ever did find romance she would keep it intact and not let it dis- solve into just a series of meant-to hurt retorts. Probably there was no such thing as romance anyway. think that. have uttered those words, and in ker right mind, too. “Just imaginative glamour.” thing like the hostess sang about, except that he was not big and strong. He was thin and rather white, and the lamps in his spacious studio em- it was marriage,” © i i to a | | had But of course she said Thames. Across the Tiber. Across those things only because she met | the Rhine. him. For he had come along, some- Delaware. The man the night-club | sissippi. phasized the golden glints of his’ curly brown hair, as he sat, running | the fact that she was in love. with happiness. Her feelings for Scott were too sacred for other people's ears. Hours spent with him seemed perfect in themselves; moments that must not be by description to others. They dreamed aloud. Always. At 0] Dorine, snug- gling the soft, flattering fur of her white ermine wisp. Glad little, proud little, very-much-in-love little rine. Her small head held high. So happy, so content, just to be close at Scott's side; wearing his flowers and smiling into-his face. Green orchids. He frequently sent them to her. “To match your eyes,” he said. In restaurants. Those funny, man- nish restaurants he selected. How She detested the he loved steak! heavy food, but ordered it, too. Not knowing, not caring. chanically swallowing the meat, con- scious only of Scott's expressive bomb. 'Dorine’s woman intuition sensed the | beginning of the end. She | kept silent, and her face glowed little, private, joyful marred Mechanically putting the fork to her mouth, me- noise like an aero would | obediently jump forward. It could go one hundred and forty miles an hour. But not here in America, where the roads would never hold and the policemen were on H had done it ,though, in Germany. Or was it Austria? Like a kid he told her about that, proudly repeat- ing the story many times. No speed limits over there. Three hours. He had passed very well, was a born mechanic anyway, The roads were 3 You wore goggles, rode so fast. ay Ln his dimly-lit studia on the nineteenth floor of a sky- scraper. High above humanity, lis- tening to his melodies; soft, sweet songs composed to her. Songs that were intended to form the backbone of the new operetta. In the beginning he asked her to him. Over and over again. She settled that. “No,” she finally answered. “Then, if this romance peters out, there'll be a tiresome, unpleasant divorce trial. It would be different if I were just an aver- age woman, dependent on a man for my board and lodging. But I can earn my own living and a darn one! “Don’t you see?” she continued. “It's ali so perfect mow. It would kill me if we grew to belike Evelyn and Henry. Let's keep this ideal romance and quit when it first starts to fade, not after it rots!” “When it first starts to fade.” The sentence rang in their heads. “Word of honor,” he had said. “Word of honor,” she had echoed. Then, just a few weeks later, he- ’ cause they were both young an impulsive and prided themselves up- on being honorable, their °~ heaven- on-earth was disrupted by a minute A mere fire-cracker. But She had not been altogether in the right. She admitted that to herself. But even if he was dis- turbed, there was no excuse for Scott to have acted the way he did, and in front of people, too. Like Like Evelyn's Henry. After it was over, she sat silent, alone in her room, The whole in- cident came back. It ran itself off, a little motion picture whirling in- side her brain. Scott, working in his study. She, entering the outer hall with two friends. They were gay, and their voices carried. She had laughed. Too I . Her last : laugh, so it seemed. r hilarity was cruelly struck from her lips, from her entire being, as she heard Scott's voice bellowing down the cor- ridor. “Can that hyena laugh of yours, will you!” I'm trying to work!” Hyena laugh! Only two months | before he had likened it to a water- fall, to the tinkling of musical bells. And now laugh. The words stung. They lashed her, They hurt. No doubt it would have passed over, But the next occasion when he said something mean, Dorine knew she could mot curb her temper and would be sure to cross an- a swer at him. In bo. 0 they wire bound to become like Evelyn and 8Y Henry. Like any number of dis- agreeable couples. This is what she dreaded. This is what she felt would happen. She could not see her ro- mance degenerate into cheap battles. ‘Rather leave it now, before it was too late. So Dorine quietly walked into his study, trembling a little, as she stood | close to Scott's desk. He looked up. “Well what is it?” he asked, in the querulous tones of a naughty small boy who is asham- himself, eyes, his delicately modeled hands the ed of schoolboyish way his hair curled, and the lovely things he said. At parties. Gay, laughing, every- body there parties. She had heard things. Remarks back. Loud whispers. nes. “Y'know who that is, don’t you? Yeah, you wouldn't think she made so much money. Such a cute little girl. Doesn't look a bit like an artist. Not messy or dirty or Green- wich Villagey or anything. Yes, they're seen together all the time. He? My dear, you must have sung his songs. show of his, ‘Don’t, Don't, Dorine?’ They say he named it after her. Yeah. Dorine is the inspiration for all his music. He's got a musical comedy on now, about a read-headed sinner. No, her hair's not red. But I guess he wouldn't He's working on his new operetta. A friend of a friend of mine heard some of the music. Says it's a wow!” Other times, in his car. Sitting close beside him. Cheeks aglow. Loving the feel of the fresh air roughly brushing across her face. Adoring the easy, eompetent way he drove the , low, gun-metal colored car with body that cost I-don’t know-how-much, and the en- gine imported from Europe. “There they go. Aren't they a cute couple! So young!” Being pointed out, admired, as they by. Up the road or down on Long Island to some place for dinner, stealing precious hours from the rehearsals of his operetta. “This is my one read recreation,” he used to say, pulling that boyish cap of his over the bright eyes she poin loved, as he stepped on the aa, | “Whenever I can't com need to do is ride in this little ol’ bus for a couple of hours, and the brain starts to work overtime!” He would pat the car lovingly. And she would be jealous. Jealous of a powerful, man-made chariot that ran when you bore down upon pedal and shifted gears. Jealous because it had spent so many en- Taken him through all those places. Once he counted the rivers. Across the They would sit for hours, silent. Never talking. Just listening to the busy whir of the life they : the soft drone of the engine. Oc- ocasionally he pressed a mysterious something, and the car, making a flung behind her Flattering D'y remember that old have dared! siders already Across the Seine. The sip Oh and discove Hudson, The Mis- Sitnaoyi Her eyes smiled. A sad, uuder- standing sort of smile. She longed tc throw her arms around his neck. To kiss him. To break down and sob on his shoulder. But no, she could do none of those things. She was an i t woman. She had made bargain, and she would stick to it. “After today we're quits, Scott,” was what she said. i “All right” was what he had answered “All right.” Just like that. His eyes seemed sorry, His mouth look- | ed hurt. But he did take her up so quickly. “All right.” Of course, he used to brag that he never broke his word, still he could have protested— just a little. She shivered now, as she remem- bered how he prided himself upon al- ways keeping his promises. It was not going to be easy— carrying on At these thoughts Dorine cuddled deeper into the big arm chair, and reached for the newspaper that had shocked her so. The paper contain- | that sentence which proved out- knew. “Phifft!” How the sizzling little word had unexpected] from the printed her face. A stinging slap. It boxed her ears. It struck hard. The blow smarted, “Phifft!” The latest Broadway term invented by the latest Broad- way bard. Why, only a few short weeks ago, when they first heard it, Scott and she, how they laugh- “What an expression!” Scott had | Sliianly exclaimed, his sharp, YP ears always attuned to rhythm. “Like the sputtering out of I a cande. Phifft!” He had said it between his teeth. He had fairly whistled it. And almost immediately he had entered it in that ever-present note- book of his. Keen Scott never | missing a bit of every day life. | Alert Scott, who loved sounds SO. | Who molded them, and with | But it was not like the sputtering | out of a candle. Not now. Not when it applied | when read it in a tha t ters were real and people knew. Prying, never their own | business people, who must have | | missed seeing them together. guard. brain. It sang a song. The world went on. “Steeplejack.” | said Hannah's husband. to yourself, Not popular gos- | down her cheeks. She rushed from t the | the room, u privately dreaded Y hapmened; thet mat | ! Dorine stared down at the paper, | |and her nervous hands ran impatient- ly through the rumpled, brown bob. Green eyes dilated slightly, breath came in short, panicky gasps, as she read the annoying sentence over and over again. It buzzed around her It hummed a2 hymn. of acute pain. It repeated itself before her. Black and white printed words; jumping up and down; dancing a taunting jig; searing themselves into her flesh. Mean black-and-white words because they were true. “The Scott Mason- Dorine Parker romance has phifft!” Like the sputtering out of a can- dle, nothing, It was an elephants hoof tramping upon her heart. clutched her. Suffocated her soul. That word. Phifft! She could not cry. Her eyelids felt as if they were made of steel. She prayed that the walis would give way. She wanted to cry until her ph face became a blotchy mass of red skin. She wanted to cry until the throbbing in her heart lessened, and the burning sensation that seared her throat disappeared. It was difficult, almost impossible, to be brave; to anticipate a future without Scott. The days that followed seemed endless. Days when Dorine went about, smiling at other men and not letting any one see into her soul. To outward appearances she was just an exceedingly hard-working and popular artist. The nights were by far the worst. They seemed so long, when she tossed and turned, while her head ached from the effort of trying to forget. If she did sleep, she would wake in the morning with a start; d with the feeling that something dreadful had happened. would remember. with Scott. Twice she thought she saw him on the street, and twice she had been mistaken. Once she glimpsed his car, parked and empty, in front of a theatre, She never wanted to walk past the skyscraper that hous- ed his studio, but somehow her feet persisted upon carrying her by, and Then she She had parted she would always look up to see if there were lights in the windows of | his suite on the nineteenth floor, Probably he was inside, working on his operetta. “My operetta,” she thought, for the melodies had been played to her so many times. It opened in New York. It wasa hit. She could not go. She felt she would die if she listened to that music. Always Dorine braced her- self against the time she would hear Scott's new songs, H-r songs. The first time she heard the familiar, heart-rending music was in a night club. Dorine was dancing. Suddenly the orchestra the melody Scott had composed ona certain moonlight night. The couples went on kept moving. Dancing. Dancing. Keeping time to bars made from her own heart-beats. And still she could not ery. But the lump that had been in her throat since than ever. She heard more of his music. Right in her own home. They sat in the living room. There were ests. Hannah's in-laws. husband was the type of man who insisted upon turning on the radio whether people talked or not, of the horn came another one of Scott's songs. Her love song. But) Dorine found herself discussing the fattening qualities of rice pudding. Not a came to her eyes. “Maybe, in my heart of hearts, I have been too selfish for love,” she thought. Certainly she wanted to cry; to cry buckets of tears, and she could not weep one. However, her throat continued to barn horri- bly. She possessed no much to remember him by. Nothing tangible to cherish. A book. Huneker’s He had sent thatto her on the day she said she want- ed to know more about music. U on the fly-leaf was written in his dear, scrawly writing. “Dorine, I hope you enjoy this book as much as I did, Scott.” He had also given her “My Musi- cal Life,’ by Rimsky-Korsakoff. “A composer's, life by himself. Gee, 1 got a kick out of it!" he had exclaimed. But he never wrote in that. She had nothing else except a scrap of paper on which he once scribbled his private telephone numbers. “Po show you what I think of you,” he had said. There was the particular one on his desk that nobody ever answered except himself. Sometimes she looked over her 'little hoard of treasures. But they could not make her cry, Then it happened. At dinner. The evening of Hannah's fifth wed- A box from the | ding anniversary. | florist’'s arrived. The maid brought it to the table, and Hannah's ex- ‘cited hands broke the s trings. The lid fell off, and inside the glazed paper lay the perfect blossoms. “Green orchids for you, dear," “You al- ways used to admire the ones Dorine w ” Suiting with delight, Hannah held up the flowers. “Aren't they love- ly!” she exclaimed. Dorine grew white. Suddenly it all came back so vividly. The very pain of it took her breath away, Music could not do it. His own handwriting could not do it. But orchids—green orchids. “To match your eyes,” Scott had She could hear him now. every word. Hear His face rose before | them, and made them do wonderful | her | His hair that curled so rebel. Krader, tract in Haines Twp.; $150. 0 “It's just imaginative glamour!” joyable hours with him. Known him | th Later she wondered how she could long before she did. Dorine screamed. child's scream. hysterical sobs. A frightened She burst into The tears ran Hannah's astonished voice followed her down the hall. “Well, did you ever! I know what's the matter with her! She's run down, that's what! Too much worry! The idea! Why, she hasn't had a real beau call here in a long while. She shouldn't work so hard! I haven't heard Dorine say she’s in struck up! whirling, Dorine's feet the day! ‘they quarreled burned deeper Her Out | tear et love for months now! That's what, she should fall in love again—be 0 i" y This from Hannah. Hannah who once said, “When you're really in love, you won't talk about it" Her words echoed in Dorine’s ears. “Fall in love—be young.” Why, it was silly. Love made you old. Old and wise. Dorine slamm- ed her bedroom door. No longer could she hear Hannah's shrill voice. The tears fell readily now. She felt she could not bear the intense longing to see Scott again; to hear him speak. Suddenly she knew she had been wrong, all wrong, She was & cow- ard, afraid that her romance woul fade. Afraid of life. Real love could face the disappearance of glamour; could face anything. Miserably, she crept to the tele- one. She called a number. One that had been written on the little scrap of paper. Written in Scott's own hand. It was in the Murray Hill district. He answered. She trembled. “Hello,” he said. “Scott,” she whispered, “I see it all now, And I'll marry you if you still want me!" “Want you!" he echoed. you, Dorine darling! TI be over!” Later he asked questions. “What brought you to your senses? What sent you back to me? Was it my love song? I purposely had it broad- “Want right cast every night.” Dorine smiled. She was wise now. She had learned that it is part of love's business romance. “Yes, dear,” her lips answered. was your love song.” But her heart knew it had been the green orchids. -—Hearst's Inter- national Cosmopolitian. to preserve It INFLUENZA RAGES EVERY THREE YEARS. With striking regularity deaths from influenza in this country have soared to a peak every third year since 1920, a survey of the duath- rate from this disease among the more than nineteen million Indus- trial policyholders of the Metro- politan Life Insurance Company has revealed. If the same trend is con- ‘tinued and the record of the cur- rent year indicates that it may be, the next maximum deathrate from influenza may be expected in 1932, according to the statisticians of the | insurance company. “The Seat 1920,” says the Metro- politan Statistical Bulletin, “was an exceptionally bad influenza year, the worst in the series, with the death rate mounting to more than 440 per 100,000 in the seevnth week of the year. Next, in 1923, the deathrate from influenza rose to 121 per 100,- {000 per annum in the ninth week of that year. Again in 1926, the deathrate from influenza rose to 115 per 100,000 per annum in that year's thirteenth week and lastly, in 1929 the deathrate from influenza rose harmoni to 266 per 100,000 in the third week. “These are the only years in the series when the deathrate, from in- fluenza in any week exceeded 100 per 100,000 per annum, and the not- able fact is that tuey are system- | atically spaced three years apart. Such are the main and outstanding features of the analysis of the death- rates in this series of years.” The article in the Bulletin points out that there is decided similarity ed the low points, and these also occurred every third year dur- ing the decade. In reporting on this survey the Bulletin says: “Not only do the in- | dividual waves of three cycles bear 'a marked resemblance to each other, but the general form of the three waves in each cycle, taken as a p- whole, is charactemstic: a wave of maximum height, with deathrates invariably for the worst week, is followed by the markedly smaller wave, and then in turn by a some- what larger wave, but neither of these two latter waves ever reaches a figure of 100 per 100,000 per annum. |So far as the series of observations reported upon here is concerned, this rule is without exception. "Citiosity may naturally be felt as ‘might fall into line with this series. (It is to be noted that it came more than one year later than might be expected from the three-year cycle, | But the 1918 epidemic was some- | what abnormal in several respects; (in particular, it fell at an unusual | time of the year. all crests of the waves in the series 1920 to 1930 fell in the winter and early spring months, usually February or March. |The epidemic of 1913, it will be re- | membered, began with a sudden ex- ' plosion in September. It ran high | during the whole of the rest of the | year, and had not entirely subsided {until April or May of 1919. The | great epidemic of 1918, both as to (its character and its time of occur- ‘rence, is thus essentially out of line | with this series, and makes us slow to draw conclusions relative to fu- | ture occurrences.” ESTATE TRANSFER. William Weber, Exec., to William (E Kessinger, tract in Liberty Twp.; F. P. Barker, et ux, to Charles A, Barker, tract in Haines Twp.; $100. T. B. Everet, etal, to W. C. Krad- er tract in Penn Twp.; $1. W C. Krader, Adm. to Della C. | C. P. Long to Clayton S. Snyder, |et ux, tract in Gregg Twp. $1. | Susanna J. Woodring, et bar, to David Mains, tract in Port Matilda; | Mary Delaney, et al, to Mary De- |laney, tract in Marion Twp.; $1. Jacob N_ Royer, Trustee, to Evan- gelical Lutheran church of Madison- burg, tract in Miles Twp.; $1. Preston A. Frost, et ux, to Or- |landa W. Houts, tract in State Col- lege; $1. is this: She how the epidemic of 1918 FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN. Daily Thought. Let us have faith that right means might, and in that faith let us dare to do our duty us we understand it—Lin- coln. ~-Fashions are the things that the most people like best--to wear, to to use, to eat. to enjoy.—For instance—there are fashions in books, in newspapers, in plays, in autos, in ideas—as well as in clothes. Certain kinds of these things are in fashion, just as are—small, close- fitting hats—envelope handbags— coats with large comfortable fur collars—plain slip on gloves—femi- nine, yet not fussy dresses—stock- ings a little darker—heels a little lower. Then let's resolve that the best measuring stick in the choice of fashions is whether they fit your type. Whether a costume is right for your figure and coloring. Wheth- er a book is right for your ideas. Whether a food fits your taste. Most of all whether you like them --and like to wear or use or read or eat them. Then there are some fashion reso- lutions that can't help but make the fashionable woman better dressed than she's ever been before, Pro- vided she makes these resolutions and keeps them. And she can keep them if she watches the little de- tails of her costume and makes sure that those details are exactly right And the first resolution she's go- ing to make is this: Resolved: that my 1931 costumes shall be appropriate for my type. And that means that every costume is going to look as though it were made especially for her—and for her alone. She's going to express her indi- viduality-—in the colors that are most becoming—in the fashions that suit her figure best. The second resolution the fashion knowing woman is going to make is this: Resolved: that my 1831 costumes shall be appropriate to the time and place where they're worn. And she's going to watch these costumes carefully and make sure they're formal or informal, just as the event is formal, semi-formal or informal. She'll watch them for their ma- ‘terials and for the way they're made. And especially for their length—choosing middle calf for general wear, upper calf for infor- mal or sports wear, lower calf for formal daytime wear, ankle length for formal late afternoon and informal evening, and toe length for formal evening wear. The third resolution the fashion- able woman is making today is just about the most important fashion resolution anybody can make in 1931. Here it is: Resolved: that I will dress inen- semble fashion—meaning that eve part of my costume shall go with | every other part to make a smart, ous, costume. she plans to do this of her coat first and plans her complete costume around the coat. She chooses a hat that matches the color of this coat. And a dress that matches this coat, Sometimes—especially at this time | of year—a bright colored dress is chosen, but one whose color looks well with the color of the coat. And And the wa, years that match or closely blend with the coat, too, She selects gloves and stockings that match each other as nearly as possible, and that, too, of a color that blends with the coat and dress. And in her jewelry she looks for 'a color that goes with some other color note in the costume. The or- 'pament on the handbag, for in- stance, or the on the dress. And in addition to these points fashion wise women make sure that all these parts of their costumes harmonize in texture as well =&s color. And in degree of formality or informality. Ha these resolutions— and kept them—the fashionable wo- man knows she's never been better dressed in all her fashion life! —Pimentos can be kept indefinite- ly if, when a can of them is open- | ed for use, those left over are put in a container and covered with salad oil. Keep a small flashlight in a | drawer in your sewing machine. It saves time and temper when you want to thread the needle, for the ‘light can be thrown directly into | the needle’s eye. Cranberry jelly and tiny balls of cream cheese covered with nuts ‘make a delicious salad when served with mayonnaise. —Used brooms can be made stiff and clean by dipping them in a pail of boiling soda water and drying them in the sun. i —When putting clean papers on closet or cupboard shelves or cabi- net drawers cut several at one time, When soiled remove the top sheet only. Baked Ham and Pineapple —Have a slice of ham cut in one and one- half to two pound piece. Lay the ham on a flat pan and sprinkle with one teaspoon ground cloves and | coat thickly with brown sugar. Ar- ‘range six slices pineapple around and over the ham, and pour two- thirds cup of pienapple juice over it. Cover and bake for thirty min- | utes. Uncover the pan and allow to bake for fifteen minutes longer. —On your spice shelf keep =a | glass shaker containing a mixture |of one teaspoon of cinnamon to a | half cup of sugar, It can be sprink- |led evenly and easily on cinnamon rolls or toast, over rice or any food for which you want such a com- bination.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers