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Selicionte, Pa., April 3,
Night long it holds us.
Like the candle by the bed,
God's love lightens us,
Turns to day
The shadows gray,
And the dark that frightens us.
Like the mother's good-night kiss,
God's love blesses us,
Wipes away
:
As the mother, so is God,
Father most dear to us;
And although
The morn comes slow,
Yet he is near to us.
EE ——— A ——— ——
CAPRICE
Dorothy sat in the dark, empty
hall, listening to the last bars of the
Brahms violin concerto. It was amus-
ing, being allowed in on a rehearsal
like this—amusing and rather chic.
She would tell about it when she!
got back to Boston. She had had an
unusually interesting time in Paris
for an American, but this trip to!
Biarritz with Amelita Correlli, the
famous Italian violinist, was going
to prove the most interesting of all.
Amelita had asked the tall, blond
French conductor if Dorothy might
come to the rehearsal, and he bad
reluctantly agreed. He hated people
listening to him work. It disturbed
him, and besides it was very boring
of Amelita to have brought this
American with her. It meant there
would be no pleasant tete-a-tetes,
and he had enjoyed his hours alone
with the beautiful Italian last year,
when she had come down to play
with his orchestra. {
Dorothy, alone in the rows of emp-
ty seats, was somehow conscious of
his annoyance. She had not met him !
yet, but Amelita had told her how |
impatient he was with outsiders. The
rehearsal was over, and, like a bad
child, she crept from her seat and
back to the door through which she
had come. She would sneak out and |
back to the hotel without even
speaking to him. But the door.
wouldn't open. Apparently an usher
had unintentionally locked her in
from the outside. How embarrassing!
Well, she could not stay there until
the concert in the evening, so there
was nothing to do but face the wrath
of the imperious conductor.
“Amelita,” she called, “I'm sorry
to disturb you, but I cannot get out. |
The doors are all locked. Could you
ask M. Le Stand how I can avoid |
spending the day here?” At the same |
time she thought: in
“How I wish I were the kind of
woman who could sweep up with the
grand manner and carry him off his
feet! But I won't. There never was
any glamor about me.”
Amelita had taken hold of Le
Grand’s arm.
“Regardez, cher maestro. Voila ma
petit amie Americaine, Mme. Brew.
ster, Let me present you to her.”
Dorothy was walking down the
aisle to the stage. Le Grand held out
his hand to her.
“Sautez, madame,” he said. “You
must jump over the footlights.”
Dorothy climbed onto one of the
front seats and sp across the
lights. Her foot caught on a loose |
wire on the stage,
to fall, but Le Grand
to catch her. Their eyes met as he
caught her in his arms, ana then |
they stood there a few seconds trans-
fixed. A warming
the soles of Dorothy's feet to the |
away roughly.
“Thank you,” she murmured and
turned to Amelita. “Come on, Lita
darling, let's go swimming. It's such |
a heavenly day, and
|
leaped forward
intimate friend
She could not help
at the absurd incongruity of
lives. Haw remote her prosaic
in America seemed to her, with his
absorption in his law and his
mineble bridge games at night,
wave of homesickness su
ed her. She thought she was going to
cry aloud for that monotonous :
curity she had run away from.
man is this? She is not like you and
me. And yet,” he continued gravely,
“T think T can understand why you
two are friends.”
Amelita laughed warmly. “You |
will like her, Le Grand,” she said.
“She is just une petit Americaine, a
good mother and a good wife. Every
now and then she escapes from her
hushand and family long enough to
hear some music and make friends
with a few crazy artists like you and
me. But always she goes back again
-~to George.”
Dorothy felt suddenly resentful at
Amelita’'s affectionate patronizing.
Why should it always be assumed,
she wondered. that she could never
be entirely free? She had a 2,
unhappy sense that she did not fit.
either here with Correll and Le
Grand, or at home with George and
‘and then she was
| the fields and hills
‘ed beer, Le
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pursued,
A bottle of red wine and Amelita’'s
good-natured but determined corcen-
tration on herself soon made Dorothy
forget her icy terror. Only every now
deeply buried sense of foreboding
and unrest.
Le Grand came to the hotel after
‘lunch and they all piled into Doro- |
i had gone. The sky was overcast and
hills of the Pyrenees. The two wo-'
thy's car to drive out into the foot-
men sat in either corner of the car
with Le Grand between them. It was
a warm, sunny afternoon, but there
was a matter-of-fact quality about
which always
comes during that period between
lunch and tea. There were no long
shadows to entice you with their.
vagueness, only a frank obviousness
which made you want to turn away.
“Any other time of day or night
has its particular charm,” thought
Dorothy morosely, “but between 2
and 4 one should be alone—asleep or
with a good book.”
Amelita had slipped her arm
through Le Grand's and they were
reminiscing gayly. Dorothy sat back
in her corner feeling a little out of
things. Laughing, Le Grand turned
to her and, lifting his right elbow,
ever so casually, said:
“Allons, madame, put your arm
through mine, too, and then we shall
be three gay comrades.”
As Dorothy felt the rough tweed
of his sleeve under her hand, she
knew that this was no casual gesture
between them, but a significant and
expectant one, despite its simplicity.
She had a second of panic and glanc-
ed swiftly at Amelita to see if she
had sensed this lightning flash be-
tween her and Le Grand. But Cor-
relli was looking admirably out at
the handsome Basques who strode
along the road.
So they drove for several ® hours,
Dorothy scarcely crediting her
strange premonitions—and yet, at
times, quite sure that she was caught
up by a force beyond anything she
had ever known. The only thing she
could compare it to was the day
when she was very little and had got
scarlet fever. In the morning she had
been quite well, and in the afternoon
the doctors had told her she was
very il! and would be for a long
time. She remembered her distress
then before she had adjusted herself
to the idea.
“What are you thinking of?” Le
Grand leaned close tc her, It seem-
ed quite natural that the very turn
of his head should be a caress—
just as it had seemed quite natural
for her to have that high fever that
afternoon so many years ago.
“I was comparing you to scarlet
fever,” Dorothy laughed.
“Yau hear that, Correlli,” he cried.
| “Your charming friend compares me
to the most virulent disease. It is
unkind of her, and most unfair. She
is, most likely, tired of driving about
with you and me. Let's stop in a
little inn I know, not far from here.
They have the best liquors in this
part of the world, we can sit
at a table by a lovely stream and
drink them. You like good wines,
madame ?
avez du gout et pout les choses du
corps et de l'esprit.”
They drove up to a tiny inn, where, sa
ue men
on a court in front, the
growing 1
Grand a glass of port,
Dorothy a creme de men
. It was cool creme de menthe,
fresh and
Was it this sudden awareness
which made her feel it entirely legit-
well acknowledge its supremacy.
It had alwavs been her boast that
no situation had ever caught her un-
nrenared and no relationship of hers
had not been planned for. She had
wanted to marrv George and so she
had schemed with great deliberation
to achieve that end. Her bables had
been wanted and for long
before they started on the way. Even
her affairs with men had been me-
ticulouslv kent in their nroper place
in her well-ordered life. But now or.
der was neither her aim nor her de-
1
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if
conscious of a
But surely yes—car vour
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“Let's 80," she said, and slipped
her hand intimately through his
arm. Down the hotel
the wind off the sea felt penetrating
and cold. It whipped the color into
Dorothy's cheeks becomingly. She
put her face up to feel the cool
dampness of the fog, which had
started to come in.
“Oh, how I love the wet feel of it,
don't you?” she said.
Le Grand was striding along beside
her, the brim of his soft felt hat
blowing back from his face. He had
a marvelous face, really, with its fine
intelligent brow and deep-set eyes,
its sharply sensitive, aqualine nose,
and its humorous, crooked mouth.
“I adore the fog,” he said. “I be-
lieve I like it even more than the
warm sunshine.”
He looked down at her appreciat-
ively.
“What a thrilling capacity you
have for enjoying the good things
of life,” he said. “It is unusual in a
woman whose appearence is as
sophisticated as yours. But then, all
your appearance, except your eyes,
and God help me if I read them
wrong."
Dorothy looked down at the path.
“You take me for far too complicat-
ed a person,” she said, “You make a
grave mistake, for I am very simple
and quite uninteresting and common-
place.”
If she expected elaborate protests
to the contrary, she got none. Le
Grand acted as though he had not
heard her and changed the subject
abruptly to talk about himself and
his philosophy of life. He was an
atheist, he said, despite his religious
upbringing. That was the reason,
perhaps, why he loved beauty so,
wherever he found it. In nature or in
books, in music or in people, he paid
the same obeisance to beauty that
the religious paid to the Deity.
“For mstance,” he said, “I
Sure no cleric could teel more rever-
ent or more as though he were
standing in the midst of shining
glory than I do when I play the
eethoven Fifth Symphony. 1f only
people could feel the splendor of such
music or the remote grandeur of the
stars, they would be free to live and
love and create as man was meant
to, instead of being slaves to the dic-
tates of their more powerful fellows.
But forgive me. Perhaps you do not
feel as I do, and besides, if I talk so
long and so loud, I shall bore you
insufferably.”
Dorothy shook her head. “Oh, but
I do agree with you,” she said. “I
agree with every single thing you've
‘said, and what is more, I believe
such a philosophy can be made to
work successfully. I know that the
happy people in life are the ones who |
Da decency and fairness, but
with independence.” |
They had come to a cot-
tage on the roadside. Le Grand stop-*
ped and put his hand on the garden
te.
“This is my house,” he said, “won't
you come in?"
For the fraction of a second Doro- |
hesitated, and then she walked
be him up the path to the house.
| “You see it is all very simple,” he
' said. “I scarcely sit downstairs at all,
because when I am not working I
love. to read and downstairs one is
always at the mercy of one’s neigh-
bors. My study is upstairs with all
lost |v books and my orchestral scores.
| Will you comee up with me?”
| Dorothy climbed the stairs
the | followed Le Grand into « tiny sitting
room lined with shelves from
| ceiling to the floor.
where Le
work.
room was a,
it a com-
with |
op- |
sea
And |
for |
eeded, for
the wants of man were filled. !
com-
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a room to
rand smiled back
t a glass of wine,
and as she sipped it slowly Dorothy
pungent smoke |
cigarette. i
get these in
I” she said, “T've been starved |
since T landed.” |
“Our |
said. i
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left Le Grand's face. Gently he put
his arms about her and gently drew
her to him,
“Tell me,” he whispered, “your
eyes, your incredible, glorious eves
would never lie. They never could;
could they?"
His tone besought her and for an
answer he only needed the scarcely
visible shake of her head. Then he
pressed his mouth on hers. Great
waves of passion possessed them
both, and swept them off their feet.
AL last they drew away from each
other and Le Grand stooped down
and kissed her hand.
“I love you, my dear love,” he
said. “I don't reason or explain. 1
know nothing of you, and yet I know
you deeply. I cannot understand why
you should jump across the foot-
“lights into my life,” he smiled grave-
ly at her. “I did not ask you to. I
did not want you to. I dare not let
myself imagine what the future
holds for me. You will leave me,
perhaps, but you will come back, I
know.”
‘Dorothy's mouth was quivering.
“I won't come back, my dear,” she
whispered. “I love you, but I won't
come back. Perhaps you'll under-
stand--perhaps you won't. Like you,
I cannot talk about it, Only believe
me that I love as I never knew I
could love any one.”
An hour later Dorothy found her-
self hurrying to the hotel. She rush-
ed to Amelita’'s room to wake her as
she had promised, only she was late,
terribly late. Amelita would be an-
gry and she would never be able to
get dressed in time for the concert.
Dorothy burst in, to find the violin-
ist sitting before her dressing table.
“Aha, my little American,” she
said, “in the morning you meet a
strange French conductor, and by
afternoon you have forgotten the ex-
istence of your poor Italian friend. .
It is lucky that I woke myself in
time, It would not have been easy to
explain to the audience that I was
late because you and Le Grand were
Sr* out having a flirtation and you for-
got to wake me!”
“Lita, darling, don't.” Something
inside Dorothy turned to ice. How
impossible it would be ever to ex- |
plain to another person what she
had been through and how unbear-
able it was to have Lita speak of it
as a “flirtation!”
“I'm terribly sorry to be so late,”
she said. “I apologize, Lita. Please
forgive me. Tomorrow I will try to
explain it to you. Now I must run
and dress. Le Grand wants me to
come to his dressing room before the
concert and I must not keep him
waiting.”
Amelita’s eyes stared back at her
from the mirror. “You mean you are
not going to the Casino with me?”
she queried, “I am to go alone with
my music and my violin and no one
to help me? Voyons, ma chere, ce
n'est pas bein poli de ta ”
Dorothy had not waited to listen.
She was already in her own room
throwing off her clothes as she ran
for her bath,
“Lita, darling, if you hu
with you,” she called in, ny
wait for you a minute.”
Of course, Amelita was not ready
and Dorothy got to the Casino be-
fore any of the audience. She went
I'll go
“but I won't
to the stage and was shown up
a winding t of stairs to Le
Grand's dressing room. There he
was, waiting for her, his hands out-
tched
“My dear,” he said. “My very,
very dear.”
“You will play for me tonight,”
she said, “and I shall listen to you '
proudly.”
“Monsieur,” she said, “I had for-
gotten to ask you your first name. I|
should like to be able to use it, with |
permission.” !
“You may indeed use it, madame,”
he said, with a little bow, “It is
Pierre,” !
Dorothy tried saying it ‘over to!
herself, but somehow it made her |
feel very shy. She couldn't manage
it quite yet.
The callboy came to tell Le Grand
that he had five more minutes.
“Good-by, my love.” said Dorothy.
“I shall sit close to you while you
Le Grand watched her as she ran
he shut
his eyes to hold close in his memory |
her loveliness as she turned away |
from him.
Dorothy crept into her seat in the |
front row. How incredible it all
seemed! This morning only, standing |
on this same chair, she had scarcely |
been conscious sf Le Grands exist- |
ence. This afternoon they had been |
swept as close together as two hu-
man beings ever get to each other.
And tomorrow—but the mere thought
of that brought with it such a rack-
ing pain that she heard herself let |
out a furtive groan. |
- molested they secretly lay
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‘out into the open until life
laying eggs for
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smiled and bowed again and finall
disappeared into the wings.
his stand. He raised his hands again
and to her bewildered dismay, Doro-
thy heard the first bars of Rimsky-
Korsakoff’s “Scheherazade.” The
first few measures, with their se-
ductive Oriental quality, bid fair to
break through her well-dressed calm.
How cruel of him to have changed
the program so—and she must sit
there and listen to the destruction
|
of the vessel bearing the young the
Prince and the young Princess. She
knew the story well and adored the
music, but could she bear it now?
The fatal moment came and, with all |
his power, Le Grand brought down
his arms as the brasses crashed out
their ominous tale. It was as though
something had died inside Dorothy,
and as she looked at Le Grand, she
knew it happened to him, too.
She was quite numb as she went
back and up stairs to his dressing
room once more. There he stood,
waiting for her again, eagerly
searching her face with his eyes,
She shook her head gently.
“Good-by, my dear,” she said.
“You will come back, You will. I
know you will.” Le Grand's whole
body shook with pain. “Say that
you'll come back. Perhaps something
will happen. People die—oh, forgive
me; I am not sane tonight. But
don’t make me believe that you won't
come back some day, somehow. Al-
ways I will be waiting.”
As Dorothy took his hands and
kissed them he felt her tears fall
hotly on them. And then quietly and
quickly she was gone.
“Oh, Lita, darling, could we start
back to Paris tonight? I know you
are exhausted, but could we go!
quickly, in the car—away— just you
and me?” :
“Mon enfant,” Amelita's eyes were
EES
3
of se ths
supplemented b longish
e gloves. y
These dressy suits were luxurious
in their use of fur, many having
large shawl collars of blue or silver
fox. Often a collarless jacket
heavy cuffs of fox or kolinsky. Many
of the smartest suits had no trim-
ming but depended on unusual cut
of sleeve and neck treatment for
distinction. Skirt lengths are about
same as of the past year.
While the weather dictated hea
fur coats for many, the short :
usually in brown tones of lapin in
other Summer fur, was worn fre-
quently as a smart compromise be-
tween Winter coat and Spring suit.
Usually a bright colored dress of
red, green or blue woolen
ied the jacket. These gave the dash
of color to the scene which other-
wise seemed subdued with black,
beige, brown and blue popular
choices. When in doubt, this season,
a ‘b’ ~olor is safe.
FUR FINISHED COATS
The Spring coats that did appear
usually were of rough woolen, collar-
less, finished with flat fur scarf of
Kolinsky, baum martin and sable.
Often, a gay polka dot or striped
taffeta scarf was substituted for the
fur and ended in a perky bow under
the chin.
Hats were virtuall
y all of straw,
shiny straw,
shiny black straw, flat-
crowned, narrow brimmed or of the
beret type. Once in a while, a bright
red hat appeared, accenting a brown
or black costume. There were also
several all-white small hats, worn
with black suits and coats.
Sandals and oxfords were favored
jou Toute threatening to e
ong popular opera pump. Blue
shoes were usually worn to co
mplete
filled with tears, “I ordered the cay %% all-blue outfit, and with them
this afternoon and it is ready now.
The maid in the hotel packed your
bag. Why didn't Le Grand listen,
this morning when I told him
always went back to George?" |
EE ——— A ————————
LARGE WOOL LOSS
IS DUE TO MOTHS
If the moth population of Bloom-
field is equal to its human popula-
tion, the moths consume each year
in the neighborhood of 72 pounds of
wool, or enough to ruin all the wool- |
en dresses, suits and coats worn by
the people of the community.
This statement of interest to every
home-maker comes from the Rex Re-
search Foundation, Chicago, which
is engaged in a constant war on
household insects which are a men-
ace to life and health and a source
of damage to property. It is based
on this fact known to science: If 50
per cent of the eggs of a single female
clothes moth are fertile and reach
maturity and 38 per cent of these
are female, two generations (rough-
ly, one year) under favorable condi-
tions will consume .10 of a pound of
wool. Multiplying this figure by the
population of the community yields
the amazing total given above.
struck
Under favorable conditions the lar- They
vae, which is the of existence
at which the moth does the damage, |
increases about 375 times or more in
weight duri the feeding period, |
which ex from three to nine
weight of food equal to about 11 to
13 times the i. of the adult
moth-the » Of course, being your
fine woolens, furs, upholstery and the |
1
their
is finished. When
ea
whatever wool, fur, or feathers
at hand.
which the insect is found, immediate
action for its destruction should be- |
gin
The most effective way of fighting
moths at this season is by the reg-
ular use of a special scientifically
prepared moth spray on upholstered
furniture, rugs, and clothing not -
ularly worn. In the a thorough
raying of garments b put away
for ye summer in cedar chests,
tight trunks, moth or paper home-
made bags destroys all moth life.
The spray will annihilate moths al-
ready on the garments, and the tight
containers will prevent the inroads
of new ones,
“How kind of you,” said the girl,
“to bring these lovely flowers. ‘They
are so beautiful and fresh. I believe
there is some dew on them yet.”
“Yes,” stammered the young man
in great embarrassment, “but I am
going to pay it off tomorrow.”
came the blue mesh hosiery, prom-
ised as a style sensation for this
Season months ago,
PUFF SLEEVES HINTED
All modes seemed to
emphasize breadth 4 Tigaaiey and
narrowness of waist and there was
a hint of the return of the
sleeve of long ago. The effect
close to the
with a gardenia
center,
A
A.—Pe-a-nist. with the accent on
the first syllable
—*“If you are
spring clothing and
ve to
being
ed out. After the spots have been re-
moved sponge the entire garment to
avoid the of one en
t in a not too fresh garment.
ne are many types of spots
and scains but perhaps fhe most
common are ase spots.
grease spots way oo easily removed.
There are three general methods
which are effective.
1. Sponging with soap and warm
water as described for the plain
2. Using an absorbent such as blot
tine paver, unglazed brown paper,
white talcum powder, or fullers
earth,
2. Using an absorbant such as blot-