GRAY,
BY JANE FORBES-MOSSE.,
(Translated by Miss H, Friederichs,)
Gowns of soft gray I now will wear,
~Like willow trees all silvery fair;
My lover, he loves
Like clematis; with s1
Which lend the dew-
My lover, he loves gray.
Wrapp ed in a dream, I watch whore slow
Within the fire the wood- -sparks glow;
My love, thou art away— :
The soft gray ashes fall and shift,
Through silent spaces smoke- clouds drift,
And I, too, love gray.
I think of pearls, where gray lights dream,
’ 3 Of alders, where the mist-veils gleam;
: My love, thou art er
Of gray- -haired men of high
Whose faded locks were hazel brown,
too, love gray.
And I,
The little gray moth turns its flight
Into the room, allured by light;
My lover, he loves
0 little moth, we are
We all fly round a light we see
In swamp or Milky Way.
—From “Contemporary German Poetry.
spent hedge a crown;
Sins down,
renown,
ray.
ike thee,
3
There was only one taint of disloy-
alty about Billy Houck—he kept his
money in the Sarvis Point bank.
Round Buckeye Bridge the ques-
tion of loyalty had nothing to do with
one’s willingness to die for his coun-
try or stand up for the flag, or with
"one’s enthusiasm for “Grand Old Mis-
souri,” but was solely a matter of
working hard for Buckeye Bridge and
pulling back on Sarvis Point.
Buckeye Bridge was the county
seat, but seventeen miles farther from
the railroad than it wanted to be:
Sarvis Point was on the railroad, but |
seventeen miles farther from the
county seat than it liked.
It certainly galled the Bridge. peo-
ple to know that Billy Houck was not
. depositing his money in the home
bank. His fertile four hundred acres,
stretching along the bottom just over
the creek from town, was the finest
farm in the community; and the loads
of hogs and droves of cattle he sold
spring and fall certainly brought in a |
lot of money. And this was deposited
in Sarvis Point.
“Oh, yes’—Latimer, the dentist,
raised his voice a little as Billy an-
proached — “Buckeye Bridge will
boom now. If a few more of our
farmers will just take all their money
over to Sarvis Point, it won’t be any
time until we have waterworks, elec- |
tric lights and street- cars—at “Servi
Point.
“Funny, isn’t it,”’ he continnal, bit-
terly, for he had a little stock in the |
home bank, “how the very fellow you
would expect to stand by a home in- |
stitution is the first one always to
turn traitor?”
“Billy,” asked Graham, the horse-
doctor, as the farmer looked at a
plow in Newton’s hardware store,
“how’s the Rock of Gibraltar over at
the Point these days?”
Billy squinted his eye at the plow
and did not reply.
“It is all right to buy things where
you can get them handy,” remarked
Graham to a bystander, “but when it
comes to depositing your money, you
can't expect a fellow to have any
confidence in a little old town like
this—no, siree! Got to take it to the
Gibraltar.”
Many other gibes and criticisms,
both direct and oblique, were flung
at Billy, Some of them were good-
natured, some caustic, but he merely
squinted his left eye inscrutably and
went his way without a word.
The fact was, Billy had had trouble
with Henry Simmons, the banker—
or as nearly trouble as he ever had.
He thought the banker had wronged
him in a business transaction. Billy
stated the case briefly, but Simmons
insisted the bank was right. Billy
withdrew his funds and transferred
them to Sarvis Point. The banker
offered the public no information con-
cerning the difficulty, and of course
Billy offered none, for he lived up to.
the advice which he often gave “Win-
dy” Jim Davis: “If you are done
with a fellow, quit instead of blowing
about it; if you aren’t, shut up and
go on.”
One evening
years later Mrs.
supper:
“I reckon it's a ood thing you |
took your money out of that bank;
they say it's about to break.”
“What?”
from his plate. ‘“O pshaw!” he said.
‘“That’s all stuff and nonsense. Henry
Simmons is goed for 1 /
“I guess it's so,” persisted Mrs.
Houck. ‘“‘Leastways, nearly every-
body thinks so, and nearly all of
them were getting their money out
when I was over to town this after-
noon.”
in the autumn two
Houck remarked at
Billy finished his supper rather |
hurriedly, took his white slouch hat
from its nail by the kitchen door,
and said he was going 8 town for
a little while. x
“Well, what did you hear?" asked |
his wife when he returned, an. hour
later.
“Hear?” He sat down in the hick-
{to bed for half an hour, although he
‘did not go to sleep, then got up and
the matter with you?” asked his wife.
(to the bank the next morning,
railroad, where the bank is strong as:
Billy looked un quickly ;
i not reached that stage yet.
ATOR.
RET
iE TRA
ory rocker and crossed his legs. “It’s
what you don’t hear that counts.”
He sat for a long time, his eye
squinted thoughtfully at the fire.
Yes, the securities were good—he
knew most of the big loans. The
depositors would not lose, finally,
even if the bank failed—Dbut the
stockholders would.. It would ruin
Henry Simmons. He owned most of
the stock—all hehad was in the bank,
so they said. . Tt would ruin his rep-
Li too.
Billy moved uttensily in his chair.
“I reckon ‘a fellow might really
think he was right when he was
wrong,” he remarked. :
‘Mrs. Houck agreed very readily
that he might-—too readily, if Billy
had noticed. He got up and took
from the shelf the little round-faced
alarm clock.
“What are you going to do?”
“Wind -it.”> He set the hand at
three.
About midnight he got up and
looked at the clock. He went back
began to dress.
‘Billy Houck, what in the world is
{1 hour.
“What are you going to do?”
0 always looked for the best in
Uf - had; whose life was an inspiration;
“benediction. —A. J. Stanley.
UYYUUYYBUYTUUS UY SOIT STITT BY
“Just going over to Sarvis Point, 2
he answered, casually. “I thought
I'd get an early start. You go to
sleep; I'll get my breakfast over
there.”
When Henry Simmons came down
the
cashier saw he had spent a sleepless
night. The cashier had rot slept
much himself. Simmons was presi-
dent of the bank, its chief stockholder
and transacted most of its important
business in person.
He had founded the bank four
vears before, and it had prospered
far better than he had even hoped.
He had put every cent he could raise
into it, and from the profits he had
built and paid for a house.
Simmons was still 2a young man,
hardly past thiriy, and he and his
wife were very proud of the new
house—the first they had ever owned.
It had been finished only a month.
It was the neatest house in town,
stood on a little eminence only two
blocks up the street from the bank,
and was in plain view from the side
window of the banking office. Many"
times a day, as the young man went
about his work, he glanced out of
that window.
Simmons and his cashier had
made every preparation possible for
the run, It still lacked five minutes
of nine. Several times one of them
had stepped out of the back door to
observe the signs. There was no
line at the front door—the panic had
But there
was an unusual number of men in
town, some sitting on store platforms,
some standing round doors, others in
front of the blacksmith shop, but all
in sight of the front door, of the
bank.
It looked ominous. When the scare
began, two days before, there had
been twenty-five thousand dollars in
the vaults. This was more than the
legal requirements, for the deposits
were under a hundred thousand. Five
thousand of the available funds went
out that first afternoon, ten thousand
| the next day; but now, if something
and loved much; who has gained the respect of intelli-
gent men and the love of little children; who has filled
his niche and accomplished his task; who has left the world
better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a
perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who has never lacked appre- .
. ciation of the earth’s beauty or failed to express it; who has
did not happen to check the rum, it
would all be over before neon—the
door would be closed.
Simmons had telegraphed for the
ten thousand they had on deposit in|
St. Louis, but it could not arrive be-
fore the next morning — and that
would be too late. Even if they had!
it, it would merely give them a few
more hours of life, unless something
checked the unreasoning panic among
the depositors.
As the clock ticked off the last five
minutes, Simmons stood with his
back to the cashier, looking out of the
side window toward the new house.
It was nine o’clock. The eashier
opened the front door. One, two,
three minutes passed, then a custom-
er came in with a show of leisureli-
ness and withdrew his deposits. As
he went out another came in. Before
the second was paid, the third en-
tered. When the clock hand had
reached the half hour, three or four
were in the bank waiting their turn;
and a hasty glance out of the win-
dow told the banker that others were
coming. :
Simmons had taken the paying-
window himself, and settled the ac-
counts as deliberately as possible
without obvious delay, hoping desper-
ately that something would happen
to check the run.
In the first hour two thousand dol-
lars went out over the counter, and
still the people came. In passing to
and from the ledgers at the back of
the office Simmons often gave a quick,
nervous glance out of the side win-
dow.
The cashier, following that glance,
saw that the banker’s young wife was
almost constantly on the front porch
of the new house. Sometimes she
seemed to be sweeping, again dusting
a rug; but with one excuse or the
other, she was nearly always there,
her face turned toward the bank.
The money went faster the next
At eleven o'clock only four
thousand dollars remained. © When
that went the doors must close. Only
four thousand dollars between Henry
Simmons and bankruptcy, and it was
trickling from his fingers like sand in
an hour glass. Another hour at most
and his capital, his four years’ work,
and the house, would go. :
His face grew a little grayer, the
lines deepened, but his teeth shut
tightly and his hand and eye were
steady as he counted out coin and
currency to frightened depositors.
Twenty minutes past eleven, and
only two thousand dollars left. The
sum wou 14 not last until noon. A line
Luuy vu youu YOUU LUBY TU BYUUUUUULY uuvg |
SUCCESS.
I r has achieved success who has lived well, laughed often
ce
others and given the best he
whose memory is a
gaddcadadadddddd
had formed now, reaching from the’
pay ing window through the door and
down the steps outside.
Billy Houck came to the door,
walking leisurely, a large old leather
valise in his hand. They let him
pass, for they knew he had no money
there to draw out, and they craned
their necks along the line to see what
he was going to do. :
“Excuse me, fellows,” he said to
those nearest the window, ‘“won’t
you let me have a turn for a few
minutes so I can get rid cf this mon-
ey? I'm sort of tired carrying it
reund, and it’s nearly dinner time.”
" They gave way, and Billy set the
valise on the ledge, and began to lay
out stacks of bills.
‘I want to make a deposit.”
Simmons’ hand shook slightly as
he reached for a deposit slip.
At sight of the bills—it was an
encouraging looking pile, looking
larger than it really was, for most of
them were five-dollar bills—the line
wavered and broke up, the men scat-
tering round the office. They still
held their checks, but watched the
transaction at the window wondering-
ly. The word had quickly passed
out at the door and down the street
that Billy Houck was making a de-
posit, and the deposit grew with the
report.
“Four thousand?” Simmons looked
up from his pad when the last stack
of bills was counted. For an instant
his eyes looked straight into Billy’s,
and said things that made a lump rise
in his throat.
“All right.” And there was much
more in Billy's tone than any guessed
but Simmors. ‘Good weather for
corn gathering, isn’t it?”
“All right, fellows,” said Billy, as
he moved away. “Much obliged for
the turn.’
But no one approached the window,
“Hello, doc!” said Billy, noticing
Graham, the horse doctor, who had
been in line with a check for his bal-
ance of sixteen dollars and thirty
cents. “ How fs your confidence
working? Little spavined, isn't it?’
‘““And here's Latimer, too!” He
squinted his left eye at the dentist.
‘proached the paying teller.
{ pegs.
“Reckon you are getting your money
out te build an electric line—to Sar-
vis Point?” :
Billy lingered a few minutes, eye-
ing the crowd one - after another |
quizzically, not one of whom ap-
Those
nearest to the door began to drop
out. When the hands of the clock
reached ten minutes to twelve only
two men besides Billy remained in
the outer office. One of these ap-
proached the window. ‘I reckon I
won’t need this money, after all, Mr.
Simmons.” And he redeposited five
hundred. The other man put back
his two hundred.
Simmons stepped to the side win-
dow, threw up the sash, and put his
handerchief to his face, gave it a
quick flutter. en
Billy Houck, who was passing
down the front steps, glanced up the
street in time to see a little woman
on the front porch of the new house
wave her hand exultantly.—Youth’s
Companion.
90000809860090060660220CH
CAMPING WITH PEARY 5
IN THE ARCTIC 8 0
coc2eocos8800e 0560060300000
The fourth installment of Peary’s
Story in Hampton’s deals with the
thrilling adventures of hunting Arctic
big game, and the camp preparations
for the long night.
“A man’s first night in a canvas
tent in the Arctic is likely to be
rather wakeful,” says the Command-
er. “The ice makes miysterious
noises; the dogs bark and fight out-
side the tent where they are tethered;
and as three Eskimos and one white
man usually occupy a small tent, and
the oil stove is left burning all night,
the air, notwithstanding the cold, is
not overpure; and sometimes the Es-
0
Ld
0
fa
®
®
®
©
kimos begin chanting to the spirits
of their ancestors in the middle of the
night, Sometimes, too, the new man’s
nerves are tried by hearing wolves
howl in the distance.
“The tents are specially made.
They are of light-weight canvas, and
the floor of the tent is sewed directly
into it. The fly is sewed up, a circular
opening’ in it, just large’ enough to
admit a man, and that opening fitted
with a circular flap which is closed
by a draw string, making the tent ab-
solutely snow-proof. An ordinary
tent, when the snow is flying, would
be filled in no time. :
“The tent is pyramidal, with one
pole in the centre, and the edges are
usually held down by the sledge run-
ners or by snowshoes used as tent
“The men sleep on the floor in
their clothes, with a musk ox skin or
a couple cf deerskins wrapped round
them.
since my Arctic trip of 1891-2.
“The ‘kitchen-boz’ for our
journeys is simply a: wooden box con-
taining two double-burner cil stoves,
with four-inch wicks. The two cook-
{ing pots are the bottoms of five-gallon
| coal-oil tins, fitted with covers.
When
packed they are furned bottom side
up over each stove, and the hingel
| cover of the wooden box is closed.
On reaching camp, whether tent or
snow igloo, tbe kitchen box is set
down inside; the top of the box is
turned up and keeps the heat of the
stove from ndelting the wail of the
igloo or brrning the tent: the hinged
front of t= box is turned down and
forms a tah 2'e. The two cooking pots
are filled with pounded ice and put
{on the stove; when the ice melts one
pot is used for tea, and the other may
be used t> warm beans, or to boil
meat if there is any.
‘Bach man has a quart cup for tea,
and a huunting knife which serves
many purroses.
a fork, and one teaspoon is consid-
ered quite enough for a party of four.
Each man helps himeeif from the pot
—sticks in his knife and fishes out a
piece of meat.
“The theory of field work is that
there shall be two meals a day, one
in the morning and one at night. As
the days grow short, the meals are
taken before light and after dark,
leaving the period of light entirely
for work. Sometimes it is necessary
to travel for twenty-four hours with-
out stopping for feed.”
WORDS OF WISDOM.
It's very lucky for a child not to
take after its father.
When the devil invented money he
found he had a sure thing.
Much of our generosity is inspired
by a passion for showing off.
A woman is always a girl till she
gets married, years or no years.
Too many matchmakers Spoil the
Tomance.
A man can admire himself for the
way his wife forgives his failings.
A woman believes in love ahead of
everything else, so that when it
comes out behind she can still go on
believing. Be
A womdn can have more sentiment
aroused in her by stopping to lock
at a baby cap in a shop window than
by going to the most thrilling play
that ever was acted.—From ‘‘Reflec-
‘tions of a Bachelor,” in the New York
| Press.
»
sledge
ke
I have not used sleeping bags
He does not carry’
WHY IS A BACHELOR?
Letters From 500 of Them Contain
Hints of the Answer.
A woman’ 8. ‘magazine recently sent
out a list af questions to about 500
bachelors in variousparts of the coun-
try. These questions dealt with the
question of matrimony.
The first one was: ‘What yearly in-
come do you regard as necessary to a
man of your social standing hefore
entering upon married life?’ ,
The second ‘was: ‘““Are the young
women of your set rightly brought up
and trained, do you think, for the re-
sponsibilities and self-denial of ‘wife-
hood and home making?”
About half the young men ques-
tioned express the belief that the girls
are not adequately trained for the du-
ties and responsibilities of wifehood.
A sizable minority, between fifty and
sixty, pronounce the training satisfac-
tory. :
In regard to income the estimates
received vary from $500 a year in a
‘Connecticut village to $15,000 a year
in Chicago. The average among the
500 men figures out $2439.40. A fa-
vorite figure is $1500, but the $15,-
000 mark and several estimates of
$10,000 bring the level up.
Those who think it essential that
newly married couples should have
the comforts and luxuries of the pa-
rental home are forty in number;
those who think this unessential, 116.
Those who believe such comforts and
luxuries out of the question for the
young husband to provide, 127; those
who think such comforts and luxuries
are not greater than the young hus-
band can provide, if they so desire,
ten.
Eere are some of the letters which
were received by Good Housekeeping,
the magazine which sent out the let-
ters:
“Two people can certainly live in
the Middle West on $1500, but it will
take every cent of that amount to
live as an educated man wants to
live. I certainly should not attempt
marriage on any less, and I'd almost
be frightened to try it on that sum.”
This from Omaha, Neb.
A man from Texas says: “You
couldn’t want a better living if you
are a home man and live a moderate
life than you could have in Texas on -
$1500 a year. That sum would not
only allow you to live well and have.
plenty of recreation, but would en-
able you to entertain your, friends and
relatives occasionally.”
“I'd want to be suré of $40 a week
to marry,” says a Chicago bachelor.
“A man can’t ask the girl he cares for
to make too many sacrifices.” f
One who describes himself as “a .
bachelor of arts” says: “Eighteen
hundred dollars a year is the least de-
gree of poverty a man should ask a
girl to share with him.” : ;
“Health, courage and $1500,” says 5
a Massachusetts youth. :
“As I look at it you need, if you're
living in New York City proper, an
income of at least $100 a week to~
marry con. I wouldn't try it on. any -
less for my part. If you haven't got. ~
that, wait. That's what I'm doing. I~
can make out now by myself on §60 a
week. But I don’t know a girl in
New York—a girl really worth while
—that I'd ask to share that with me.”
This is a New York opinion.
A compositeopinion from five bach«
elors keeping house by themselves in
Kansas City, Mo.: “A couple must
have $3200 a year In the Middle West
(more in the East).’ 8
“TIT do not think the question of
self-denial has ever been practiced, if
considered, by the young ladies of my ..
set,” writes a city man. :
On the other side is a Chicago
young man who says tersely: ‘Yes,
it’s a question of common sense and
most of them have it.”
“They can make excellent fudge,
but I would not like to try their bis-
cuits,” writes a man from Washing-
ton. “They play the piano well, but
I doubt if they could buy a steak.
Some of them manage two or three
admirers excellently, but one servant
would be too much for them to han-
dle.”
Spokane, Wash., speaks thus: “Few
have any domestic ability and fewer
know how to economize. Otherwise
they are by estimable young wo-
men.’
How the Boy Was Caught.
Jerome S. McWade said of the
management of children in a recent
Sunday-school address: ‘Diplomacy
succeeds best with the little ones. A
lad of nine came all puffing and rosy
in out of the cold the other night and
said: :
“ ‘Pa, I'm tired. I've sawed enough °
wood for this evening; ain’t I? I'm
awful tired.’ .
“ ‘Pired?’ cried the father, looking
up from his paper with an air of sur-
prise and disappointment. ‘Why, I
bet your mother a quarter you’d have
the whole pile done before supper.”
“ ‘Did you?’ shouted the boy, tak-
ing up his hat and mittens again.
‘Well, you'll win your money if the
saw holds out. Nobody ever bet on
me and lost.’ = wl
* “And he rushed back to his hard
task again, his eyes flaming with en-
thusiasm.”