WHO BIDES HIS TIME. Who bl'les his timo—he tastes the sweet Of honey in the saltest tear ; Ami though he fares with slowest feet, Joy runs to meet hiai, drawing near; The i irds are heralds of his cause, And, like a never-ending rhyme, The roadsides bloom iii bis applause— Who bides his time. —Jumes Whlteomb Riley. nifiTin ( * J BV HEL.ES E. wnionr. The rain had l'allen all day in a thick, heavy drizzle, but the man laz ily sauntering along the avenue with his hands in his pockets, did not seem to mind it in the least. He was a big, burly fellow, with a shaggy beard and .ill, bloodshct eyes. His hat, pulled lo\/ over his forehead, was minus part of the crown; his coat was out at the elbows and hi 3 shoes pere out at the toes. ilia gaze wandered to a big placard that was fastened to a gate be side him. It rend as follows: "TO CAL.LeRs. We ARe ! lO.Me AI,ONe. PLeAse COMe RiGHT iN THINGS TO eAT UP sTAiIIS." The man stared hard at it. then looked wonc'.eringly at the house. It was a large olu-iasioned dwelling with wide porches and a vestibuled en trance. From an upper window peered two anxious little faces. The man looked from them to the placard again. He reread it slowly. " 'We are at home —alone! Please come—right in!' By Jingo!" he ex claimed aloud, "that means you! Jere miah Todd, my boy, that means you! 'Things to eat—upstairs,' " he con tinued. "Humph! I like that —sounds hospitable." He looked cautiously along the avenue, but nobody seemed watching, and he closed the gate be hind him. The children's faces had disappeared from tho window, and in the playroom a little girl was cunging to her broth er. "Oh, Tom," she sobbed, "I'm so There was a lump in the boy's own throat, but he manfully choked it down. "He's eome a calling, Ethel," he said, "and we must be polite. Mother used to have lots of people on her days 'at home,' you know." "Were they like that, do you think, Tom?" asked the little girl. "Um —maybe so," he answered doubtfully. The man walked quickly up the steps; there was something stealthy and satlike in his tread. "By special invitation, Jeremiah Todd," he said to himself, "and there's silver in that house, I'll bet a cookie!" "Please come right this way," said a timid little voice, and there on the landing above him stood the children, haiul-in-hand. The tramp stared at them. "Please come right this way," re peated the 'ittle voice. "Tom and I are entertaining alone." The man stumbled toward them, and i.ie little girl held out her hand. ' We're very glad you've come," she said shyly. "You're the first caller that we've had." The tramp becamesuddenlyaware of his muddy boots and rain-soaked cloth ing; he almost wished he were on the streets again. Euiel led the way to the playroom. There was a genial warmth from the furnace fire, and everything looked bright and cheery. In the centre of the room stood a table with an em broidered tea-cloth upon it. To be sure, the cloth wa« much too long, and dragged at both ends, but that did not matter. In the middle was a plat ter with a crisp roast chicken, gar landed with pepper-leaves. There were jams and jellies and fruit in abun dance. "We've never given an 'at home' be fore. and we don't know just what to do," the little girl said anxiously. "Would you rather have some chicken .first, or hear lis sing?" "Or see me stand on my head?" asked Tom. The man eyed the table greedily. "I haven't had a thing to eat today," be said. "Wh-y?" exclaimed Ethel. "Did your mother go away too? How fun ny!" Then she busied herself about the fowl. The tramp ate ravenously. "You're in luck, Jeremiah Todd," he chuckled to himself. The little girl interrupted his thoughts. "Do you always make calls on people's days 'at home?' " she asked. The man started. There had been a time when he had had friends, and had called upon them, too, but it was many years ago and the memory was vague. "No," he answered. Then there was a silence. The children looked per plexed. "Our mother used to have whole lots of people come sometimes," remarked Tom at last. "She sent out little in vitations through the mail; we hadn't time, you see, so 1 put a big one on the gate. Did you ever come to see our mother?" "No," said the tramp again. He had finished his repast, and a pile of orange and banana peel upon his plate showed that he had relished it. Ethel looked anxious. "I'm afraid,'" she timidly said, "that perhaps you aren't enjoying it. Tom," she contin ued. turning to her brother, "you'd better on your head, and then ■we'll sing." The boy promptly obeyed, but the tramp scarcely noticed him. "Shall we sing now?" asked the little girl. There was entreaty in her voice,—she was trying so hard to ba polite. "There's one song about 'Old Dame Pussy Cat.,' and then there's •Father, We Thank Thee,' and 'God Loves Everything.' Which would >ou like?" "I'm afraid," said the man, "that I can't stay. Suppose you take me through the house instead." The children exchanged looks. "Mother dont' generally take her call ers round," Ethel answered. "That because she has so many all at once," said the tramp. His voice was very soft and coaxing, and he edged toward the door. "I'm afraid, began the little girl again—"I don't believe " The man's hand was on the door knob, but he paused a moment. "All right," he said, shrugging his 112 houlders. "I thought you wanted me to enjoy myself. If you don't of course " "Oh, we do!" cried Ethel, in despair. ,_.ie led the way to the next room. ihis is where mother sleeps," she said. A watch and some jeweled rings were on the uainty dresser. The tramp walked quickly over to them, then paused and pretended to look at a pic ture in an oval frame. "That's father and mother," an nounced Tom, "and Ethel and me when we were babies. There's four in our family." "Isn't our father a nice man?" asked me little girl. "Yes," answered the man. "Where is he?" The children looked at each other again. "Why, lie's dead," said Tom. "I take care of mother and Ethel, you know. Fauier toid me to." The little girl slipped her hand trustingly into her brother's. "Humph!" ejaculated the tramp. He turned and walked back to the play room. Just inside the door he paused. "There isn't anything in the house to —to drink, is there?" he asked. "Tea?" queried Ethel. "Mother al ways makes iu for her friends, but I don't know how." "No," replied the tramp, "not that. Isn't there any—er—anything else?" "Why, yes," said Tom, brightening, i...ere's our milk." He climbed up on a chair and took two tall, slim glasses of creamy milk from a corner cup board. "Cook put them here when she went away," he exclaimed. The man looked doubtful, but raised one of the glasses slowly to his lips. Ethel tugged excitedly at her broth er's sleeve. "Now, Tom," she whis pered, "let's do it now!" She stepped in front of the tramp, and holding lier frock in either hand, made a quaint courtesy, then began to sing in a shrill childish treble: "There's not a sleepy bridie With its head beneath its win& But God is taking care of. For he loves everything." The man gave her a suspicious look, but the little girl sang on: "There's rot a thirsty flower But finds a drop of dew. For God keeps watch o'er every one. And he is watching you. "He us when " The man suddenly put down his glass and turned to the door with a muttered exclamation which the chil dren could not understand. "You're not going?" cried Ethel. "Why, I'm singing for you!" The man did not answer; he walked hurriedly to the staircase. "I'm afraid," she went on, her voice trembling with excitement, "that you haven't had a very happy time after all; but you must come again when mother's here. She always likes to know our friends." The man's feet sank noiselessly into the padded carpet of the stairs. On the landing he stopped and suddenly turned round; the children were close behind him. "See here, little girl," he said roughly, "hold up your frock. There!" He drew out some spoons and forks and dropped them into it; then came the watch and rings, a silver shoe horn, and a vinaigrette. "Why, they're ours!" cried Tom, his eyes growing big in astonishment. "Yes," answered the man. with a forced laugh, "I took 'em —for a joke, you see." The boy's grave eyes regarded him earnestly, but Ethel danced with de light. "How nice and funny you are!" she said; then added, with a happy sigh, "It's just a lovely thing to have a day 'at home!'" —The Household. Knot* nn<l Pronperity. Some years ago I was talking with one of our leading boot manufac turers, and himself a very acute man. He told me that long experience had shown him that the sale of boots is a sure barometer of the prosperity of the country, so far as the working class were concerned. If things are going well people buy new boots when their old ones have worn out; if the reverse, they do not, but make shift without new purchases. And fee in stanced Ireland, where he had a largo trade output, as an instance of this. When, therefore, I hear that the boot business is not flourishing. I know what that mean 3. Although it can not be said to be absolutely bad. yet there is already a shrinkage in sale 3 at home, owing to the effect of the war on the resources of the wago earning class. —London Truth. A CJood Iteauon for Moving. Grandma —Why shouldn I take an other chair, Thomas? Don't you think I am comfortable here? Tommy —Yes, gramma, but—but our little kitty ain't. She's there too! Harper's Magazine. Clinnge of Air for Dolly. "3ty dolly's very 111, sir ; Dear doctor, please to toll WhHt I can do to make her Get quickly strong and well." "She certainly looks pale, ma'am, And nee.is the greatest care. And I should recommend, ma'am, A thorough change of air." "Just take her down to Margate, Or somewhere by the sea, And give her new-laid eggs, ma'am, For breakfast and for tea." "Oh, Margate is too far, sir," The anxious mother said, " I'll wheel her round the garden, And up the road instead." —Chicago liecord-Herald. A Novel Cure. A little boy and girl were at oppo site ends of a long room, pretending to talk over a "make-believe" tele phone. "Is this the doctor?" called the little girl. "It is, madam, it is," answered the little boy. "You had better come over at once and see a very sick lady I am nurs ing," said the little girl. "Ahem! What is Cue trouble?" he asked, and she replied: "She swallowed a whole bottle of ink." "Very serious case," said the little doctor. "What have you done for her?" "I gave her two sheets of blotting paper," replied the ingenious little girl. "Was it red or black ink?" inquired the young physician. "Red," replied the nurse. "Then," replied the doctor, " a plas ter of white blotting paper on the soles of her feet will cure her com pletely." An Anumlng Journey. This is a game that may be played without any preparation whatever, as no materials are required, not even pencil or paper. It is, therefore, well worth knowing, for it may be suggest ed to a party of friends on the spur of the moment, when some such amuse ment is desired. The players choose a leader, and then seat themselves in a circle, with the leader in the center. He, of course, stands. As the game may be better understood from an illustration we will suppose the leader to begin it by saying: "Young people, you are all supposed to be commercial travelers, about to start on a journey to any part of the world that you may prefer, on busi ness. I will ask each of ycAi, if you please, to tell me where you are going, and what you intend to do when you get there?" It is required that eevry answer to his questions should be alliterative; that is to say, that all the words of the answer should begin with the let ter A. This is the way it runs: Leader —"Where are you going?" Answer—"To Annapolis." Leader —"What will do there?" Answer —"Attend the academy." B goes to Boston to buy baked beans. C to Chicago to collect Colum bian coins. Dto Damascus to do der vish dances. Eto England to earn Ed ward's esteem. F to Florida to find fragrant flowers. CI to Gasconda to gather glittering gems. II to Havana to hav* half holiday. I to India to in spect idols. J to Jerusalem to judge jewels. Kto Kentucky to keep knives. L to Liverpool to lodge land lubbers. M to Montana to make money. N to the Netherlands to negotiate notes. O to Oklahoma to open an oyster shop. P to Philadelphia to pawn pennies. Q to Quebec to quit quarreling. Rto Russia to raise race riots. S to Sene gambia to sell saucepans. T to Turkey to taste tobacco. U to Utah to urge use ol umbrellas. Vto Vienna to visit va rious viscounts. W to Washington to willingly waste wages. Y to Yazoo to yell at yielding yokels. Z to Zanzibar to zoologize zebras. This game, when played by the old er boys and girls, or even by adults, is made uproaringly funny by the queer and incongruous answers that are given without time to think them up. —Detroit Free Press. Two Orioles. Do you want to know just the cun ningest thing that ever two little birds did? Let me tell you —because it's true. The birds were beautiful orioles and you know the curious, pretty nests the orioles make, swinging like a soft, gray, silken bag from the high branch of some elm tree. Just three springs ago, the orioles had come to this grand, old elm tree that shaded the porch of a quiet farm house. They had picked out the very branch they wanted; and now they must hunt for material to build their pretty home. So they flew about, chirping and calling and busily gathering stray threads and moss —when—oh, joy! What was that beautiful, long, white, silky stuff on the porch just under their elm tree home? They flew down very cautiously. They fitted this way and that. Dare they take some of it for their airy home? One more peep —yes —grandpa wra sound asleep. There was no doube about it. But how should orioles know that the long, white whiskers belonged to him? They ventured nearer. They pulled one hair. They grew bolder and pulled another. Two long, beautiful silky threads for their neat! They flew off to the tree and then back for more. Grandpa still slept. The little rogues were having such a good time, when Aunt Lucy happened to spy them. She laughed aloud and of course that frightened the birds and grandpa awoke. But wait —just hear the rest. Aunt Lucy was so pleased at what the cute little orioles had done, that she determined they shoulJ have all the pretty threads of hair they wanted. So that very afternoon, she took some of Mary's golden locks, a few more of grandpa's and some of her own glossy black hair and spread them on a bright cloth on the porch. Then she warned the family to keep very quiet and see what happened. In less than an hour the orioles had taken every hair and carried It to their tree. Before many days the pretty nest was done and the bird 3 were enjoying their new home. In the fall, after the orioles had left their elm tree home, Aunt Lucy had some one climb the tree and g<» the nest, and there so curiously woven into the lining, were the soft white, golden and black hairs. Aunt Lucy keeps the nest in her par lor and counts it as one of her great est treasures. —Primary Education. I.a«t of tho I'liototjvaph*. When Papa Elephant's photograph came home you may be sure it created a tremendous sensation throughout the menagerie. The animals all crowd ed round to look at it, and the noise aa they grunted, squeaked, Equealed and bellowed their different opinions was simply deafening. "It's his very tail," shrieked the par rot. "And his trunk is lifelike; I could not have drawn it better myself," braved the donkey, who. as you know, is very good at drawing things— though I think perhaps he is better at drawing carts than elephants. "And his dear little eye's," sighed the sentimental love-bird. "How sweet!" "Fiddlesticks," said the goshawk," "it's no more like him than like me." And he stalked off muttering to him self, "Sweet little eyes, indeed! I wonder the silly thing didn't say 'Dear little feet,' while she was about it. It's sickening the way she flatters that great booby, and I wonder what Mrs. Elephant, is about to allow it?" But Papa Elephant was beaming; he took Co notice whatever of the gos hawk's remark. "I think it's pretty fair," he said modestly: "and tomor row you shall take baby to be photo graphed, too. my dear." he added, turn ing to his wife, who looked quite a size larger than usual with pride and importance. So the next morning they went. "She will make a lovely ma'am, a real beauty; there's no doubt about that," said the monkey, putting his head on the side and surveying little Miss Elephant with an admiring smile. Now, as Baby Elephant was very short and very fat with very large ears and very little eyes, anil a nasty sulky temper, she was not by any means a beauty, but, of course, her fond mam ma thought her lovely, and quite agreed with all the flattering remarks of the cunning monkey. "Turn your toes out, my dear, and let your ear 3 flop a little more," she said, smiling with gratified material vanity at the stumpy little object. "Do as the gentleman tells you, ducky, and look pleasant." "Shan't," replied the animal child, nearly shutting her little eyes, and turning up her trunk, as she had no nose. The monkey discreetly had a loud fit of coughing at once, while Mrs. Ele phant tried to coax her refractory off spring into good behaviour, and after several attempts she was induced to get into the proper position. "Playful little pet," said the monkey, smiling as affably as he could. "Oh, yes. it's all her playful disposi tion," assented Mrs. Elephant, eager ly. "She is such a giddy little thing— like a kitten, you know." "Oh, very like a kitten; very much so indeed," agreed the donkey polite ly out loud. "Nasty, ill-tempered little brat." he muttered to himself. Rut at last he managed to get Miss Elephant in a corner and hastily took the photograph and ran off with it into a dark cupboard at the end of the room, which smelle* like a partic ularly nasty chemist's shop. While he was gone Miss Elephant would amuse herself by trying to look through the camera, although her mamma repeatedly told her to leave it alone and come and sit down like a good child; and at last she got her head under the piece of black cloth, as she had seen the monkey do. and could not get out again. In her strug gles she knocked the whole thing over and fell on it, which broke it into little pieces. And just then the monkey ran back in a state of great" excitement to say he must take another photograph, as he found he had forgotten to take the cap off the camera, and therefore there was no portrait. But. alas, the appara tus was smashed; no more pictures could be taken, and Mrs. Elephant, who had put her best bonnet on. in tending to have her own photograph taken as well, as a surprise for Papa, fairly cried with disappointment. Rut I am glad to say she gave little Miss Elephant a good whipping when she got home, and sent her to bed without any supper, which served her right.—Chicago Record-Herald. A £narir*ttinn. "No. I'm not very well impressed with the house," said the prospective tenant. "The yard is frightfully small; there's hardly room for a single flow er bed." "Think so?" replied the agent; "but —ef —(nightn't you use folding flower beds?"--Philadelphia Press. Ipycm New York City.—Louis XVI. coats, with all their plcturesqueness of big revers, hip pocket laps, turn-over cuffs and laco trimmings are among the sen- LOUIS XVI. COAT. son's favored designs. This highly ef fective May Manton model is cut in :he most fashionable lines and is adapt ed to velvet, velveteen, handsome cloth and silk, either with skirt to match or in contrast. The original makes part of a costume, the material for which is hunter's green velvet and is trimmed with bands of mink and large jeweled buttons, the rest being of brocade and the revers, collar and cuffs of Irish crochet over white satin. The waist portion fits snugly and includes single bust darts. The skirt I s sk I is seamed on at front and sides, but cut in one with the back and the pocket laps are attached at the seams. The vest also is closely titted and is joined to the fronts which are extended to turn back and form revers. The sleeves are in coat style with roll-over flaring cull's and the neck is finished with a deep turn-over collar. To cut this coat for a woman of me dium size live and oue-lialf yards oi material twenty inches wide, two and three-fourths yards forty-four inches wide or two and one-fourth yards tifty four inches wide will be required, with five-eighth of a yard twenty inches wide for the vest, one yard of all over lace for collar, revers and cuffs, and four and seven-eighth yards of fur edging to trim a_- illustrated. MUtrn' Long Coat. Long coats, that completely cover the gown, make eminently stylish, com fortable out-door garments for young girls and are in the height of present styles. The excellent May Mautou model, shown in the large drawing, is made from Oxford cloth, with simply stitched edges, and is serviceable at the same time that it is fashionable; but plain or covert cloth in black, grey, tan, brown and dark green and cheviot are all appropriate for fair weather coats,while waterproof finished cloths are admirable for rainy days. The coat is loosely fitted without a scam at the centre back. It falls in unbroken lines mid may be plain across thi' shoulders, or when desired, ll.e applied yoke can be added as shown iu the small sketch. The neck is finished with a regulation coat collar and lapels and convenient pockets are inserted in the fronts. The coat sleeves are fin ished with becoming roll-over cuffs. I'lie closing is effected invisibly by means of a fly. To cut this coat for a miss of four teen years of age three and one-lialf yards of material forty-four Inches wide, or three yards fifty-four inches wide will be required. Klscn From tile Kanks, Promoted from the ranks of skirt flouncing, flare ruffles are rising in the scale. They are now an accepted mode of finishing the sleeve of a cloak or Newmarket. The sleeve is normal at the arm-size, and only in creases slightly in its proportions at the elbow. Nevertheless, just below the elbow it is much extended 111 the graceful lines given by flare nifties. The upper one is moderately wide, the second and third are increased in pro portion. Flare ruffles are finished with stitching. They are near relatives to the rippling revere of fur seen 011 some "Louis" coats. The undulating ripples take away the severity of a cloth gar ment. Woman's Evening Waist. Full waists of light fabrics made in baby fashion are in the height of style for evening wear and are both charm ing and almost universally becoming. The very pretty model illustrated Is of louisine silk, in a soft shade of pink, banded with black velvet ribbon and finished with a drapery of pink tulle at the neck Over the shoulders are black velvet straps, covered with em broidery in pink and white and held by fancy ornaments. All soft, pliable materials are, however, appropriate, and the waist can be raised either by beins: made high, with yoke and long sleeves, or low with elbow sleeves, hav ing the shoulders cut away or not, as shown in the small drawings. The lining is carefully fitted and closes at the centre front. The full soft back and fronts are simply gath ured at upper and lower edges an arranged over the foundation. The ex tension straps are cut in one witi the waist and covered with any de sired material. The tulle bertha J shirred on indicated lines and arrangei over the neck edge. When yoke an> sleeves are desired they can be uiad of the same or contrasting materia either as a separate guirape with tL lining for a foundation as part of tt: waist. The elbow sleeves are bo> fashionable and cut oh exceptional! good lines, as the puffs fall exactly : the elbows, so allowing perfect fro doni for the arms. To cut this waist for a woman <. medium size, two yards of materit twenty-one or twenty-seven inch* wide, or one and seven-eighth yar«? EVENING WAIST. forty-four Inches wide will be quired, with two and one-eighth yat of all-over lace for yoke and lr sleeves, one and one-half yards elbow sleeves and one yard of ph'f or tuile for bertha.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers