A 5 TS Ra
— - . ew BE
Rs
A Band of
Velvet Ribbon
By JOHN Y. LARNED
An Important
Occasion
By JOHN TURNLEE
HUNTING A
SPY
* —
By DONALD CHAMBERLIN
At a summer hotel in the Adirondack
mountains, where there were the usual
quantum of young girls and the usual
deficit of young men for them to flirt
with, Albert King, who needed recre
gtion after too much work, found him-
pelf in demand. But King was not
®t ladies’ man,-and he demurred.
Nevertheless, there was one girl who
During the summer hegira of Ameri-
cans to Europe Miss Virginia King’ met
on the steamer outward bound David
Red wood. He dawdled with her
through galleries in Dresden and Mu-
nich, cdmbed mountains in Switzer-
land and parted with her in Paris, he
being obliged te return to his native
land early in September.
The result of this sightseeing was
an engagement, and it was agreed that
Mr. Redwood on his return to Ameri-
ca should seek the acquaintance of
| the young lady's father and make a
| formal application for her hand. She
was of course to write her father of
1
attracted him. She was not one of the
rocking chair brigade, as the ladies who
pat on the piazza were dubbed, for she
was not admitted to their charmed ecir-
ele. Why, King did not know
King made her acquaintance and
was thereafter taboo by the patricia:
girls, who bad no use for a man who |
would divide his attentions to them |
with one of another caste. But he did
not mind this, for Ellen Bickford. the
young lady in question, interested him
and relieved the monuiony of his stay
in the mountains. Besides, he discov:
ered her superiority in one respect,
courage. for when a large party were
caught out on the lake in a terrific
squall and it looked as if their boat
would be swamped Miss Bickford dis
played no terror whatever, while other
girls were desperatety frightened.
Miss Bickford never wore short
sleeves to Ler dresses except at the
hotel dances, when she displayed a
well ronnded neck and arms. But at
such times her right arm was inva-
riably encircled with a broad strip of
velvet. The fact that this part of her
arm—midwuay between the shoulder
and the elbow—was never exposed
soon began to excite comment. That
there was something on her arm to
be concealed wus evident: curiosity
stepped in and would know what it
was. But there was a dignity about
Miss Bickford that caused curious per-
sons to abstain from making inquiries.
80 the matter remained unexplained.
King was ignorant of the gossip con
cerning what kind of blemish was
hidden under the velvet. He had noticed
the fact of Miss ‘Bickford's wearing it.
but had not troubled himself as to the
cause. If he thought of it at all he
very likely set it down to the conceal
ment of a scar, probably caused by
vaccination.
was the daughter of a common sailor
who, when she was a child, had tat
tooed on her arm an anchor. Since |
King had been smitten with the young |
lady this report naturally interested ;
him.
Whatever he may have thought of
Miss Bickford's origin, it seemed to
him unlike her to conceal any mark
of it. He would rather expect her to |
t the whole world to know hes |
for exactly what she was.
Miss Bickford, it seems, was as much
attracted by Mr. King as he was by her.
Moreover, she noticed that after a cer
tain period he seemed disposed to draw
away from her. She knew that what
she was concealing was causing a
smrothor~d commotion among the young |
lac. le hotel and inferred that
80m+« ou: ¢’ the many stories that were
foating about concerning it had reach-
ed him. One day she frankly said to
“MT. King,’ ndve you heard the story
that T am thre" ‘daugliter of 4 common
“gafior ‘who tattooed’ an gHchor on my
arm?’
HY have”
“#&% an nec thd ‘only person in this
house - whosé 'opitiioh 1 care for, but 1
‘do éare for yours’ and ‘do not wish, so
“Fdras you are eonderned, to sail under
“Palse colors.” Sy father is or was a
‘landsman ‘and“had Hothing to do with
‘What 1s ‘under the ‘dirclet I wear. But
1 do wear ito ‘conceal something that
hay’ been tattooed oh my arm.”
“Thank you very much for the pref-
erence you have shown me and your
frankness. For the first time my cu-
riosity as to that ribbon has been ex-
cited, aud since you have caused it I
look to you to gratify it.”
“I assure you that it is nothing to be
ashamed of.” .
“Is it anything to be proud of?”
To this she assented haltingly.
“In that case I insist upon seeing it.”
After some persuasion she pulled the
rbbon down toward her elbow, and
there in blue ink under the skin were
the letters “Heroine.”
King looked at the word, then up at
the girl’s face and, with a smile, said:
“Come; tell the story. I am dying to
hear it.”
“It is not much of a story. For years
my family had a cottage on the sea-
coast. My summers were spent there
from the time I was six years old. I
learned to swim like a duck and could
handle a boat as well as a boy. Our
cottage was on one side of a neck of
land, and a life saving station was on
-the other side. One day on our side a
ship came ashore. The life men did
ot know of her being there, and there
as not time in which to tell them.
There were six men about to drown
I pulled out in my boat and saved
them. I was but thirteen years old
and didn’t know enough to refuse to
permit one of the life savers to tattoo
my arm.”
“You havé hurried through your sto-
ry,” said King, “as though it was
something to be ashamed of. I'm glad
what you are is indelibly written on
your person, and if you were mine 1
would never consent to an ghismpe to
eradicate it.”
In time she became his, and there
was nothing he: was mors proud of
than the proud title his wif .eontinued
to eonceal.
|
the acceptance of her suitor, and as
she was prone to decide things for
berself the only part Mr. King was to
take in the matter was to go through
| the formalities.
|
i
On Mr. Redwood's arrival he wrote
Mr. King a note, stating that he had
met his wife and daughter abroad and
with their kind permission would be
happy to call on Mr. King if he would
inform him what time and place would
be agreeable. The young man was in-
vited to dine with his prospective fa-
ther-in-law on the following evening
at his suburban residence at East Ar-
lington, a dozen miles from the city.
On the train Redwood sat next a
gentleman who, when the conductor
came along, offered a commutation
ticket to East Arlington.
“Pardon me.” said Redwood. *I see
you are from East Arlington. Can
you inform me what direction 1 shall
take to reach the residence of Edward
King?"
“Edward King? Oh, yes! I can tell
you where he lives. I go right by his
house. I'll show you the way with
pleasure.”
The gentleman—Barbour was his
name—proved quite genial, and before
their journey was ended Redwood had
in Europe, and since King had told
Mr. Barbour of his daughter's engage-
But one day the rumor |
reached his ears that Miss Bickford |
ment the latter was not long in divin
i ing the young m@n’s errand.
{ “Is Mr. King a—ahem—a genial man,
a man of the world?” asked Redwood.
| “On ‘the contrary, he is very strict.
Can't tolerate tobacco; never drinks
| any wines or liquors and is very at-
| tentive to formalities. But if you are
| going to see him on a matter of im-
| portance I would advise you to beware
of him. He has a way of finding out
! about people by throwing them off
their guard. They say that before em-
ploying a man in his business he will
pretend to be a roisterer to him, and
| if there is anything wild about the fel
| low it will show itself.”
“Thank ‘you very 'much ‘for the in-
formation,” said Redwood, and 3arned
the subject.
On the arrival of the a the gen-
tleman showed Redwood ‘to the King
residence and went to his bwan home,
The visitor was admitted by a ‘butler
and told that Mr. King was dressing
for dinner and would be down present-
‘ly. Then the butler disappeared and
returned in a few minutes with a cock-
tail and a box of cigarettes on a’ salver,
said Redwood,’
ther drink nor smoke.”
But the butler left the refrestyments
on a table and departed without a
word.
Mr. King came down and: received
his visitor cordially. Naturally &now-
ing the object of the call, he was a tri-
fle disconcerted.
“I see you have not drunk your gogk-
tail,” be said. “Do so, and I will join
you in another. C ear; bring two cosk
tails.”
Redwood protested {hat be never
drank wines or liquors—they didn’t
agree with him—and, as for smoking,
he regarded it a filthy habit, Mr. King
looked at him with an expression of
disapprobation, When the butler
brought more refreshments he drank
hig cocktail, apparently much disgrun-
tled at being obliged to drink alone.
| Then they went into dinner.
A bottle of champagne was on ice
beside the host’s chair, but Redwood
declined to drink any of it. Of course
Mr. King could not urge his guest to
break through his accustomed habits.
During the dinner Redwood muster-
ed the necessary courage to go through
the formalities of asking Mr. King for
his daughter, and the matter being
over with the host regretted that his
prospective son-in-law would not join
him in a glass of wine to the health
of their beloved Virginia. It was hard
for the young man to resist the temp-
tation, but, fearing he was being test-
ed and might lose the girl he loved if
he yielded, he stood firm.
During the awkward pause that fal-
lowed there was a ring at the door
bell, and the gentleman Redwood had
met on the train entered. Mr. King's
expression changed.
“Hello, Jim!” he exclaimed. “You're
Just in time to preveut my drinking
alone Ginnie’s health upon her en-
gagement. This is Mr. Redwood, to
whom I have just given her.”
With a twinkle fn his eye, Mr. Bar-
bour took up the glass that was filled
for him and said:
“Pray excuse me, Mr. Redwood, for
perpetrating a buge joke on you. The
temptation was too strong for me.
My friend Ned King is a temperate
man, but not such as I pictured him
to you. fF am g to join you both
on this very happy occasion.”
And the three drank the health of
; the absent one
1
with great gusto.
told him that he had met the Kings |
“Thank you; you needn’t legve that,”
looking at ‘the iiquor:
and the cigarettes longingly. © 3 ‘nel
Back From
The Dead
By EDITH V. ROSS
A Fortunate
Meeting
By LOUISE B. CUMMINGS
Shortly before the war broke out in
the Balkans between the Turks and
the allies I left Adrianople one even-
ing about dark for Belgrade. There
was one passenger in the compartment
besides myself, and I noticed that
while waiting for the train to start he
was very ill at ease. When the guard
shut and locked the door he seemed
to breathe easier, but was still evi
dently impatient for the train to be
off. When at last it began to roll out
of the station he put his head out of
the window eagerly.
Following the direction of his eyes |
saw a man, whom I knew to be a Turk
by his fez, running for the train. He
ran like a deer, my fellow passenger
watching him breathlessly. The latter
occupied the window so that I could
not see if the Turk caught the train,
but presently my eompanion fell back
gasping.
“Lost!” he moaned.
I had some knowledge of one or two
of the many languages spoken in the
Balkans, so that [I' understood the
word. 1 also spoke some French and
German and tried the man in both,
getting an understanding in the latter
tongue.
“What is your trouble?’ 1 asked.
“Are you German?" he asked instead
of replying
“No: American.”
“Oh. American. You then are a lov-
er of liber: Certainly you have no
sentenced to death. While waiting to
be, executed | caught my guard pap
ping and escaped. 1 hoped to get away
by this train. but this man, in whose
charge I was placed. will go through
the train when it stops and recov-
er me.”
Then, taking out a pencil and rear-
ing a bit of paper from an old letter,
be wrote ‘his name and address on it
and handed it to me.
“When you reach Sofia,” he contin-
ued. -*will you tell my wife what 1
have told you and what follows? Say
that my \ast thoughts were of her and
our dear children.”
“It you are sure to be executed. why
not take the chanee of jumping trom
the train?”
“1 am going to do that, but death is
as sure as if | suffered myseif 10 be
taken back to Adrianople.”
“You may strike soft ground.’ "
By tbe time | had spoken the words
he was out on the footboard 4 put
my head out through the windaw and
saw his dim figure not far from it. It
was very dark. Lreseutly 1 covpsed to
see him and believed that he bad
Jumped.
The first stop the train made was at
Techivmen, which we reached in.about
half an bour after the spy had disap
peared.. ;The guard unlocked the, door,
but would not jet me alight til) after
the compartment. had been examined
by she man whem 1 bad seen rupning
for the train. As soon as he had pass-
¢d lL. stepped down on. fo the platform
andsfollowed him to see if he got his
quarry. He, «did not find him, and the
in moved on.
1 wondered what had. become of the
PF. He must have jumped or he
world: have - been found. on the train.
Nearly all the passengers were Turks,
and I noticed the moment 1 alighted
that, there was a. chair of men wear-
ing fezzes, surrounding the train, prob-
-ably.passengers who had volunteered
to help the official. in bis efforts to ar-
‘Pest the spy.
Before we passed over the Turkish
line’ to. enter eastern Roumelia the
train stopped for a long while, and 1
felt gure that it was for the purpose
of making a final search for the spy
In time we started on and in a few
minutes were among a different nation
ality. “What a pity,” I said to myself,
“that the man could not have conceal-
ed himself on the train till we had
passed the border! In that case he
would have been safe.”
The first stop we made in Roumelia
was at Hermani. There I alighted to
stretch my legs, slowly walking toward
the forward end of the train. I saw
a man coming who I supposed was a
coal shoveler on the engine, only he
was blacker than ny stoker 1 ever
saw. What was my surprise when,
rushing toward me, he threw his be-
grimed arms around me.
“Don’t you know me?” he said. “I
am the spy.”
Then in the blackened features I rec-
ognized the man with whom I had
sympathized.
“Is it you, and alive?’ I asked.
“Yes it is I, and very much alive,”
“How did you do it?”
“I walked forward on the footboard
till I reached the locomotive tender.
Climbing over the coal, I told the en-
gineer, who was a Servian, miy story.
He suggested that since the train
would be searched I had better hide
under the coal. So I lay down on the
floor of the tender, and they covered
me with the coal.”
When we reached Sofia nothing
would do but that I should go to the
man’s home with him. I did so, and
so bégrimed was he that his family
did not at first recognize him. His
ger. He waa a week overdue, and she
had given him up. Covered as he was
with coal dust, she embraced him.
I was entertained royally at his
house and left it with regret.
sympathy with Turks. [ am doomed
I have been in Adrianople spying on
the fortiticaiions, I was arrested, and |
drawings were found on me. | was |
wife knew the errand on which he |
had been to Adrianople and its dan- |
“Oh, papa!” said Georgie Trevor.
“What do you think?”
“What do I think? Why, I think
my little boy looks very happy about
something.”
“I saw mamma in the park!”
A pained expression came over the
father's face. His wife, the mother
of the boy. had been dead a year.
The child was at the time too young
to understand the nature of death and
had been told that his mother had
gone away and would not come back
to him. When the father recovered
from the shock his son had given him
he said:
“You were mistaken, Georgie. You
couldn't have seen mamma, for she is
in heaven.” :
“Yes, I did. While Nanny and 1
were walking in the park I saw mam-
ma sitting on a bench by the fountain.
I ran up to her and said, ‘Oh, mamma.
where “have you been so long, and
why don't g&u come home?
“And w 7 did mamma say?’
“Why. she kissed me and said, ‘I
can’t come to you, but you can come
and see me at my home occasionally.’
Then | asked her where that was,
and she said. ‘I'll tell your nurse, and
she can bring you.'”
The father took his boy in his arms.
kissed him and. putting him down,
| sent for the nurse and questioned her.
She told him that the lady Georgie
had referred to was the image of his
lost wife: that she had humored the
boy and had given her address, at the
same time telling her that she might
, uring hilu’ te see her if she found he
was louzing for her.
The hext day Georgie asked to be
taken to see his “mamma,” and the
nurse, having referred the matter to
his father and received his assent. took
the child to se¢é the lady, Miss Marian
Hill, who petted him! and gave him
candy and sent Lim ‘home loaded with
favors. Many ‘tines durfng his visit
she was about to expldin to him that
she was not His mother, that he had
made a mistake. but that he might con-
sider her #s such. aiid she would love
him the same as if she were so, but
the child seemed so sure about her
identity, and it wus evident that she
would only pain him by setting him |
right, so she could not bring herself
to correct his error. When he parted
from her he said:
“Why don’t you come home, mamma,
and see papa? ITe looks so sorry be-
cause you went away!”
Miss Hil' found it more difficult to
parry this part of the error than any
of the others. Ilowever, she was no
prudé and yielded to the necessities
of the case. Her heart was touched
by the motherless boy. and she placed
his ‘comfort ‘above all else.
“You can bring papa to see me if you
like,” she said -
“And then: will you come home with
us?’
The lady kissedithim and said that
she couldii’t “do ‘that ‘and she couldn't
explain to“ him why. but doubtless his
fathér would AiAderstand. ©
So ‘when (+éorisie%s father came Home
that evening’ thie boy: told him that
mafama’ ‘couldnt come. chome to- see
him, but he could go to-see ber.
+ One afternoon. /Mri4Trevor made a
call-on Miss Hill. #f¢ was struck with
ber likeness to tiigilost wife and was
not surprised ‘that>@Georgie. had mis-
taken her for ‘His'mother. «+ 3
“I would have broyght Georgie with
me,” he said. but’ thought that we
had better tirst arrange what we shoyld
tell bim to satisfy Lip, that: oy stories
may not disagree.”
“I fear. that I shall. Baye: to rely, on
you to ‘tell him that I am not his. moth-
er. I fear I have not the heart to
do 80.”
“1 will think the matter over. There
is uo need for haste. I am not sure
that we could make him understand
his mistake even if we tried to do so.
For the present we may permit him to
remain in ignorance.”
Miss Hill made no reply to this. She
knew that it would be embarrassing
for the child to continue in supposing
that she was his mamma, living in an-
other home than theirs, Mr. Trevor
also realized this, but be had thought
of a remedy. The moment he saw
Miss Hill he was sejzed with a desire
that she should fill the gap left by the
wife he had lost. Indeed, from the
time he thought of this possibility he
became a different man. Being a wid-
ower, he knew how to lay siege to a
woman's heart and realized that his
motherless child had opened a way for
him. When he arose to leave after his
first call he had formed a definite pur-
pose that would bring him a compan-
ion and his boy a mother.
HE began by sending trifling gifts
by Georgie when he went with his
nurse to see his mamma, principally
flowers and books, following up these
by invitations, which at first were such
as might include Georgie. From this
be stepped to invitations and gifts of
such frequency that his ultimate in-
tentions were obvious.
One day he made his boy dance for
joy by telling him that “mamma” was
coming home.
“1 knew she would come some time!”
cried the child, clapping bis bands.
“When is she coming?”
“Papa is going to take her for a short
journey. and when we come back she i:
will be here all the time.”
Georgie never knew but that he had
| found his mother, who for some unac-
countable reason had gone away, but
had come back to him.
“There’s a new boy coming!”
Half a dozen youngsters ran to the
porte-cochere of Mr. Sanford’s boarding
school to see the new pupil. He jump-
ed out of the carriage, and when be
had done so stood stock still, staring
at one of the boys who had come to
look him over, all the others staring at
him. :
“Why, he’s Bob Archer!” was the ex-
clamation of several of the self con-
stituted reception committee.
“Are you Bob Archer?’ asked the
newcomer of the boy who was gaping
at him.
“Yes.”
“Then you're my twin brother.”
“Reckon you're right.”
Mr. and Mrs. Edward Archer eight
years before this meeting had sepa-
rated, having made an arrangement
that the father should have one of
their twin boys, aged four, and the
mother should have the other. Thom-
as had gone with his father, Robert
with his mother. From the time of
the separation these two divisions of
the family had never met. Their par-
ents, unknown to each other, had sent
them to the same school.
The affection twins have for each
other is accounted for physiologically.
Tom and Bob Archer from the time
they met at the Sanford school were
inseparable.
“Bob.” said Tom one day.
remember father?”
“No. Do you remember mother?”
“Just a little.”
“What do you suppose was the mat
ter between them?”
“Don’t know. [I don’t think tathers
and mothers have a right to gnarrel,
‘do you? It's mighty hard on the kids.”
“No. I don’t. When vacation comes
1 suppose we've got to separate again
“I move we don't.”
“What can we do?”
“I'll write father that I’m. going to
spend . my vacation with you some
where, and you write mother yours
going to spend yours with me.’ :
“It would knock mother out not to
have me with her.”
*Humph!™ I don’t think it would trou
*do you
ble father. so much to part with me.
but it might. Fathers don’t show’ wha,
they feel so much as mothers.”
“Where can we go for our vacation?”
“Let's go to a farm.” ;
The upshot of this conspiracy was
that the boys wrote to their respective
homes that they would not be separaf
ed and were going to spend their sum-
mer vacation together on a farm.’ This
struck each parent with consternation
Mrs, Archer wrote ber husband to
know if he had any objection to ber
spending July and August with the
boys. Mr. Archer replied that he bad
Then each boy was informed by the
parent with whom he lived that he
must come home; if he remained away
no remittance would be sent him. The
boys, who had come to their resolution
to Stay together some time before the
end of the term, had saved up the mon-
ey sent them from home for spending,
| and each had enough to pay $2 a week
board for eight weeks. So they wrote
that they could get on without remit
tances.
There was a farm a few miles from
the school that they had often visited,
and there they made arrangements to
pay $2 a week each for board and do
$2 work a week, which consisted prin-
cipally of milking. On leaving school
they went to this farm, and since the
work was a novelty to them they quite
enjoyed it,
Mrs. Archer endured her son’s ab-
sence as long as possible; then gave
way to a desire to see both her chil-
dren together. So, filling her'purse with
money and her suit case with good
things for them, she went to see them.
Putting an arm around each of them,
‘she sat weeping that she could ‘not
have both of them with her always.
She remained with them two days,
when, fearing that her husband might
hear of her presence there, she bade
the boys goodby, intending to go home.
She was embracing both ‘at once, tears
streaming down her cheeks, when the
door opened and there stood her hus-
band.
Now, Mrs. Archer in her troubles
with her husband had yielded to irri-
tation and when he said disagreeable
things to her had hurled them back in
kind. She had never resorted to wo-
man’s trump card, tears. Her husband,
seeing her embracing their boys, weep-
ing, began to weep himself. Tears,
like laughter, are contagious, and, see-
ing their parents weeping, the boys
followed suit. The father approached
his sons to embrace them, shedding a
few tears over Bob, whom he had not
seen for years, and thus got mixed up
with Tom and the wife and mother.
Their arms were around each other
promiscuously.
“Belle,” said Mr. Archer, “these boys
have got ahead of us. We can’t con-
tinue the situation without its pertain-
ing to them. In separating from each
other we separate ourselves from them.
If you'll come home and bring them
with you you’ll be welcome.”
“Do it, mother,” pleaded both the
boys.
That was the end of the separation
in the Archer family. Both father and
mother placed a guard over them-
selves, for they knew that as soon as
{ they parted the boys would part from
i both of them. But time had changed
them, and loneliness had taught them
{ that scrapping is the result of nervous-
: ness and, after all, doesn’t mean much.
| However, scrapping was never re
i sumed between them.
ORGAN RECITAL.
Prof. Ebisch of Erie, Pa., will give =~
an Organ Recital in Amity Reformed
church on September the 24th, under
the auspices of the Guild. Proceeds
to go to the organ fund.
Executor’s Notice.
Estate of John A. Shumaker, late of Harneds-
ville, Somerset County, Pa., formerly of
Hyndman, Bedford Co., Pa., dec’d.
CLetters testamentary on the above estate
having been granted to the undersigned by the
proper authority, notice is hereby given to all
persons knowing themselves indebted to said
estate to make immediate payment, and those
havirg claims against tke same to present
them duly authenticated for settlement to the
undersigned, at his residence in Meyersdale,
Pa. NORMAN R. SHUMAKER.
Executor.
Baltimore & Ohio
EXCURSION TO
GUMBERLAND
AND IJRETURN
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20
"Hr $1.00 Meyeradale
TRIP
rain Leaves at 11:10 A. M.
Spscial
-8ilver dollars sewed along the seams,
ot of a Horse.
Thi horse is one of the most
ingen». unexampled pieces of
mechs; animal structure. The
hoot c¢ouiii.: «+ a series of vertical and
thin kinan.e of horn, amounting to
ahout 500 add forming a complete lin-
ine to it © tn this are fitted as many
iminie belonging to the coffin bone,
wht both «irs are elastie and adher-
ent he od of a quire of paper, in-
Serid Tear oy leaf into another, will
couvey a sufficient idea ‘of the arrange-
ment Thus the weight of the animal
is supported by as many elastic springs
as there’ are laminae in all the feet.
amounting ‘to abun £000. distributed
“in the moxt Secure manner, since every
spring 1s ated on obliquely.
Light of the Stars.
According to some computations
made by Dr: Chapman and. read. to the
Royat Astronomical soctety.” the: total
amount of light from the stars is
about equal to that which would be
given by 630 stars of the first magni
tude.
“The light given by stars of each mag-
nitude decreases trom the tirst magni.
tude down to the tenth, the decrease
in brightness of the individual stars of
the successive magnitudes being more
than compensated for by the increase
in the number of stars belonging to
that magnitude.
But below the tenth magnitude
this
is no longer the case, the light tall )
off rapidly as we descend ‘the scale.
Peas and a Piano. :
You have heard the ¢ld story of the
great pianist who used to lay six beans
—or was it peas?—on the piano and
compel himself to play a most difficult
and intricate composition through six
times without an error. Every time he
went successfully through he took up a
pea and put it in his pocket. Every
time he made a mistake he.took all the
peas out of his pocket-and began:again,
even if almost at the end, of, the
time. Many of our young music pupils
seem to think an error. makes no differ-
ence. They expect to- make them, 80
of course they do make them. You can-
not build: great achievements of art
upon these. faulty founiations Chris:
tian Heradd. J4
i "Cuban Bees Cannot Sting.
The native bee of ‘Cuba, ‘unlike the
American ‘honeybee, hds no stinger
and can be handled without fear. An
‘American apiarist in a Pinar del Rio
town imported some American bees re-
cently, ‘says the Times of Cuba, and
because of their superior armament
they soon became masters of the sur-
rounding sweetness, much to the dis-
gruntlement of the native honey raiser.
The American bees stung their rivals
to death, carrying off the stored honey
in triumph,
“What chance has a Cuban got,
against the Americans?” exclaimed one
owner of vanquished honey gatherers.
“They even arm their Dees!” |
LOST TIME.
The most reckless spendthrift
is the one who squanders time.
ships broken may be renewed,
houses and lands may be sold or
buried or burned, but may be
bought or gained or built again.
But whet power can restore the
moment that has passed, the day
whose sun has set, the year that has
been numbered with the ages gone ? |
“Queer People | Have Met” °
I'vg seen Kentuckians who hated
whisky, Virginians who weren't de-
scended from Pocahontas, Indianiang
who hadn't writen a novel, Mexicans
whe didn’t wear velvet trousers with
funny Englishmen, spendthrift Ysn-
kees, cold blooded southerners and
narrow minded westerners and New
Yorkers who weren’t too busy to stop
for an hour on the street to watch a
one armed grocer’s clerk do up cran-
berries in paper bags.—From O. Hen-
ry’s “A Cosmopolitan In a Cafe.”
Money lost may be regained, friend- | :
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