[Th^Aimosltl | Tragic Tale of | An Easter Hat j $ By MARION C. SMITH \ \ Copyright. tOOS, by M. C. Smith Mn. ARTHUR AVERY was In a bad liumur. lie glared suspi ciously at his coffee, tasted it as if he suspected it of being poisoned, scowled viciously at his boiled egg and pushed It from him. "Hard as a brickbat," he snepped "Can't you Ret a cook who can read the clock?" He was one of those tnen who are always in a bad humor when their consciences are out of order. He had just refus<>d his wife the money for an Easter hat, and she had borne the dis appointment with becoming meekness She did not know the reason for the refusal, but tie did. and that was the trouble. He wanted to join another club. Jlrs. Avery surmised that his con science was uneasy and took heart She hoped ili.it he would come around There were still four days to spare, and even if he did not > ome around until after Easter she conkl bear iii only the one hat she wanted had not been sold in the interval, it was a hat worth waiting for.and it matched her new spring suit to perfection. Nothing else would do. The hats that year were monstrosities. Mrs Avery was a woman of excellent taste and knew what she wanted. She also knew that her husband was very much in love with her Surely he would come around: He did not come entirely around that nurd, of course, but not extravagantly high, as hats go. He would just go In and price them. "It must be blue, because she said it matched her suit, and I know that's blue," he said helplessly to the snles woman "Blue? Oh, we have a model hat In Woe," said that astute young person. 112 | u fe V (PI is' ?\ "AND TUI.Y DON'T UXCJIA.NGU JIAISl" going up to one of the many huge Klass cases which were dazzling the bewildered eyes of Mr. Avery. "This is a l'arisiau hat," she said, with a grand manner that disarmed criticism. "And a wonderful bargain, only £25:" Twenty-five! Well, the dues aud initiation fee of the club would amount to more than that. If Edith liked It— "lsn't it—rather large?" he faltered. "I'm sure this Is the right thing, she said, with increased couiidence "I think I remember a lady of that description admiring this hat and say tug she might come back and buy i If her husband was willing." That didn't sound like Edith, but i: furnished c clew, and Mr. Arthur Avery was tired and felt very helpless There really seemed nothing to do but to order the hat sent home. Mrs. Avery came in with a friend that afternoon and saw the box, which the uiaiii bad placed in the middle of the bed. "Laura, look at that'" she exclaimed apprehensively. "He's bought me a hat -bought it himself:" "Oh. how lovely:" cried the friend "I don't know about that: I—l'm afraiil to look at it. There was Just one hit i wanted, and I never allow any one, not even Arthur, to choose for n: "Oh. Edith, hurry and open It! I'm sure i;'s all right. It's so good of him I wish my But she stopped short as Edith suddenly opened the box and Btood transfixed In horror. "l*aura Glenn, will you look at that: And they don't—exchange—hats!" She slowly drew it from its tissue paper wrappings and held it up in a' its blue and pink radiance. w hy, Edith," faltered I.aura, "It isn't so very bad. It's In the very lot ort style." "I wouldn't be found dead in It:" broke ont Edith "Latest style! Till* Opinion of an Actress. Miss Ellen Terry at a reception ouci talked übout the innumerable women who ask her to help them get on the stage. "The fact is," she said, "every woman under thirty believes she la au actress. "And every actress," she add ed, "believes she is under thirty." The Uses of Scenery. He (looking through his glass) - There s a glorious glacier which we shall soon reach. Sbe-Oh, won't it make a lovely background to my bine frock!—Meggendorfer Blatter. bine will fairly shriek at my new suit. My hut was a toque with the most exquisitely delicate flowers, uuil only sls! What poor Arthur musi have paid for this horror! What shall 1 do? I can't tell him his gift didn't suit me. lie'll never forgive me, and It was a sacrifice on his part too. Poor dear Arthur! O-o-oh!" Meanwhile Mrs. Glenn had been try ing on the hat. She was short and dark, nnd the effect upon her was ap palling j " There, you see!" exclaimed Mrs. Avery. "No one could wear Itf It's n monstrosity." I "But, my dear," said Mrs. Glenn calmly, "the hats this year are iuon strosities. I've got one myself." "Well, I don't care what you've got I won't wear a monstrosity! The onr I chose was a dear, and they don't ex change hats!" "Perhaps they will this time. I cae testify that you didn't try It on. The.v will never think of my having tried it on." "Oh. do you think I can persuade them? Come with me at once!" "Very well," said Mrs. Glenn resign edly. "1 suppose I'll have to see yon through." Suddenly Edith dropped Into a chair, with a tragic gesture. "I can't, Laura!" she exclaimed. "1 can't change Arthur's choice! lie will be wounded. Ile'll think I don't love ] him." "My dear, don't be any more foolish j than you absolutely have to be. Men are not like that—only women. Arthur I won't care a button if only you're I pleased." "You don't know Arthur." "I know men, nnd I don't mind say- I lng that I'm older than you, for you know it already. You can trust me." "And you think he won't be hurt?" "I know he won't." "But I'm not sure!" "Oh, well, wear the hat, then. It's the only alternative." Edith shuddered. "Unless," pursued Mrs. Glenn, "you can make htm think they sent the oth er by mistake." "What, deceive him? How can l'l And yet better deceive him than hurt him. How can I tell him I despised his choice?" "Oh, come along. Edith; there's no time to waste. Telephone for a cab." Indue course of time Edith was re lieving her feelings by reproaching the head saleswoman In the millinery de partment at Mercer & Milner's for having persuaded Mr. Avery to buy such a hat. The girl looked abashed She had not believed that the gentle man wanted It for any one like Edith. But she sulkily persisted that It was j a Parisian model! "It's a Parisian horror!" cried Edith. The head of the department was called, and, with a man's susceptibility to a pretty woman's distress and upon Mrs. Glenn's testimony that Mrs. Av ery had not ever tried It on, be con sented to effect the change, provided that the difference in price was not re funded by the firm. Edith accepted the condition and joyously carried off her first choice. | "Thank goodness that's over!" cried Laura as they dismissed the cab and guiltily brought In the box. i "It's over, but I've deceived hint, i and I'm miserable," bewailed Edith, j "Tell him all about it, then!" "Never! I must suffer In silence!" That night upon Arthur's return Edith flung her arms about him and with her face buried In his coat collar, thanked him almost tearfully for the loveliest hat she had ever had. "The very oue I chose!" she gasped "Good! Let's see It on." U ith trembling hands she drew from the box a hat of moderate proportions and graceful arrangement a ver symphony In blue and wUite—and set It upon iter golden locks. The effect was magical. "But—but." stammered Arthur, "it' not the one I bought!" Edith turned her back and busied herself with the hatpins. "N-noc the one you bought?" she faltered. "No; that was much larger and more expensive, I'm sure. This won't do ai all! They've sent the wrong one, and they must give me the other or refund the money. It was much handsomer!' I "Oh. Arthur. I want this one! I must i keep It! You see yourself"— "But It isn't worth $25." "Twenty-five dollars! Dear, did you pay all that? llow extravagant, but how lovely of you!" "I'll go tomorrow morning"— "No, no! Leave It to me. Men a! ways muddle such things. I'll—l'll set tle It. Arthur, please! I'm afraid of losing this hat" "Very well, but they must refund the difference. Stupid fools! It's lucky they hit upon the hat you liked, but the other was so much handsomer." "This is ideal," said Edith, but iter voice trembled. "I must get the $lO out of my sav lngs bank fund," she thought. "Oh what a tangle of deceit! He'll find It all out and never love me again!" The next day was Good Friday, and Edith went to church, but she came home with a headache. On Saturda morniTT she could not get up. II • was seriously troubled about her. "I'll ; end up I>r. Moore, dear," he said. "You must get well and wear that Easter hat tomorrow. I've set mv heart on it." Upon that, to the poor man's utter amazement, she burst Into a torrent of tears and sobs. "I'll never, never wear it!" she cried "Oh, I'm a wicked, wicked woman!" "Edith, rny love! For heaven's sakt ' Wicked? Absurd! You're nervous and worn out I told you yoy wer>- going to church too much this Lent and working too hard over Deedy's hew clothes. Darling, don't cry so I've got to leave you—business ap Economical. "I'd ruther waltz than eat," confided the sweet girl. "Then we'll have another dance In stead of going to that fashionable res taurant," remarked Hie thrifty swain. And," lie added mentally, "that's $G saved."—Kausus City Journal. i tie sum tauen out ot an eggsneii w a simple but good remedy for sore eyes. Just put on top of lid and band age over it, and you will be surprised how soon the swelling will go down •nd the pain will leave the eye. 1 polntinent at 9 o'clock. I can't put It off, and I can't bear to leave you like tills. That's right! Try to smile and tell me It's all nonsense." "It's—lt's all nonsense," she qua vered plteously. But after he left her he was not so sure of the nonsense theory. Why should Edith call herself wicked? Was It only the effect of religious excite ment or was It anything tangible? He recalled the fact (hat John Dent had talkqd to Edith quite a Rood deal of late whenever they had been out to gether. Could It be that her fancy • had turned that way? Arthur turned I cold with horror. j As ill luck would have it he met j John Dent in the street, i "Hello! Changed your tiilnd about I the club?" called out the unconscious [ object of his wrath. "No. confound it, and I won't change it!" snapped Arthur. "Can't you take a man's word for it that he knows his I own mind?" j "Whew—ee— ee!" whistled Dent j "What's the matter with you, old | man? Want to take my head off?" Hut Arthur was off. muttering in audibly, "I'd do It for 5 cents!" | Meanwhile Edith knew that she had [ made disclosure inevitable, and she despairingly prepared herself for the "AND BO AIIK VOC!" sacrifice. Arthur came home in the evening, pale and ferocious of mood, to find her sitting in an armchair i looking equally pale, clad In a long i white tea gown, her hair parted over j her ears, lier eyes strained and wist -1 ful. j She looked up piteously, but Arthur | did not smile. He set his teeth hard, drew up a chair and sat down in front of her with stern and tragic mien. "Edith," he said, "what Is the mean ing of all this despair, of your self ac : cusatlon? I have been thinking of it I all day. I have been a wretched man j I am determined now to sift this thing | to the bottom!" I She broke down and sobbed, but he j did not waver. "You have railed yourself a wicked woman," he proceeded sternly, "and here and now you must tell me why!" She clasped her hands hard together j and drew in her breath. The moment | had come. | "I—l—have—deceived you!" she gasp ed. Ills fare whitened, and a terrible look I came into his eyes. | "Deceived me?" he repeated median j ically. t "Yes. Oh. you'll never forgive me! You bought the hat. You made a sac rifice. That horrid John Dent said you wouldn't Join the club." Ilat! Horrid! What was this? A strange revulsion of feeling came ovei hitn. "Yon don't like John Dent?" he In terrupted, with seeming irrelevance "I never liked him! 1 don't see wlij you do. He doesn't like me, I know- He talks to me, but he makes fun <■ me. I deceived you about the bat. I changed tile one you bought for me' "You did' So the mistake wbm-'i theirs? Rut what does that matter'' Why didn't you tell me?" "Tell you that I had rejected yoti>- choice! Oh, Arthur, when you thought you were pleasing me! Hut 1 couldn't I—lt didn't match my suit. And :i smaller one seemed better. You know the hats this year are— But, oh. I deceived you! I've destroyed your love for me!" Arthur had been walking up and down, trying to control a feeling of mingled anger and relief. To think that he had suffered so all day for nothing! And she had made herself ill for nothing! But now, at her Inst words, he turned and took her in his arms. "Oh. Edith, you dear, foolish little girl!" he cried. "You don't know what you've put mo through, accusing your self for nothing"— "For nothing!" Her tone was tragic, but thrills of bliss were running all over her. "As if 1 cared abuut the hat. only so you were pleased," he said. "If you'd iold me I would have had It ex changed gladly. I didn't like It much myself, but the girl said it was just the thing. ;ind I supposed the hats tips year were all monstrosities and it couldn't be helped. Was this all your trouble?" "I should think it was enough! 1 did deceive you. I thought"— "I know what you thought, foolish child. Rut you don't know what— Well, never mind. Now you'll sleep well tonight and wear the hat tomor row—eh !" "Of course I will." she nnswered happily. "I don't deserve It, but—lt really Is n perfect dear, yon know. Arthur And so are you!" Found Him Guilty. Counsel (to the Jury)-Tho principal fault of the prisoner has l>een his un fortunate characteristic of puttln-' faith in thieves and .-voir drcls of the basest description. I have done. The unhapy man In the dock puts Implicit • aith In you, gentlemen of the jury! Quite a Difference. A man spends two hours trying t« discover what is the matter with hi; motor and two minutes trying to fin< out what Is the matter with his wife. London Telegraph. Aunt Cynthia's Easter. By FRANK H. SWEET. @3 nS"""™"*© N minister M had come to slow moving, out of JUL the way Spruce IBBSSkS Hill, and with B con,ln B ,la( l StiSp appeared a spirit of change and lm- provement. He K was fresli from _ I a,, his theological jjsfiV 7 course and eager £cf( - v "s with youth and w_ \afflt\tj*' 112 love for the fj *Hitherto the U church had been to Spruce XIIU a ! place of solemnity, only to be visited at required intervals and as a duty. Now, under the ministrations of this young zealot. It gradually came about | that duty could be approached from i many directions and not all of them were necessarily thorny or narrow, i Among other innovations were the I Easter sermon and church decoration. The new minister made the announce- V r a. n—. « «■— "I DON'T THINK I'VE HAD THR PLEASURE OP MKKTI.NU MIW. I>KA¥." | ment one Thursday evening after pray er meeting and added that he hoped all would be p»esent and that the la dies of the church would arrange for a ; tasteful and appropriate decoration. I After service the women stood about ; irresolutely, looking at each other with [ blank, questioning faces. "I guess you'll have to excuse ine. Mr. Kent," one of them said at last bluntly. "I ain't got any flowers, an', besides, I don't know anything about ! decoratln'." "Nor me," "Nor me," "Nor me," came In rapid succession and lu evi dent relief from the other women. | " 'Taln't time yet for tlowers to bloom." "Can't we find a few callas nnd Eas ter lilies and narcissuses and perhaps some other white flowers?" asked the minister, with less confidence In his voice. "All the bouses in the neighborhood can't sea re up white posies enough for a buttonhole bouquet," declared one woman aggressively. "As for Easter lilies. I ain't never seen one, an' narcis sus 1 ain't even beard of. The Idea o' decoratln' a whole church at this time o' year!" "I've heard Mis' Bray speak o' nar cissus," said a woman reflectively, "she that was the florist's wife, you know. An', come to think, she's likely a master hand at this decoratln* busi ness." "Who Is Mrs. Bray?" asked tlie min ister quickly. "Perhaps she can help me out with this. Curious I have not heard of her before." "Oh, 1 don't know," dryly; "folks sort o' die away from the world after they go Into the poorhouse. Mis' nray's husband was for gettin' on, so he went to the city an' learned the florist's trade. For a time he done well. Then his busln«ss broke, an' he died. An' his wife come back here an' lived u,i what little she had. After that there was nothin' but the poorhouse." "Well, we will find her," eagerly. "Will you go with me, Mrs. Perry?" "Why, yes: I don't mind if I do. Cynthia Bray was as much of a lady as anybody round." The next afternoon the minister's buekboaril stopped in front of the poorhouse, and he and Mrs. Perry alighted. Several men and boys wero slouching about the yard, and on a bench near the door were four or five old women. Mrs. Perry looked them over critically. "Not there," she declared concisely. "Cynthia wouldn't grow to look like J that. We'll go in." In answer to their knock a hard fea tured woman came to the door. "Mis' Bray?" she repeated. "Oh, Aunt Cynthia, as we call tier, is a good worker, so we keep her lu the kitchen. I don't s'pose she's had a visitor afore in five years. Won't you come in?" They entered. Five minutes passed; then a llttlo old woman, with a depre catory manner, stole softly into the room. "Old—did yon wish to see me?" shi asked tremulously. Mrs. Perry sprang forward In quid forget fulness of the Immeasurable dls Just Goes Out. "Mother, when the fire goen oct where does it go?" asked a child ol ber parent. "I don't know, dear," replied tbi mother. "You might Just as well «sk uie where your father goes when h° goes out!" His Genius. "Why do people think he's a genius? Nobody can understand what he's talk Ing about" "No, but he can make people bclicfn that he does."—Exchange. tance which lay Ifefween her social p