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—From Collier's Weekly.
JOYCE'S DECLARATION
OF INDEPENDENCE
OW, isn’t that pink
lovely!”
A merry group of
girls were chatter-
ing on the lawn of
Miss Floyd's Acad-
emy for Girls on a
bright morning in
June. School was
just over, and they
were planning great
things for the
Fourth of July,
when Miss Floyd
held ber commence-
ment exercises.
“Of course, we'll
wear white for the
said pretty June Winthrop.
exercises,”
“But I rather think we can have what
we like for the reception in the even-
ing. I shall coax mamma into getting
me that pink chiffon—indeed I shall.”
“I'll have the crep de chine I told you
of,” declared Laura Dean, a gypsy
beauty of sixteen.
“Do you remember that Miss Floyd
asked us not to buy expensive
dresses?” Beulah Wilson reminded
them. ‘She said she didn’t wish Joyce
Harwood and Kathleen Hunt to feel
uncomfortable.”
June tossed her head.
“I really cannot dress down to Miss
Floyd's charity pupils. 1 don’t think
they ought to come If they can’t keep
up to our standards of dress.”
Beulah Wilson was rich, and her pro-
test had been made solely on behalf of
her friend Joyce, who could with the |
and |
utmost difficulty present a
fresh appearance.
neat
“Blue for you, June; leave the pink |
“Do bave pale |
for me,” cried Laura.
green, Beulah.”
“I shall have a new white lawn for
the Fourth,” replied Beulah, firmly.
“I think it’s absurd to have two dresses
for what is, after all, one occasion.”
“Here comes Joyce and Kathleen,”
remarked June.
“Were talking of our commencement
dresses, Joyce.”
The words were not without malice.
Both Joyce and Kathleen had made
June feel small in the classroom.
“1 think my dress is bought,” re-
plied Kathleen, a tall girl of fifteen,
with a pretty, irressclute face. She
looked wistfully at her questioner’s
dainty lawn, inset with lace, her rich
ribbons and gold buttons. She could
not have imagined greater bliss than
possessing such things herself.
“For the exercises, yes,” said Laura.
“But we mean to wear colors in the
evening.”
Ye thleen almost turned pale.
“You will have two new dresses for
commencement?’ she gasped. in alarm.
She turned to Joyce—strong, beauti-
ful Joyce, whom no one ever snubbed
or put down, and whose clear, dark
eyes were now fixed, in some contempt,
upon June and Laura.
“Shall you not get two?’ persisted
June.
“Ob, if you do—" began Kathleen,
helplessly.
Joyce had not spcken. The whole
question seemed very trivial to ber.
Not that she did not care for pretty
things, but just now ber thoughts were
with her sick mother.
“This is an important
struck in Laura, returning to
occasion,”
the
AMERICA DISCOVERED!
charge. “Miss Floyd's two married
sisters will be here, and she will want
everything and everybody at their best.
They are so wealthy.”
“And alone in the world—widows and
childless,” remarked Joyce. “It seems
to me wealth is not of much good un-
der such circumstances. Come,
Kathie.”
“What shall we do?” asked Kathleen,
when they were alone.
“Do?” inquired Joyce, vaguely.
“About the Fourth,” said Kathleen.
“My lawn cost just fifteen cents a yard,
and I can’t have any lace. How I hate
to be so poor.”
“Kathie,” said her friend, earnestly,
“don’t care about it. I'm not even go-
ing to have a new lawn—only my last
summer's let down. I don’t intend to
worry about it. I was sorry not to
hear you speak more decidedly about
the two dresses. You know you can’t
have two.”
“I did wonder, for a minute, if
mother wouldn't let me have her wed-
THOMAS JEFFERSON.
ding dress made over,” hesitated the
the other. “She neve zZoes anywhere
hardly, and so doesn’t need it as I
do.” 2
Joyce's dark eyes flashed.
“And you would make her going out
at all quite impossible by taking her
only good dress?’ she cried, indignant-
ly. Then, softening in a moment, she
added, “No. dear, don’t do that.”
They reached Joyce's own home at
that point, and Joyce went in without
waiting for a reply.
“Mother, darling,” she called softly,
as she entered the darkened room, ‘is
your head better? Did I wake you?”
Mrs. Harwood smiled faintly.
“You did not wake me—I was listen-
ing for your steps,” she answered.
“Did Mrs, Jones come in?’ went on
Joyce.
“Yes,” was the reply. “But, my
child, she must not come again. We
And this is so near
You wiil soon be
cannot afford her.
the end of the
at home.”
Joyce did not answer
went into the kitchen and soon re-
turned with a slice of golden brown
toast and a cup of fragrant tea.
“Now, try this,” she said, coaxingly.
“Ob, mother mine, I do wish you'd econ-
sent to my giving up schocl and getting
some work.”
“We will see after the Fourth,” said
Mrs. Harwood. ‘Now, dear, get your
own luncheon while I take a nap.”
term.
at once. She
* * * * * * *
The Fourth of July dawned as that
historic day should dawn—showing a
cloudless sky, a blazing sun. Miss
Floyd was in a pleasant flutter of ex-
citement. Her sisters, Mrs. Danes-
ford and Mrs. Jerome, sat beside her
near the platform. She felt very
proud of her school. The girls were
charming in their snowy frocks as they
sat, looking like white winged birds,
on the platform.
“That is a lovely child at the end of
the front row,” said Mrs. Danesford
suddenly. “Whe is she?’
“That is Kathleen Hunt,” replied
Miss Floyd.
her is Joyce
“And the dark one next
Harwood They must
both work for their mothers are
widows and poor. I have given them
their schooling and hope to start them
in some wax.”
S001,
The exercises passed off delightfully,
and after them the parents and other
“grown ups” enjoyed the lawn tea.
But the girls burried home te change
their dresses or freshen up for the
evening reception.
It was a little after dusk. The dim
streets grew ever and again momen-
tarily brilliant with the light of Roman
candles or the radiance of Catherine
wheels. The cheerful ‘pop’ of count-
less firecrackers resounded through the
air.
The reception was in full swing when
Mrs. Danesford sought a moment's
rest and quiet in the breakfast room.
A screen had been pushed near an
open window, and she sat down be-
hind it. She had determined to take
Kathleen Hunt home with her, if she
would come, as reader and companion.
She would offer the widowed mother
a cottage near her own magnificent
mansion on the banks of the Hudson.
The daughter should be hers by day,
the real mother’s by night. ;
“Try it,” Mrs. Jerome had said. “If
the plan succeeds I may try tbe other.”
A group of girls, merry, chattering,
flocked into the room. A torn skirt
seemed to bave been the cause of their
coming. Mrs. Danesford did not move,
thinking they would go out in a mo-
ment.
“DId you see that dress of Joyce's?’
demanded June. “Her last summer's
one, and darned, at that.” :
“Kathleen's looked about ten: cents a
yard,” added Laura. “If they're as
poor as that comes to they, have no
business here.”
She stopped abruptly. Mrs. Danes-
ford thought at first that they had seen
her behind the screen, but the silence
was caused by the entrance of Joyce
and Kathleen.
“We couldn’t help hearing you,” re-
marked Joyce.
“You have no right to decide that
We are poor because we don’t dress as
vou do,” said Kathleen. “Some people
think it in bad taste to dress much be-
fore you come out.”
Mrs. Danesford could see them all—
Joyce and Kathleen, in their shabby
frocks, contrasting so painfully with
the chiffons and crepe de chines of the
others. But Joyce stood. erect and
proud, her eyes aglow. Laura and
June looked at them coolly.
“I fully admit it was no business er
mine,” replied June icily.
“You are right—it is no business of
yours,” here struck in Joyce. “And,
for my part, it does not matter to me
at all that you should know we are
poor, very poor. Poverty is no dis-
grace. This is the Fourth of July,”
she went on, her color rising. “It is
the anniversary of the day when our
fathers shook off unjust and galling
bondage. Let us, Kathleen,” she said
to her friend, *‘shake off an allegiance
to a lie. No, we do net dress like this
from choice. We prefer crepe de
chines to ten-cent lawns. But, not to
bave every dress in New York, would
I" care as much for such things as yon
do!” Her eyes blazed upon the girls in |
front of her. “Nor choose my friends |
by the amount of their drygoods’ bills. |
No, poverty is no disgrace, and wealth |
you have not earned no merit, no |
honor, except as it is well and nobly |
spent.”
“What a Fourth of July oration!”
sneered Laura. “It's a pity none of the
guests can hear you.”
“One of them has,” said Mrs. Danes-
ford, coming forward. She put her
hand on Joyce's shoulder. “Come with
me, my dear. I want a little talk with
you and my sister.” ;:
* * * * * - *
Joyce and her mother are very happy
in the little cottage (‘part of your sal-
ary. my dear,” Mrs. Danesford had
said) by the waters of the noble Hud-
son. Kathleen never knew how near
that dainty home came to being hers,
nor did Joyce ever learn that she owed
it to her “Declaration of Independ-
ence.” —Frances Harmer.
FROM MARS.
“Is it a.new comet, or the destruction
of some planet?”
“Neither, Your Majesty. It is the
celebration of the Fourth of July on
the earth.”
The Stremunovus Life,
“Zz
A
Uncle
Sam's Patriotic Celebration of
Independence Day.
By FHallie™ C
1 had a diary Christmas,
And father laughed and said,
“If you'll keep that till the Fourth of July
I'll give you a dollar, Ned.”
Queer way to earn a dollar,
But easy as a b ¢;
So I put it in my secret box,
Safe under lock and key.
It’s a pretty book—bright red leather—
And Spud Jones wants to swap.
He said he’d give me his two-blade knife
And his second-best spinning top.
But I'd rather have the dollar,
So I put it away again;
The pages are just as clean and white—
Not a bit of a spot or stain.
Father asked me last Sunday,
“Are you keeping that diary, Ned?”
And when said “Yes,” he looked sur-
prised.
“Well done, little son.” he said.
Fourth comes a week from Tuesday,
And oh, I can’t hardly wait,
For Spud’s got a dollar, too, and so
I tell you we’ll celebrate!
We're going to buy some pinwheels,
Those things that whiz round in rings—
Crackers, of course, like we always have,
And whole heaps of other things—
Big Roman candles that send up stars
All yellow and red and blue—
Oh, T just hope father’ll want me to keep
A diary next year, too!
ALL NATURE CELEBRATES
—Puck.
Thoughts For the Fourth.
To have freedom is only to have that
which is absolutely necessary to enable
us to be what we ought to be, and to
possess what we ought to possess.—
Rabel.
Countries are well cultivated, not as
they are fertile, but as they are free—
Montesquien.
The cause of freedom is identified
with the destinies of humanity and in
whatever part of the world it gains
ground, by and by it will be a common
gain to all who desire it.—Kossuth.
Best AntieToxin For the Fourth,
The Health Department in its weekly
bulletin urges that the anti-toxin treat-
ment for Fourth of July tetanus vic-
tims be not neglected. Quoting an
Eastern medical journal to the effect
that not a single blank cartridge wound
treated with aunti-toxin injection has
been known to develop lockjaw, the
department insists that with such a
valuable remedy available every effort
should be made to use it in all cases of
wounds of the dangerous class on the
Fourth.
That is excellent advice and it is to
be hoped that parents and doctors
alike will heed it. But there is even
better advice than this to be given.
There is an even better anti-toxin
against Fourth of July deaths than the
doctors use. It consists in repeated
applications of strict law enforcement.
both before the Fourth and upon the
Fourth,
Toy pistols, all kinds of blank ecar-
tridges and dynamite crackers are the
most active agents in the production
of lockjaw. The sale of toy pistols to
minors is forbidden. The less danger-
ous explosives are permitted only upon
the Fourth, but not before it. !
If the ordinances are strictly en-
forced we may pass through the cele-
bration this year without the sacrifice
of a single victim to the Fourth of
July lockjaw. The next two weeks
should be a period of steady applica-
tion of the variety of anti-toxin which
the Police Department makes its spe-
cialty.—Chicago Record-Herald.
List Days of Molly Piicher.
Molly Pitcher left the army soon
after the Battle of Monmouth and died
near Fort Montgomery, among the
Hudson Highlands, soon after the close
of the war. She was buried at Car-
lise, Pa. where a handsome monument
has been erected over her grave by the
patroitic citizens in the town.
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The Change.
Last year, when Sammy Snow was four,
Oh, it was long ago!—
He heard the giant crackers bang;
The Fourth had come, you Know.
He sct a few torpedoes off,
And sister did the same.
He walked most half-way down the block,
Then back again he came.
The cannon boonied, the pistols cracked,
Great was the din’and roar,
He stayed up in the mursery,
For Sammy Snow was four.
But this year Sammy Snow.is five,
A great big bey, déar me!
His closct’s tilled with fireworks,
And punk, well, you shouid see!
I s’pose he’ll get up early.
And go out with the boys,
While Sister Jane is in her crib
He'll make such lots of noise;
He'll fasten pinwheels to the fence,
The gladdest boy alive,
While friends appear from far and near,
'or Sammy Snow is five.
—Alix Thorn in Youth's Companign.
Conundrums.
What tree belongs to the Church?
Elder.
What is the
burn? Ash.
What is the most melancholy tree?
Pine.
tree you can never
What tree is it that every boy
dreads? Birch.
‘What is the tree that everybody
likes? Poplar.
What is stands near-
est the sea?
the tree that
Beech.
Our Puzzling Language.
Lillian was a great reader, and even
at the age of eight found great pleas-
ure in reading books suited to the un-
derstanding of colder children. One
day, however, she found her Waterloo
in a word she pronounced ‘“duffnuts.”
Lillian thought she had heard of all
kinds of nuts from cocoanuts to grape
nuts, but “duffnuts” had certainly not
been among their number. She in-
quired of her mother what kind of a
nut a “duffnut” might be; but mother
insisted she had made a mistake in
the word, for no such nuts existed.
Lillian went for her books in which
the contested word appeared. Mother
had a hearty laugh at Lillian’s ex-
pense when the word pronounced
“duffnots” turned out to be spelled
“doughnuts.” But if “rough” spells
ruff, why shouldn't “dough” spell
duff?
The Snapdragon.
This is probably the favorite of
thildren over the civilized world.
They make up various fanciful names
for them, such as “Dog Face,’ “Lion
Mouth,” “Monkey Face,” “Mad Dog”
and many others. To many children
there seems to be something living
about the snapdragon, owing to the
ease with which the flewers may be
made to open and shut their mouths
like ap animal, and they are a source
of endless delight to all of them. They
come in many beautiful shades and
colors, being now in the hands of the
hybridizers, who putting out
named varieties. While they are per-
ennials, for the use of children, they
sheuld be treated as annuals. They
should be planted in clumps in a sun-
ny lecatien, as they do not do well as
specimens in light soil. If your soil
is heavy, add enough sharp sand to
it to lcosen and lighten it. When the
soil is w in the early spring sow
them where they are to bloom, and
when two inches high thin to a foot
apart. Give a top dressing of bone
meal, and keep well cultivated.—Sam-
uel! Armstrong Hamilton, in Weman'’s
Home Companion.
are
Why the Sensitive Plant Closed.
“Did
rilant?”
You ever see a sensitive
asked Uncle Tim one day, as
they were walking across a sandy
road.
“I've never even heard of such a
queer plant,” answered Rob. “Do
please find one to show us, if you
can.”
Then Uncle Tim pulled up a little
weed growing along the side of the
road, and held it while the children
were told not to touch it, until he was
ready to have them. They noticed
what delicate leaves it had, and what
a fluffy blossom there was near the
end of the spray of laves.
“Now put your fingers on the leaves,
and then watch.” So they smoothed
the leaves, wondering what was going
to happen next.
“See it!” suddenly exclaimed Ethel,
“the leaves are all closing up tight,”
and sure enough, wherever they had
touched it, the leaves were moving all
by themselves, until they were ail
shut.
“This little plant is just like some
people,” laughingly replied Uncle Tim,
as he saw the look of astonishment
on their faces. “You see it is too
easily influenced by outside things.
Never forget this; when you are sure
you are right, do not allow outside in-
fluence to keep you - from doing your
duty. Another thing, all your friends
can eacily tell. from your actions dur-
ing the six days of the week, how you
will be likely to spend the seventh. If
you do as God would have you six
days of the week, whether working or
playing, you will be very sure to ‘re-
nember the Sabbath day to keep it
holy.’ Isn’t that so, my dears?’—
Ram’s Horn.
Saving Bobbie’s Tears.
One there was a little boy, and he
very “easily, so easily that it
troubled his mother very much, ana
vet nothing she did made Bobbie any
braver about being hurt or frightened.
When Aunty Lou came to visit Bob-
bie, she was delighted to see him
again, but it was not an hour before
Bobbie burst out crying, and calling,
“Mama! Aunty Lou! Mama!”
Both ran quickly, and he sobbed,
“I've lost my cap! I know I have!”
Mama started to comfort him, but
Aunty Lou laughed merrily, and said,
“Don’t waste another tear, Bobbie.
Save them for something worth while.
A penny to the finder!”
In a moment Bobbie found his cap
behind the sofa, and with a shout
claimed his penny.
How queerly she talked about wast-
ing tears! But all that day and the
next and the next Aunty Lou ran
when Bobbie cried, to see what was
the reason, and every time she told
him not to waste his tears, but save
them for some great big hurt or fright.
At last Bobbie said, “Aunty lou,
when will there be a big enough fright
or hurt for me to use all the tears I've
saved?”
And Aunty Lou said, with a twinkle
in her eye, “You've saved so many,
Bobbie, I'd keep right on saving them,
and have enough to cry with when
you are a man—and have a—big—
hurt!”
Bobbie put his hands deep in his
pockets and looked hard at Aunty Lou.
Then he said, “Youre a’ joker,
Aunty Lou, but I'll do it. Only I won't
cry when I'm a man, or a little man,
cither!”—Katharine Walker in Youths
Companion.
A Dirty White Rabbit.
“I truly don’t know what to do with
that naughty Peter,” said Dick, gazing
reflectively at his white rabbit. The
white rabbit was white only by na-
ture. In reality he was sooty black,
S0 that his funny white nose and his
bright pink eyes looked most comical.
“I’ve washed him and brushed him,
and spanked him,” said Peter, ‘‘and it
doesn’t seem to do a single little bit of
good. I can't imagine where he gets
so dirty. None of the other rabbits
have a speck on them.”
It certainly was hard to imagine
where Peter could get so sooty.
Every morning he was brushed uniil
his beautiful white coat looked like
milk, and then, sometimes not more
than an hour afterwards, he would
come hopping along looking like a
chimney sweep.
It was all the more exasperating be-
cause Peter was really the finest rabbit
of the lot. So at last Dick's elder
brother set to work ernestly to solve
the mystery.
And what do you suppose he found?
He watched Peter, and soon noticed
that the big white rabbit would scram-
per under the woodshed as soon as he
thought no one was noticing him ana
after awhile he would come out, biack
as coal.
So Dick’s brother began to clear
away the kindling wood and at last he
got down to a place where Peter had
made himself a comfortable nest. Ana
that nest of all places in the world,
was in the end of an old dirty stove
pipe!
Peter was terribly offended when his
fine house was taken away, but after a
few days he stopped sulking and from
that time on he was the handsomest
white rabbit for miles around.
Digging for Apples.
A man was laboriously digging in
the earth. He had already made a
hole in which half the length of his
leg disappeared and was making it still
deeper. Children were playing near
by. Born curious, they approached
the man at work, and asked, “What
are you digging for?”
“Apples,” answered he.
Unanimously the youthful flock
burst into Homeric laughter. “He is
digging for apples! What a joke!
Apples in the ground!
thinking of potatoes! But appies—it
is toc funny! Ha, ha, ha!
“Can’t you see that he is laughing at
us?” said one of the more shrewd
among the company. “Let us £20 along
and leave him to his apples.”
“Laughing at you?” answered the
man. “Indeed not, children. What
I tell you is positive fact. There is
neither joke in it nor nonsense. I am
digging this hole in order to have ap-
ples, and, if you will wait a moment
you will understand.”
“Let us wait, then, and we shall see
whether they are crabs of leather-coats
he will dig up.”
After taking out a few more spade-
fuls of earth, the man thought the hole
sufficiently deep, dumped into it a
basketful of rich soil, went off, and
returned, bringing a little sapling,
which he carefully planted beneath
the attentive eyes of the children.
The operation complete, he said to
them: “You see, I told you the truth.
In two or three years from now this
young apple-tree will blossom. The
following autumn it will bear fruit,
You shall come and taste the apples
with me.”
Those who work for the future are
often the butt of mockery. Their ef-
forts seem absurd and sterile. The
short-sighted call them fools, but they
are not troubled by this. They know
that, if they would one day see golden,
juicy fruit swinging above their heads
they must begin by digging a hole in
the earth.—Sunday School Times.
He must be
Explained.
Johnny—Pa, what is intuition?
Pa—The mother of I told you s0.—
New York Sun.
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