mm THE INITIATION SOl OF FLORENCE. Sift BY ROSE WILLIS JOHNSON. jr KEEN wind blew from the /\ north, with dreary moaning through leafless branches. The yellow sunset had given place to steely tints. Twilight was at hand, and Domley and his boys turned their log-teams homeward into the new-cut road with satisfaction. "I'm hungry enough to eat a mule," Tom remarked, avoiding a deep rut "I'll be glad when the logs are in. Wonder If dad gets tired? He never lets on." Ben, slower of speech and movement, scarcely glanced from his horse's neck. "Yes, he gets tired," he answered, pres ently. "He's not iron." "I wish Rene cared less for society and more for us boys!" Tom grumbled. "Dinner was abominable! I guess she don't know how bacon and cold boiled potatoes taste—from a dinner pail. She's selfish clear through, like all girls. She thinks she's all right; may be she is; but home isn't It's not what It was when ma was here." His voice reached farther than he knew. Domley, on the lender, turned and gave a backward, somber look. Sudden silence fell, broken only by the creaking of chains and rattle of wheels. When they spoke again it was about the morrow's work. Domley did not encourage idle conversation. Tom's grievance was, to him, a real one. The religion of old days had been the religion of comfort. The passing of its meek disciple wrought inevitable changes. There was more lamplight In tlie parlor now, more calling, more meeting of benevolent societies. These things were all right, but Tom resented the bacon and cold potatoes. Whore the road touched the lane a flying figure evaded the lead team, and stopped, panting, before the boys, almost under their horses' feet. It was thirteen-year-old Florence, the baby. "O Ren," she cried, breathlessly, "do let me ride, won't you? Tessie Birch Is at our house. They're in the parlor, practicing Easter music. They are sweet as lilies, the songs are. I'm go ing to the services Sunday, aren't you? Can't I ride, Ben?" Ben swung her easily to a place be hind him on the horse, and she clasped him about the waist, snuggling her cold nose against his back. "I wish you'd wear something on your head," he remonstrated. "It's a wonder you don't die! Have they got nnything good to eat at home?" "Mackerel!" disdainfully. "Rice, po tatoes, biscuit and coffee. Bread scorched. Better hurry—everything's scorching!" "Oh, well, they're singing!" Tom snarled. "I say, Ben, you're your own man after to-morrow. I'd light out. I'd hunt up Uncle Bart. I don't intend to work on here when my time's up. A follow gets neither money nor thanks." "You hush up!" Florence flashed. "Ben isn't going to light out; he's go ing to stay with me! I guess things aren't burnt," anxiously. "Is it your birthday to-morrow. Ben?" "I guess it is." He withdrew from her embrace and slid hastily to the ground, closing the big gate behind his wagon. "Run along to the house now, Babe. I have to feed tlie horses. It's too mortal cold for you to be out." "I'll go with you," she volunteered, stoutly. "Let me—l'll help. You aren't going to light out, Ben, are you?" "Bother!" Ben roughly brushed her aside. "You're the awfullest kid when you get a notion! Run on to the house; I mean what I say." When Ben used that tone Florence Ceased importunities. She turned dis contentedly toward the lighted square of the kitchen window. She wanted to be with Ben. He was her idol—Ben, the taciturn. In infancy it was his shoulder she loved best. In days of measles and croup he was her savior. Now, as then, he was the one being altogether lovely, without spot or blem ish. Ben made his horses comfortable, then went to the house, which looked Inviting after tlie biting outer air. Logs were ablaze on the hearth, and the table was daintily spread. He seated himself, and Florence took pos session of his knee. "We're going to have preserved pears," she whispered, encouragingly. "I'd eat a lot if I were you!" At tlie table her irrepressibllty broke out afresh. "Do you know to-morrow is Ben's birthday?" she demanded. Mr. Domley paused a moment, fork- In hand. Rene smiled across at her brother. "Twenty-one!" she exclaimed. "Ben n voter! I'll give a dinner in honor of the event. Consider yourselves invit ed, all of you!" As Domley left the room that even ing he turned gruffly to his elder son. "We won't work to-morrow," lie said. "I'm going to mill. You can knock wound." It was a lengthy speech for him, and a gracious one. Ben felt the com pliment. "All right," he said, in al most liis father's way. "I'm not eorry." Tom was not so reticent. The prom ise of a day's rest and an old-time din ner warmed his blood. "Help Rene clean up," he whispered to Florence, as lie lighted ids stub of candle at the log. "I'm going to ask some fellows home to dinner. Have something decent to eat." With tlie first light Florence shivered Into her clothes. It was Saturday and Ben's birthday. There was much to do which must be done well. So well was It done that by 9 o'clock the bouse reflected a wonderful luster. Rene 'was at tlie mlrroi' when Flor ence came sidling in. "Flo," the elder sister called pleas antly, "it you'll do something for me I'll give you a dime! There's plenty of bread and butter, milk and cheese, and there are three pumpkin pies. Father'll be out late, and no telling when the boys will get in. When they come, set out their dinner, and you shall have the dime." Slow dismay usurped the bustling cheerfulnes of the child's face. "Where are you going?" she demanded. "To the church. Tessie and I "But Ben?" Florence Interrupted, breathlessly. "It's Ben's birthday! And you said——" "O hush!" Reno gave her hair a vicious twist, and jabbed in a hairpin. "Ben won't be in before night. I'll get lilm a good dinner to-morrow; perhaps I'll Invite tlie minister over. I have to go to-day; I'm on the flower committee. You'll do all right. If you are lone some have Ida Barton come over." "I dou't want Ida Barton, and you're too mean to live!" Florence choked. "You are! I'm not going to your old church again—see If I do! You told Ben " "Now, that will do!" Rene Inserted the last pin, and took a critical survey of herself. "I'm not Ben's slave, nor yours. You'll do what I say. With Rover here there's nothing to be afraid of." "I'm afraid of nothing but mean ness!" Florence stormed. But words failed. She turned and fled, banging the door In away to make tlie toilet articles jump In astonishment. "Spitfire!" Ren commented, pinning on her bat. "She's dreadful! I dou't know what is to become of her! I must hurry. I wonder If Mr. Morgie will be there to help us?" When the storm was over Florence eame back to the deserted kitchen. It was nearly ten by the fat Dutch clock In the corner. The kettle sim mered very Invitingly, and an expect ant air pervaded the place. Florence's face wore a look of determination. "Ben Is going to have his birthday dinner," she announced to the clock. "You needn't look blank and cross your hands. I'm going to cook It my self!" It was very cold. There was nothing to save the Easter promise from the sword of the frost. Florence's pets, the barn-yard fowls, huddled together in sunny corners, looking frowsy and wind-blown. She wcut out among them, pan in hand, her ears tlugling. She was a Judas; she meant to betray. They knew no fear of her. She picked up a young cochin, who merely reached round 1h an effort to secure the corn in her hand. "Oil, you poor thing," she whimpered, feeding him. "I have to have you—for Ben. It won't hurt but a minute. I know the axe is sharp—oh!" She leaned against tlie fence, while and sick, and the chicken flopped. When nil was still, she ventured to peep. The deed was done. Shudder ing violently, she snatched up her victim and fled, leaving his heartless brethren fighting over the pan. Oue unconsciously imbibes Informa tion. How to remove the feathers did not trouble her now that she had solved (lie problem of his head. She rose with the strength of conviction— she knew she could cook! How nice it must be to be Rene— to have passed beyond dish-washing! It occurred to her to he Itenc, and she donned a discarded wrapper and aped her sister's ways. Her enthusiasm grew. She prepared vegetables and watched the pot, from which rich odors began to rise. Then she turned her attention to the fruit-cellar. Rene was very particular about her fruit. It was there "for show" Tom asserted, iu speeuful moments. There were vandal hands upon it now. Two of the choicest jars and a mold of jolly went to do honor to Ben's majority. Ben, meanwhile, was walking soberly homeward. His heart was heavy with the discouragement which falls easily upon tlie young. How many times had ho plowed these fields? llow many times gathered the harvests—for oth ers? Tom had given voice to a thought long dormant in his mind. Why linger in tlie rut', why go on as father and grandfather had done before him? There was youth's natural longing for change, coupled with silent, soar ing ambition. Who knew to what heights he might not climb? There were none to care for him here, none save little Florence. "O mother!" he whispered with a sudden sob. "Mother!" Behind him a merry "Hallo!" from lusty lungs made him turn quickly. Tom and three of his young friends were coming up from town. One of them was the young minister upon whom—Tom asserted—Rene was cast ing gentle glances. "Walt, Ben!" Torn called, "doing home? So are we. fl'he boys and Mr. Morgie are here to do justice to Rene's cooking. Fly up, and let's hear you crow!" Ben colored under the tan of past summers as lie awkwardly greeted his friends. A sinking of the heart told him how little reliance he placed upon upon his sister's promise. What if un tidy hearth and empty cupboard awaited them? He was sullenly angry at Tom's rashness. The moment gave him a flash of self-revelation. He was sensi tive to the opinion of others; he was proud. "If home is as Kene usually keeps It," he thought, "I'll leave It forever!" Outwardly he was shy and quiet "I'm clad to see you, hoys," he said. "I'm not ready to crow yet—not till after dinner. Cold Easter, Mr. Morgie. Do you think this snap has killed the fruit?" Florence had just completed the preparations for her banquet and was proudly surveying results when there came a great stamping and laughing in the hall. The boys—and the preacher! She peeped and retreated, a demure, majdenly figure with dancing eyes. Tom stared. "Where's Rene?" he demanded. "Not gone, has she? Well! What have you for dinner. Babe?" Somewhat disconcerted, he led his guests into the parlor. Ben stood where he had paused. He was looking at the table, invitingly draped in snowy white, graced by his mother's pretty, old-fashioned china and silver. Some thing unsteadied the hand he extended. "Did you fix It for me, Babe?" he asked, and Florence nodded confused ly, hanging her head. "I did the best I could," she faltered. "I didn't think about company, but just of you." "Thank you, Babe. Let's think of each other from now on; shall we? I'll do my part by you and father; I'll stand by you. Come, give me a kiss for my birthday!" The new cook looked up into her brother's face. She saw there some thing which made her shiver raptur ously. Ben was pleased with her; Be? was happy! With a glad little gurgl* she went to his embrace, pressing rosy lips to his. "One for mother," she whispered. "Oh, how proud she'd be if she could see you, a really, truly man, old enough to vote!" Ben's birthday dinner was a great success. Young people are merry over little things, and nfter her first con fusion Florence entered Into the hilar ity of the occasion, not, however, for getting her dignity as mistress of the board. There were toasts proposed and answered, jests and friendly re partee. In the midst of it all the door opened suddenly, and Rene stood upon the threshold. Enjoyment sparkled in Tom's eyes. "O Ilene!" he called. "Come in, Rene! Better late than never! You asked us—or some of us—to Ben's birthday dinner, you know, and here we are! So glad you've come! Will you have a bone—there isn't anything else left?" The girl made a gesture of dissent, turning away her crimsoned face. With an unintelligible murmur of greeting and apology she withdrew, carrying with her a confused impres sion of happy young faces on each of which was a look which made her tingle sensitively. She had a bad half-hour alone with herself, the sounds of mirth coming up from below. Every sound was a stab, making her wince and writhe. For she was not, as she declared herself to be, a monument of selfishness. She was but a thoughtless, pleasure-loving girl, who had not yet arrived at her moth er's moral stature. The promise of the day before, which had been given so lightly, had been brushed aside for a task more pleasura ble. Now it came to her that a prom ise, though made in jest, is sacred. Ben had trusted her, acted upon her word. She did not know how results had been accomplished, how he had been spared from humiliation, but she had failed him. Then she thought of his quiet, un youthful ways, and her heart burned. What a good brother he was, toiling manfully at his father's side, year in, year out, to provide home comforts! She put her face down on her arms and wept a little, then turned to a bet ter penitence, the sorrow for wrong which expresses itself in deeds. It required some moral courage to go ' down to her brothers' guests, and by her cheerful, girlish presence brighten their social hour; but this she did, and | Ben was forgiving, Tom, for once, I magnanimous. Nothing was done to I remind her she had failed in the home —the place where failures are hardest i to bear. And bp it said, from that day, al though Florence's initiation was suc cessful, she was not forced to accept life's lessons all at once, but took re maining degrees at her leisure. For with Rene as the home angel, the old life of love and comfort was re-estab lished.—Youth's Companion. An Expensive Sheep. Many people make it a rule to retain any stray dog or cat or, indeed, any stray animal that tuny come to them. In France this is a dangerous thing to do. Some time ago a faftuer living at Lozore, near Paris, took in a sheep that had strayed on to ids land, and in due course branded the sheep with his initials. Later on the real owner of the stray sheep turned up and demand- ! ed the animal back. The farmer who i had adopted the sheep as his own stoutly refused to comply with this re quest. Then trouble ensued. The owner of the lost sheep was a tena cious and persevering man, and he went to law over the matter. He fought the matter out In three differ ent law courts and eventually won his case. lie got his sheep hack and the other farmer had to pay a Dill of costs amounting to s3soo.—The Tatler. Ancient Tombs in Home. Several months ago in the work of exploration which lias been going on In the Roman Forum two ancient tombs of the prehistoric period wore unearthed. Lately two more of prob ably the same epoch were found, the epoch being the eighth century before the founding of the city. One of these tombs contained what was probably the remains of a child, In both of them were urns which contained ashes, showing that at that period both in humation and cremation were prac tised. These four tombs are among the most interesting finds that have been made in Rome, Luxury Does Not Bring Achievement By O. S. Marden. SHE history of our country is a record of the successes of poor boys who seemed to be hopelessly shut off from books, culture and education, except that of the most meagre kind—from al most every opportunity for mental development. The youth flip Lincolns, Franklins, Hamlltons, Garflelds, Grants and Clays—those who became Presidents, lawyers, statesmen, soldiers, orators, merchants, educators, journalists, inventors giants in every department of life—how they stand out from the pages of history, those poor boys, an inspiration for all time to those who are horn to fight Ibeir way up to their own loaf! The youth who is reared in a luxurious home, who, from the moment of Ids birth, is waited on by an army of servants, pampered and indulged by over fond parents, and deprived of every incentive to develop himself mentally 01 physically, although commonly regarded as one to be envied,is more to be pitied than the poorest, most humbly born boy or girl in the land. Unless he is gifted with an unusual mind, lie is in danger of becoming a degenerate, a parasite, a creature who lives on the labor of others, whose powers ultimately atroDhy from disuse.—Success. 999* 9 9 9 Dependent and Independent. By A. M. Purdy. They can stand strikes without any great loss. They raise 1 ~T" 1 enough to depend on for their living, and can exchange one K L with the other. Neighbor Thompson had a lot of liay out, help V Cg was short, a storm was brewing. A neighbor stepped in with 1 1 a j the salutation: "Well, neighbor, I though I would step in and see if I and the boys couldn't help you get that hay iu before TT the >' a 'h comes on. Wo can put off the cultivating of our potntoes a day or two, and, besides, wc may get caught as you ere, and a like favor from you will come good." "Well, now, if that isn't kind in you. You couldn't have offered me help at a more acceptable time. I will certainly pay you back, and, hy the way, neigh bor, I see one of your road horses is lnine. There is my roan in the pasture doing nothing. Send one of the children over when you wish to use him." "Thank you! My wife was saying this morning she wanted to get to town to-day." So it went on all through the season, each helping the other, and so it should lie between farmers. The joint work, the sociability, the kindly feeling make life more enjoyable. Where is there a business man more independent? His barns and cellars ore full to overflowing of all necessaries for man and beast. If there is a strike and coal goes up, he can cut ills own wood for fuel and supply his neighbor. If railroad strikes occur he can remain at home with plenty to keep him, and his kind neighbors to visit back and forth. 9 9 9**99 Domestic Science For Girls. By Mary E. Williams, Professor of Domestic Science, Columbia University. lOUST twenty-five years ago whatever training girls received in domestic science was Inculcated by their mothers in their own homes. To-day the demands of the school upon the girls' time make even this absolutely impossible. The State takes the child almost from the mother's arms into the kindergarten, and her training is institutional until she is graduated from high school or college, ready for business. Rut it is worthy of note that sho is fitted for almost any business except that mpst important of all businesses to women, the business of home-making. I think tlio increase of "bachelor apartments" and of "bachelor maids' npnrtments," tlio lament of empty churches, the cry of public corruption, and tlio complaint of competition of Jabor between the sexes are stroug evidences that the number of marriages are constantly dcrasing. The consequences to the State of such a condition are fraught with danger. As the home is, so the State is. The women of to-dny who think they can purify the world at I lie polls are making a great mistake. Nor can they do It by entering into competition with men in the commercial world. Their work is to train the coining generation of men for the affairs of the world. And this work must be commenced in the nursery and be continued until habits and character nrc formed. And if we are to do away with the evils of to-day we must prepare the future wives and mothers for just this work. Until this fact is recognized by our school boards, the training of a girl, un like that of her brother, will be incomplete. For his training aims to fit him for his normal position in life, for his struggle with tlio world. The training of a girl, as it is now, seems to have the same aim for her; while lier normal llfework—the care of the home—is practically ignored. What is the remedy? Nothing less than to make domestic science n part of the regular course for girls; necessary for promotion from elementary schools to high schools and from high schools to colleges. If tliis can be accomplished we shall have gone a long way toward solving tlie problem of the training of our girls. We can hope then to turn out a gen eration of future mothers who will bo equipped for that lifework so aptly de scribed by Frances Willnrd when she declared that "the mission of the ideal woman is to make the whole world home-like." 9999 9 9 9 Self-Assertiveness The Twin of Courtesy By George C. Lorimer, D. D. rtiWts FEW months ago while traveling in England, the members of * IS I our party found themselves in a smoking compartment of a ? | railway carriage with a stronger, and a.stranger who smoked. I ft When about halfway between stations, he calmly pulled out I i k' s tobacco, and, lighting up, puffed away, seemingly to his 5 I own enjoyment quite as much as to the discomfort of the ladies j\ & $ under my charge. Seeing the annoyance Ills smoking was causing, I asked him if he would be good enough to desist until we came to the next station, when we would change our seats to another carriage; and I was not a little astonished at his reply: "I am distinctly within my rights, sir, and must decline." Brutal as the retort sounded, it was nevertheless n statement of the truth —lie was "within his rights"—and, true Britisher that lie was, he proposed to have them. While recognizing his privileges, I could liut feel that we in America would be willing to waive our rights in little things, preferring to keep our entire energy for the holding on to thpse in the greater events of life. Tlie incident set me to thinking. The Englishman never forgets nor censes to demand and to obtain his due, no matter liow trilling the obligation may be, and permits no one and nothing to interfere with the happy and peaceful possession of it. Wo Americans nrc the most amiable of individuals. We live in a country where we are obliged to give and take, and we should be considered anoma lous and archaic as soon as we became arbitrary. We regard as trivial tlie minor amenities, aud indeed submit to many things that may grow into positive wrongs because we are so complacently assured that we lmve constitutional rights' of so magnificent proportions that we can afford to regard with indifference these lesser infractions of what contributes to peace and comfort. But can we? Is it right to allow ourselves to he pulled about by every one who comes in our path? (.'an we afford to have our toes trodden upon by every stranger that crosses in front of us? Would we not all be better off by being more self assertive and loss complacent? More mindful of our own "rights," and less willing to have them trampled upon, even as we trample upon those of others? Do we not grow careless in our dealings with 'others from the very fact of our own indifference? And can we not learn a lesson from our more exacting brother across tlie sea? We are known as tlie strenuous race. We work harder, longer and usually with greater material results than other peoples. We have what Prince Boris praises as "the goalieadativcness and feverish activity" of a young nation; but in our haste, our hurry, we are equally forgetful of ourselves aud of others in little things, while making much ado about the great things for which we have always striven. It is tlie little things that count, after all; and we can he in-no better busi ness than to take to heart this lesson of self-assertiveuess, for In learning it we shall come to be less careless in our dealings with others. By demanding more rights for ourselves we shall necessarily show greater care for these of our neighbor. We shall learn that self-assertlveness is iu reality the twin of cour tesy. Electrolysis is now recognized r.s a menace to modern warships. A recent examination of the cruiser Brooklyn showed that the electric currents in* troduced into the ship for various poses had practically rotted ihe false bottom, necessitating extensive re pairs. The weight of the carriage has been greatly reduced and the comfort of the occupant enhanced by the nse of metal in the manufacture of pleasure vehicles. The first of these have been turned out by the Paris builders. The weight has been reduced by about a quarter. The fuel value of our different kinds of native wood have been figured out lis follows: Sbellbark hickory, 100; pignut hickory, 03; white oak, 84; white ash, 77; dogwood, 73; scrub oak, 07; white beech, 05; black birch, 02;' yellow oak, 00; hard maple, 59; white elm, 58; red cedar, 56; wild cherry. * 55; yellow pine, 54; chestnut, 52; yd low poplar, 51; butternut and white birch, 43; white pine, 30. The nature of the soil on which a tree grows also lias much to do with its fuel value. The tremendous power exerted by water in violent motion is well shown by some experiments carried out by English engineers to determine the stress exerted upon the foundations of a lighthouse. Thomas Stevenson dis covered that at Skerryvore and I>ll Hock pressures of (1083 pounds per square foot and 3013 pounds, respect ively, wore to be encountered in ordi nary weather. This is about forty* two pounds per square inch, and is doubtless much exceeded in seVere storms. By a new German invention adopted by an English firm bricks will bo mad > W by machinery at the rate of 40.000 per r" day, as against the 7000 to 8000 per day made by a molder. The bricks will be artificially dried in twenty four hours, as against tlie three to five weeks by the ordinary open-air drying, while it will be possible to niatfo them all the year round, instead of only six months in the summer. The system was investigated by a large number of experts, and it is believed that its per manent introduction will result in a considerable reduction in the price of bricks. Trofessor Ilenry T. Eddy, of Ihe University of Minnesota, described at the Pittsburg meeting of the American Association an invention of Dr. S. A. Hageman, of interest to musicians. It is a pianoforte which renders the diatonic scale in perfectly just intona tion in any desired key. It differ* outward appearance from an ordinary piano only in having, in addition to the usual pedals, a hank of a single octave somewhat like organ pedals, which ac tuate a bank of sliding bars, and these, in turn, move (lie bridges on which the strings rest, and adjust them simultaneously to any key. This Professor Eddy believes to be the first practical solution of the problem of just intonation for instruments with fixed keys. An Example of Chinese Humor. / A story is told of former Chinese Minister Wu's declaration that Chinese humor resembled American humor. Pressed for an example of this, Wu told the following story: "There was once a Chinese doctor who didn't satisfy his patient. The sicker the patient grew the more in dignant his friends became at the uftw successful physician. At last, whenL* the sick man was in the final stn-yF and death was imminent, the relatives laid violent hands on the unfortunate doctor, and, tying him up to a tree, started to administer a smart heating. But while his assailants were looking for a stick with which to heat him, the doctor freed himself and, jumping into the river, swam to safety. When ho reached home he found his son, who was studying to bo n physician, poring over a book on medicine. 'Put it up, put it up; shut it up,' said the doctor, grimly; 'the first requisite of a doctor is to know how to swim, not to cure.' "—New York Tribune. "That Awful Hoy." A well-known family of the northern wards, says the Troy Times, had as their guest at the supper table a few evenings ago a little niece, a maiden of five years old or thereabouts. As usual, the topic of the "awful of May's little brother was taken Unexpectedly she agreed in the "had boy's'" arraignment, for he had been on a plundering expedition through her toys recently. Finally some one sug gested that he "would smash even an Iron doll." But here May hesitated. She was aware that iron could not be included in George's list of materials * capable of destruction, yet she re gretted to lose the opportunity of show ing some more of his "badness." A pensive 'moment followed, and en circling the table with her wistful blue eyes she at length said hesitatingly; "Well, if ho wouldn't break the Iron doll, he would put a good dent In it." America** Cronkedeftt Klver. White River, Arkansas, is said to he I the erookedost stream in the Pulo,!* 1 States, if not in the world. It travels 1000 miles in traversing a distance of 300, zigzagging, twisting, curving, bending its mazy, tortudns, lortive way through the beautiful Ozark Moun tains, the Alps of America. It llows merrily through the country where the big red apple grows and where hears are just aching to offer a President a fair shot.—New York Press.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers