WPSN tyOTHER
ipt B0BIE T.
xe bouse is uc a dreary plac when mother w away; ...
r Wt fan in anVthiwr. no matter what you play. sK
iere isn't fun in anj
he dolblust ait-as stUTWd, and
'Sey always say suoh funny things
The littfc ohioa ten set looks so lonesome waiwug vuti.
There's no fun playing party and eating only air!
It lin t nice tne lojciy iiuu
Upon the plates and saucers, when
There's no use doing up your hair
IOU Know us just pii,ciiui6,
You never hear a whisper from the
1 1 r: j ...
mat pretending, ana
J L ; 11..
"Dear me, wnai npienaiu iaujr uu
The pictures in '.he picture-books are never half so fine, .
The stories won't come out and talk for any pains of mine.
An hour goe ao slowly, it's almost like a day -
The nouse is sucn a uu,c
I ttOJV HE maiasail swung dpwn
j with a rattle as the white-
paintea yaent came up in
the wind. With jib and
foresail fluttering gently
she lay at anchor in a tiny bay. It was
one of those coves upon the southwest
coast where the trees stand bodly out
Edward the waves, marking with a
iringe of green the landward limit of
the beach. Mostyu Gainford clani
Ibered up the narrow companion stairs.
fThe man-who was lounging by the till
er regarded his doubtfully.
"Clean ducks and such pretty brown
boots," he mused. "Think it over,
iMostyn. Go down again. Change in
to something more prosaic."
' Gainsfo'-d was gazing shorewards
toward where a roof gleamed through
the trees. His countenauce contracted
a uii .
"Because one is about to marry ,'1 he
said, ."is that a reason to shudfler.at r.n
incident of the past? .May I not re
member a period that was yes, the
most innocent and poetic of my life
time r" ; V . ; .
v "Such candor in an engaged tnan is
as admirable as it is rare," returned
the other. "But lei me reassure you
your words are already forgotten.
"It was such a simple affair, Lut
trell," wrent on Gainsford unheeding.
'She was one of those country girls
one reads about but never sees. Teach
blossom. cheek, milk-white hand and a
disposition! "Perfectly pastoral! I saw--what
lay beneath the girl bad soul.
I read to her, I talked, I gave her
glimpses of the outside world of its
better parts. I set myself to cultivate
a mind latent with untold possibilities.
It was a fascinating pastime, I admit.
It was as the ; training of a pretty
child. And you would have it there
la harm in a pardonable curiosity to see,
-the result of those endeavors of mine
three years ago?"
. Lnttrell shrugged his shoulders. .
"In these matters the question is not
of right or wrong. The point hinges
on the more important lady's mood
should she chance to hear of it. Still.
ifs no business of mine."
Gainsford's eyes sought the roof
again.
"It was an idyll," he said. "Would
you know the extent of our caresses?
She pressed my hand, and only at the
parting. It was in token of gratitude,
I believe, whereas I owed her more.
To me it was a glimpse of purity that
1 treasured."
Lnttrell had lit a cigar. He watched
the flung. match as it struck upon the
emooth water.
"I trust you will not find it a wijd
5?oose chase," he said. "And yet, per
iiaps that would be the best. Too
tame a bird, you know, might spell
complications." ;
"it is useless talking to you." retorted
Gainsford. "If she is there still you
shall come to see her with me. and
then, perhaps, you will understand."
The dinghy, an oarsman within it.
"was waiting at the quarter.: Gainsford
stepped into it 'A moment later the
man was pulling him shoreward with
juick strokes.
f "Do not wait," he told the man as
jthe boat's nose slid, grinding upon the
pbeach. "I shall be here some time,
ifit.-vud by on board until you hear my
jwhistle.?' ; , - .
.' As he walked slowly along the path
;that led from the beach the old famil
iarity with the surroundings was upon
;liim once. more. He had not thought
to have remembered the spot so 'well.
"The scent of the May blossom came
strongly to him- It seemed to him that
,he sweetness of the perfume bad
p&lled three long years. - Surely it was
only yesterday that he had trodden
the verdure-lined path.
His pulses tingled a little as he set
yes upon a large, flat stone set low
own by the wayside. They had sat
upon it so many times, he and she. A
; voluptuous reverie was upon him. So
fpleasant was it that, submitting, he
jencouraged its thralL He let himself
sink down upon the broad slab.
It was here that he had first met
her. It was here that he had sung the
jB If he Maturity j,
9W: of the Violet b
fpir-: 1$
IS AWAY,
WKlBTJRiT.
act so sUll and QJgy
when mother s by to War,
i ' (
' - y- :i
mother comes to tea. $
and dressing P-
7011 re iwj no ,
k . .stinal- fha -waim
. t y 7 .u n .
. chairs againat the wall.
: nnmmiv ham rr null'
,.r -Good Housekeeping.
cadence of Wadsworth and Tennyson
into her ears. He had marked the
parted lips and the light that came and
went in her eyes: It had been a pleas
ant fountain at which he had drunk.
And the waters bad bequeathed no
bitter taste. She had benefited; he
had little doubt of that.
He rose slowly and paced onward.
He could see the cottage now, with Its
green shelter of oak and elm. He
looked more - osely. There was some
thing strange about the building.
There rvas an addition, the new white
ness of which stood out rather glariug
ly from the worn tint of the rest. He
had drawn near to the main road that
ran at right angles between the path
and the cottage beyond when he heard
the starting pants of an automobile.
A, brilliant red car went speeding up
the road. Its throbbing Jarred upon
him; the wafted dor of petrol an
nihilated with noisome brutality the
scent of the bay. iv''iZ .'"
A rnlnlite later he had , crossed the
road and was walking up a narrow
garden path. He stared about him in
growing .unrest. In the place where
had revelled a tangle of undergrowth
and shrub was now a cleared space,
gravel-coVered. Two tables were there
and a medley of chairs, while nearer
to the house stood a long bench.
!jlle seated himself upon the latter to
await whatever should occur. A very
small infant came toddling toward him
from round a corner of the building.
The child held a piece of jam-covered
bread in his hand. As he pressed bis
small frame confidingly against Gains
ford the jam, left a red stain upon the
white duck trousers. Gainsford, in his
preoccupation, allowed the misfortune
to pass almost unheeded.
He looked up quickly at the sound
of an exclamation. She herself, the
one who had lived in his mind's eye,
stood In the flesh before him. He
stared for a while in dumb amaze
ment. The tracings of her features,
of her form, all this escaped him. He
noticed but one thing she' wore a
waitress' cap and apron.
There was a glad light in her. eyes as
Gainsford's hand went out toward her.
Yet she was not the same. There
had been a great change. As is the
way in such matters, he could not at
first see where it lay. But this much
was evident, that where he had left a
tremulous snowdrop a firm-stalked
sunflower now stood.
"Weill I never did!" she cried.
Gainsford experienced a suclden
shiver. Her mode of expression had
been more diffident in the old days,
but her eyes Vere as pretty as ever.
They were dancing with pleasure now.
- MTo think of it!" she. exclaimed.
"Why, it seems just like old times see
ing you here!"f "
Her hand was playing with the lace
of her cap. Gainsford. gazing at her
afresh, disagreed inwardly, but en
tirelywith her words. His thoughts
went back to the shy, willow-figured
girl with the large eyes and tremulous
voice that he had known.
"The place has changed," he began.
He felt that his voice came from him
with a horribly dead, sound. "But the
path was the same. I passed the stoue
the stone where we "
She broke into a little laugh.
"Ah, that stone sees more folks than
it used to."
i He was gazing hard at her. He
wondered whether it was a fleeting
blush that he saw upon her cheek. 1
"Lota of people come here now," she
went on in answer to his mute inquiry;
"it pays." She eyed him with a sudden
speculative look. "Would you like
some tea?" she asked. . '' . -
He attempted a faint return to gal
lantry.
"Your tea was always excellent," he
said.
"It's better now," she answered; "it's
a shilling a head." j
"Ohr exclaimed Gainsford.
The , verdure and the wall of the
house seemed to rock for a second be
fore him.
"A shilling a head," he repeated
V.i:
"Cream Included," she rejoined. , J'
She drew a little nearer.
" "It was the reading and poetry that'
first put it into my head," she confided
to him. "After, you'd gone 'I'd get to
thinking about the things you had read,
and the Ideas that came to me were
something' surprising. Ther$ -was the
one about the girl that was like a' violet
by a moasy stone that worried me.
more than all : the rest put together.
I thoughtwell, of aU the j Uvea. , It
was a kind of warning."
-Gainsford felt It incumbent upon him
to fill the gap. ,
"I see," he murmured untruthfully.
"My goodness! What a fright I got
ViWj? "It waje ink
ing thatTniight get that way myself
that nearly drove me clean out of the
place. Then Jim came along. He'd
had some experience as a waiter in
London.. It was after we'd got mar
ried that we started the light refresh
ment business. And , what with the
motor cars and the bicycles, and good
tea, and : ood service well, it pays
nicely." V
The. Infant was attacking Gainsford
oncTntort. A second jammy siriear
took its place by the side of the first
upon bis white trousers. Gainsford
eyed the child in growing dislike.
"Oh, Mostyn, you bad boy!" cried his
mother In reproach. , , , ,r
Gainsford looked up quickly. .
"Mostyn?" he repeated.
It was undoubtedly a blush that
adorned her cheek this time.
"We called him that," she murmured,
"because " , .
"Because of what?" ' ' -
"You see, if it hadn't been for your
kindness" I might have been gawking
on in just the same old way. Jim and
I have never forgotten that So when
he came we called him Mostyn. Some
times after we've bad a good day's
business Jim'll take him on his knee
and call him a little living token of
gratitude. But it's only righO that
you should see Jim. , Jim!" she called.
A second later a white-aproned man
stood before Gainsford. Gainsford un
derwent an inward struggle. Then he
held out his hand. The act was a con
cession to the unity of man and wife.
The latter hastened away, to perform
the duties of her office.
The child was still gyrating slowly
about: the pair. The man bent toward
"Mossy!" he said, "run away after
your mother." !
Gainsford shivered. Mossy! It was
the last straw. ' ' -
"Its a fine afternoon, sir!," said Jim.
"The atmosphere of this place is not
what it was." returned : Gainsford.
"It's wonderful healthy," protested
Jim.
Just then his wife returned with the
tea tray. The desire of flight possessed
Gainsford. Heedless of the probabili
ties, he pleaded indisposition.
"Of course," he concluded, "I'll pay
for the tea."
Jim's eyes wavered diffidently be
tween the tea tray and the visitor.
"There's no getting away from the
fact that it was prepared speshul," he
admitted. "But seeln' as It's you, sir,
supposing we say sixpence instead of a
shilling?"
His wife's fine eyes glowed in ap
probation.
Gainsford drew half a crown from
his pocket. He swallowed once or
twice ere he spoke.
"Give the change to to Mossy," he
said.
The final word was his sacrifice to
the ashes of what once had been a
glorious spiritual edifice.
No, you need not come back with
me," Gainsford assured Luttrell;. upon
his return to the small craft; "the fact
is that the one I expected to find was
not there." - .
"Ah. it's just as well." returned Lut
trell. "These little dippings into the
past are either dangerous or bitterly
disappointing. I heard from '-a man
who had been there that there is an.
excellent tea place in the neighborhood.
Shall we go?"
"Not for . worlds!" said Gainsford.
"You see . I happen to. have been in
there once already this afternoon."
The Tauer. i
Unraln Dead Qr&u.
Dead grass is burniug where it rests
on the ground in many suburban
places, not, as some people imagine,
because of carelessness or of tne pres
ence of the much blamed spark from a
locomotive, but because it has been
purposely set afire. Its ashes form ex
cellent fertilizer for Jiu vegetable or
flower garden that is to succeed it
This value of small bits of ground
on which vegetables or flowers may be
planted Is more appreciated year by
year, Some of this appreciation may
be referred to the increased cost of
living, with its consequent necessity
for minor economies; some of i It Is
probably due to the increase of the
knowledge of gardening and of the de-
Vlighta accompanying the growing of
plants, and perhaps a portion is due to
the example set by the Vacant Lots'
Association, evidence of whose good
work may be seen in every quarter of
the city. Philadelphia Record.
May Be Brnd in Hot "Water.
"They must -be hothouse shad" is
the. explanation of a bright five-year-old
boy of Chestnut Hill, of the pres
ence in the markets at untimely sea
sons of that toothsome fish.
USING UP, PETER'S PUMPKINS. '
. Peter, Peter Pumpkin-eater,
He -will hungry go,
For Joe and Ed and Bob and Ned ,
And Phil and Fred and John and Jed,
And even little Tom and Ted, ' ,
And every boy I know,
Has made a Jack-o'-lantern . .. '.-
iAnd some,, are making two). , '
oor Peter, Peter Pumpkin-eater! '
What will Peter do?
:'.-t'fce- ' -Youth's Companion.
.- P ;" 1.1 ""ii." . , r
asi TnE tar'oTm ARK.
It was the first day Ol the ; month,
and the reports for the month just
closed were brought home by the chil
dren, and a dreadful cross appeared on
Margie'3 report on' the "tardy square"
for the last Monday. .
Papa always examined the reports,
and the children knew that all marks
were considered and the reason for.
them demanded.
Margie's face was very red when
she handed her paper to papa. Papa
could understand tljat a little girl might
miss in spelling, or might not do an
example 'right when she was sent to
the board, and sixty pairs of eyes
watchett every motion of the t chalk,
but papa could never understand why
any one need ever bo tardy.
Margie watched papa "out of the
corner of her eye," as she would have
said herself, while his eyes traveled
down the 'paper. At iast he came to
that dreadful black cross, and glanced
up at her.
"Well, Low was this?" he asked.
Margie was slow. Her best friends,
and she i.ad many of them, always
had to acknowledge that she was slow.
So now she stood in front of papa, curl
ing the corner of her apron round a
lead-pencil, and trying hard to think
Just which of the .many, things that
last Monday morning
papa the
most, for it would take suca a long
time to tell thlm au! and the noon
hour was. mosj gone. '
"Well," saidMargie, "I couldn't seem
to find but one blue and one piak hair
ribbon, and I had to htmt a long time
to find mates to them." !
If she had said that Sister Beth had
sent j her upstairs twice for a book,
whose title was so long she had had
much difficulty in remembering it, or
reading it when she did come to It, or
if she had said that she had played
with baby while mamma had curled
Beth's hair, or if she hac said that
papa himself had told her to go round
by Mr. Ford's with a note, all of which
had(been equally true, she would just
have been told to start earlier the
next time; but she unfortunately chose
the thing that 'seemed of no Import
ance to her father, -..-hile it had re
mained in her mind because Margie
was an orderly little soul and usually
knew where her belongings were, and
the errands and the baby were such
e very-day events that they did not
seem really worth mentioning.
But papa had said such a dreadful
thing. Marf le opened both eyes and
mouth wide; she realty could not say
a word, and papa had gone out of
the house and down-town without giv
ing the matter another thought. -
An hour later mamma, going through
the room, had found -ier all in a heap
on the floor, just where papa had left
her, sobbing gently to herself:
"Why, my deary," said mamma,
"what- has happened?" And little by
little Margie told -her story, although
even then she forgot the errands and
the ba'oy, unti! she came to the dread
ful thing papa had said.
"He sauVSshe gobbed, "if I was late
again this nionth I should have to
wear a blue srid a pink or a red r.nd
preen ribbon, one on each pigcail, for
ti whob week! O uiamma, ilo you
think he would disgrace me so?"
Margie was slow, but what she lost
In slowness that month she made up
by starting early. It never entered her
head to refuse when the other chil
dren claimed her time to do errands
which they should have done them
selves. Margie noticed that now quite
frequently mamma Interfered. When
Philip said, r "Here, Margie, run , up
stairs and get my history. I've just
time to finish this story before school,"
mamma said,'"Phiiip must get his his
tory himself. I want Margie to start
for -school now."
I have spoken of Margie's, many
friends. One of her best was Miss
Gardner, the second-grade teacher, who
had found out that she really did know
things, even if she was so slow about
letting you know she did, and had pK
mo ted her to the second grade.
Miss Gardner was the very nicest
teacher, Margie thought so the next
night after papa had said "that dread
ful thing," Margie waited after school
to walk home with her, and, had told
her all about it.
Now Miss Gardner liked Margie as
much as Margie liked Miss Gardner,
and a little girl who always knew
what she was talking about and who
always Wed to " iQmodateV was a
pleasing variety in that busy school-'
room, so Mice Gardner made a plan
to help Margie, although she said noth.
mg about it. ;.
It was really amazing how man
people watched "the outcome of that
month. Margie phad confided in the
grocer at the corner, while he was ty
ing up a bundle for r-er one day, and
the milkmari wW brought baby's milk,
when she had ridden down to school
one morning, but refused a more ex
tended ride. "You see how it is," Bne
had ended her explanation, "i doa't
feel as if I'd enjoy the ride, thinking
about those ribbons, Specially the red
and sreen."
Papa, on his part, had heard consid
erable about those ribbons. First mam
ma haj taken. him ! to task. His part
ner, who . was one of Margie's fast
friends, wanted ,to know "what hei
mant by abusing that child so." Aud!
asked to explain Wmself, he Lad
brought up the story of the ribbons"
on
had heard about the errands and the
baby, much to his surprise. "Can you
tell rne why on earth she did not tell
me about Those and not about thoge
absurd hair, ribbons?" he gasped. . ;
liiij, ca, a. tau, ouiu miss Vjarfl-
ner, with the came smile that made
the children . love her. "You see, the'
errands and the baby are so much a!
matter of course that she didn't think!
about them, and for such a dreadful!
offense she felt as if ehe im.st hare
some especially Important excuse, and
the ribbons had made the most impres
sion on her from the fact of Its eel-
dom occurrence.'
V'4
Papa thanked Miss Gcrdner, and ex
plained that he bad thoujdit that h
was letting Margie .ojf.with'a very.'
slight punlafimHt, but that he haft
found out bis mistake, aid he had
flJX9J?d 92 many more friend
jus-lime-gin seemea to. nave tnaa ne
had; an Idea of; am tbe. Miss Gari
ner and papa had'laugbe X . .'. t
IVUCU LUC UUCU 1)1 a lg IB
brought home her repo ti with a smil
ing face. The spaces for the tardy,
marks were all blank. Papa took the
IJiiyei , IX uu m His nival lmincasne oij io
congratulated Margie upon her suc
cess, and then assured her that in fu
ture he could trust her to take care .f
her own tardy marks, and that wheth
er tardy or not, he should know that
she had done her best. .
Margie felt that the. month of anxi
ety had been well spent if she had
gained such a boon as that, but still
she felt that she must, make it thor
oughly plain that she had had a great
deal of help, "specially from Miss
Gardner. You see," she ended, "Miss
Gardner dldnt want me mcrtifled, to
she never rana: the oell if I wasn't
there without coming to the door to
see if I was coming, and once she
waited until I ran into the yard, andr
then when I couldn't pos'bly be called
late she rang it."
"H'm!" said papa. "I wonder If
Miss Gardner knows the, meaning of
the word partiality?" -
"I think so," said Margie. "Miss
Gardner knows about every thing."
Martha Dura nt In Youth'3 Companion.
Horscc No linger "Fulled."
"Pulling" in all -its forms has been
checked to a great extent, bath bere
and in England, by watching the per
formances of the horses and the JtcSc
eys, and ruling accordingly. There
have undoubtedly heen numerous in
stances vhere a jockey has beea ac
cused of "selfing a race," when he
really did his j best, a: cording to his
lights, to brlnjr his horse in first. Tbese
very cases of injustice, however. hav
served to emphasize the determination
of honest racing men to stamp out the
practice, and have had a whIesom
effect upon the jockeys. Tod Sloan, in
some respects the greatest jockey this
coury has produced, always claimed
that his expulsion from the Englis&i
track, was a gross injustice. Be that
as it may, foul riding has been mach
less common over there since he was
forced off the track. Our own stew
ards have begun to realize within tn
last five. or six years that drastic meas
ures must be taken to stop jockeying;
and as a result several "good hoys
were disciplined last season for fault
in riding that would have been over
looked In former years. 1 r
- 1' 1
Transform Yctablef.
Not satisfied with the u&ual graftio
adopted by floriculturists, a French
man, M. Molliard, of Paris, has 6tart!J
In to- transform, vegetables. AlrtJ
he hs succeeded In turning a radlsa
into a potato according to, a recent
consular report. '
It seems that after payinw $1500
voiun: for "Fads and Fancies,"
York's smart set still has monff
enough left to pay $1500 a Pa5 5
"medicated boots."
Even Mss.GiMnwhti tin.
the strlSt, but by that time ftfe
us. ana
The usual
XING 11
and