‘.
,\,_nrcd of a companion.
ABNER’S PROPOSAL.
“IX-'e'li."'said Abner Mullins, survey-
ing the interior of the kitchen with
evident disfavor. “a wife would come
in kind 0’ convenient just now!"
It did._look uS if a woman's hand
was needed to bring order out of
chaos. Boots. clothing. dishes and
fishing tackle littered the floor. A
basket of cleaned fish occupied the only
chair, while the table and sink were
piled with an aoc’uinulatitm of articles
loo varied for description. As for
dirt—dirt was everywhere!
"Folks say I’m untidy." continued
Abner as. he eyed the disorder. “But
i ain't. It ain‘t that I like dirt: it's
that I don't like cleaning up. I love
“to are things kept nice as well as any-
body. I hate dirt worse than poison,
but i hate getting rid of it a heap sight
ran-re." and he drew a long sigh as he
s2: about his uncongenial task.
"There ain’t a doubt about it.“ he
Wl‘llt on aloud, a habit which his soli-
tary life had developed. “It takes
more‘n one to run a schooner, land or
we. It’s been growing on me ever
since I was hauled up in dry dock
with rheumatics that I‘d have to get a
mate. She can boss the galley and I’ll
man the ropes. If there’s foul weath-
er, I can take to the dory till the
storm’s blowed out.” Here Abner at-
tacked his breakfast dishes, a task he
particularly dctcstcd. _
"There will be a lot of things that
ain‘t pleasant about it,” he said, as he
thought of his lost freedom. "But I’ll
tako care what kind of a one I get. I
don‘t want a master hand at anything
but cooking and scrubbing decks. I'm
captain, and I won’t step down in rank
{or anylnnly.”
The notion of getting married had
been presenting itself to Abner for
some tinzc.
Not that he was lonely: he felt no
His idea ofa
wife was one to keep his house clean.
mend his clothes and cook his meals.
No more tender emotion stirred in his
breast. , .
He was getting along in years, and
' his rheumatism was increasing upon
him. One of these days he. would
need some one to take care of him.
Iii; wife must be young, strong and
capable and amenable; that was all he
asked.
Abner Mullins had lived alone for
many years. The Hermit of Beach-
’ ville he was called by the young peo-
ple. who regarded him with awe and
suspicion. To their minds a mystery
flung over his rude dwelling. Did
they not hear Abner talking busily to
some unseen listener.
r' The truth was, Abner, taciturn to
all fellow-beings, was fairly garrulous
with himself, and his conversations
were prolonged and emphatic.
Abner had not proceeded far in his
domestic occupation when the cheap
little clock on the shelf struck ten.
fie dropped his dishcloth with evident
mlief.
“Mess or no mess, those fish have
got. to be carried to the boat,” he said.
He took his basket on his arm and
went down the rocky lane to the vil-
lage and through the one straggling
strait bordered by houses. white paint-
ed. but with green blinds and gay lit-
tle .dooryarll's, ' bright w ith flowers.
‘ Theistreet‘led to the whari,"admlred
by artists and by tourists with came—
.ns. but which was regarded by the
natives from a. purely utilitarian stand-
point. . g" - '
An old schooner had been firmly
grounded. propped by stout piles, its
«bin converted into a wharf-house,
and a flight of steps out into its sde
for, the landing of passengers.
The Mary Dillen had made many a
hard voyage. but now she lay at rest
Leisurely feet trod her planks, and
the little waves plashed gently against
her weather-beaten sides—a peaceful
ending of a sea-tossed existence.
As Abner sauntered along the shaky '
structure which bridged the space be
tween the schooner and dry land. the
little steamer slowed up to make its
daily landing, and a bevy of village
girls flocked to the wharf to see the
bout come in, the chief excitement oi
the day.
The young women were in high
spirits. laughing. shrieking and chew
ling gum vigorously. Abncr’s gaze
was critical.
"None of them for me!” he remarked
to himself. “Gadding down hel’e 3.1
this hour in the morning, when they
ought to be doing up their work! A
parcel of giggling females!”
About two weeks after his condem
nation of the Beachville maidens the
hermit. rowed around the Point to the
sleepy old town of Bayport with a
hmd of clams and lobsters. Baypori
was a bustling metropolis to Abner
and he felt on his guard when he ven
tin-ed there. for he had a vague notior
that his path would be beset Witl
shorpcrs. But nobody tried to take
advantage of his innocence. and it was
not very long before he was returning!
to his boat with his empty ‘askets.
On his journey back he stopped at
1- humble little house near the whom
to ask for a drink. and a young womar
of perhaps twenty years answered hi:
knock. She willingly brought to bin
a dipper of clear, cool water. Tln
dipper was of tin, but it’was as clear
and shining as silver.
Over its rim “Abner eyed the give]
with interest. She was little, plum;
and dimplcd. with a trimness aboul
her which especially pleased Abner
ll» u-gmked her civilly.
“\lay I ask your name?" he ven
lured. wiping his mouth on his shir'
sleeve.
“Susie Brown.” answered the girl. i
pretty pink coming to her cheeks.
"Mine's Abner Mullins—~and I’u
mush obliged to you,” responded Ab.-
ner. With uuwonted gallantry; then In
turned and went on his way.
v
w v: r K L y. - l\ o. R w All)
k? G A‘ZE-T
"Trim little sloop," he said to him-
«111'; "kitchen looked shipshape. too; I
:lon't object togood looks if there's
something to ballast them,” and Ab-
ner cast off his painter and pulled for
home with long. steady strokes which
carried him swiftly through the danc-
ing sparkling waves.
Somehow Abner’s little house
seemed actually lonely to him that
night. and the next day the same feel-
lap: possessed him. He could not un-
derstand it.
{.n the. day following Abner persuad-
t-d himself that it was necessary to
lake :1 load of fish to Bayport, and he
(“Jilll'lltied unaccustomed care on his
n lit'i‘ before he started. Usually he
went from his fish-cleaning or clam-
digging without a thought of his ap-
,=».-arance, but now he put on a clean
(Emmi shirt and even trimmed his
Sword. After his cargo was disposed
ol‘ he again rapped at the little door.
opened to him and quickly
lmmght him his drink, with a smile of
rrcog'nilion. This was all, yet some-
how Abner felt thathis acquaintance
had advanced a step.
After this it became an accustomed
thing for Abner to go to Bayport to do
"- a"
fill-3:9
‘ his trading, and he never failed to stop
at lhe house by the wharf to quench
his thirst. - ’
At last came a morning when Ab-
ner spoke. Susie was unusually be-
win-hing that day, in a fresh print
gown and a distracting little sweeping
c.:p. ,
"Susie," he said. swallowing hard in
his effort to speak naturally; “Susie,
I want you to marry meg"
COTTON GOODS NOW DISPLAYED.
“inflow“ Patterns That; Produce Bril-
liant. lilfi'vcts. '
‘3‘." Ssl‘fi'im arrangement with the N l.’ Sil'll
’i‘llin Summer materials have begun
‘o appear in shop window's. Last sea.-
son‘s patterns are tame in comparison
with the brillian'. combinations spread"
out for inspection. Large. gorgeous
tulips are scattered over a black and‘
white irregular striped ground, and
.lividcd by narrow bands of plain color
on a whit.- ground. Many of the new
organdiesa are striped or checkrd
close white stripes for a foundation.
and the flouncc-s are scattered over
Susie diopped her broom and stared. these regardless. Every thing is to be
"Don’t say a. word!” said Abner in
great haste. “I've got a thousand dol-
lars laid up. and I‘ll be a good hus—
band to you. You won’t find the work
and. and I'll fit you out well. Think
it over, and I'll be around day after
lo-lnorrow.” Abner was Off before
confused and blushing, could
infer a, word.
That evening Abner sat on his door-
step and looked out over the bay.
Susie
"I expect I‘ll miss being alone,” he '
"But I reckon it'll be smooth
I'll keep the tiller.”
said.
sailing.
The next day
house. "It's only fair to give her a.
cit-:1? start.” he said, as he scrubbe’d
i gorousl y.
lo was down on his hands and
hates, mopping up the floor when a
shadow fell before him. He looked
up. Ills doorway was filled by the
lizure of a. middle-aged woman, very
stout. and very much out of breath.
"Well!" she panted. “It’s a .pull up
this bill of yours. but it’s a sightly
place when once you get here. You
Abner Mullins?“
"‘l'cs.“ shimmer-ed Abner, too much
astonished by the invasion to get up
from the floor.
“I’ve come over from Bayport on
purpose to see you," continued the vis-
itor. "l'niMrs. Brown. You’ve been
courtin’ my Susie?”
There was a note of interrogation in
the last-sentence which seemed to de-
mand of Abner some response. He
slowly gathered himself up, and once
on his feet ventured to look at Mrs".
Brown. She was: a. comely, whole-
some woman. with bright black eyes.
before which Abner's named and
fell. , y _' ..,._ _
“I—I a3ked her to marry me!” he
managed to utter. '
“Well, now. that's all nonsenself'
continued Mrs. Brown, stepping in and
looking about. “Mercy sakes! What
a hole! You see, Susie is only nine-
teen, and you must be full onto forty-
five. Besides, she is gomg back to
Lewistovvn to work in a fat-{ory—she’s
only been at home while I was visiting
my sister-and there’s a young fellow
there who is paying her attention. I
don‘t wonder you want to get married,
though, livin' in this mess!"
Mrs. Brown picked up a rug from
the floor, wiped a chair off and sat
«loWn., Abner stood awkwardly be
fore her. conscious only of a. desire for
her departure.
“Now look here. Abner Mullins!"
went/on Mrs. Brown. “I’ve heard a
good deal about you. and I know
you're an honest man and no drinkers-
cxcept from Susie‘s dipper," she added
with a chuckle. “I‘ll tell you what I’ll
do. I‘ll marry you myself!”
The floor cloth dropped from Ab-
uer-‘s hand. .
"Yes." continued Mrs. Brown. “I’ve
been a widow for fifteen years. and I
begin to feel I like to have somebody
to fend for me. I'll keep you tidy as
wax—you need it bad enough. good
llcss knows—land I'm a. master cook.
l‘vc got five hundred dollars in the
bank. Susie's got her pa’s money and
ain't (‘lepcndent on me. My rent‘s up
next week. so we might as well get
married then. There ain't anything
for us to wait for. We're old enough
to know our own minds.” ’
#5
he began to clean ‘
bayadere this coming season, if the
salesman has been correctly informed.
'llld whether yourinatcrial is striped
up and down or across it must be made
up with the stripes running around.
providing your height will admit of the
shortened effect. -
Shaded effects are quite conspicious
among the early importations of new
materials, and these are shaded moires
in gorgeous greens, blues, and purples,
with waved stripes of satin, or large
moons spotting them all over.
For calling, the young lady’s gown
is of cloth in some light color, chiefly
gray, or of velvet. Braid and bands of
velVet trim the cloth dresses, and they
llut Abner. standing helpless in the , are decidedlv more dressv than ,1“
middle of the floor. felt that he should '
never know his again!
-Unilll sir weeks later Abner was
lulllllllll' from his dory with a basket
of fish. when a Beachvllle acquaint
anvc accosted him. "
”Hello. Alanprl How do you like be
ing' married?"
conventional tailor gown. The per-
fectly plain tailor gown is not a fea-
ture of- afternoon dress this season.-
except as purely a street costume, and
it is not worn for calling by the up-to-
date young woman. A very smart-
tailor-made gown shown in the nine
stration is of mordore cloth, trimmed
“It might "0 worse," said Aime“ l elaborately with narrow black braid.
slowly, as he climbed the lane. “Yes,"
he continued to himself, as he looked
into his neat kitcvhen and saw the fig-
‘ure of his wife stepping briskly about,
preparing a savory supper and sing-
ing cheerily as she worked. “Yes, ii
might be a deal sight Worse.”
“Sammy Snaggs," asked the teach-
er, “what part of speech is the word
‘maletliction'?” ‘
“Noun.” replied Sammy.
“What gender?"
“Masculine gender."
"Indeed?"
"Yes’m; , if itx-was 'feminineiit would
he ‘femaieiiictlon'."—Pittsburg’ Chron-
icle. .
'~. ~‘, ~'--" o '_I
- “1.535: ‘
The blouse bodice has a belt of cream
satin and violet velvet fastened with a
iewelled buckle, a revers of embroider
ed cream satin, and an edging of chin-
chilla on the basque, epaulettes, collar
and cuffs. Another cloth gown in
lawn color is embroldered with brow-1:
silk, finches of brown chiffon edge the
white silk revers, and the necktie is of
accordion plaited white chiffon stripe:i
with gold. ,
One of the latest models in coats- is
carried out in blue cloth. with one row
of narrow black silk, braid outlining.
the edges. The small yoke and collar
are of violet velvet striped round will:
' warfare.
wide striprs in flowei‘cd designs are
in ’
Faure at an Alpine Review.
Nothing seems to come amiss to the
genial President of the French Re-
public. Before starting on his trium-
phal journey to Russia he held a re—
view of the French Alpine troops, who
are specially trained for mountain
Instead of wearing the unbe-
coming dress-suit of official life, the‘
President appeared on the scene clad
in an elegant shooting-and-climbing
suit, made of grey velveteen and leath-
er. After he had been driven up the
mountainous roads of Thermigron,
he got out of his carriage and cheer-
fully mounted a trustworthy and
powerful mule, specially provided for
his accommodation. This enable<
him to see all that went on without the
slightest nervousness. -
No horse, however well trained, en—
joys being ridden along very narrow
ridges of rock or mountain, but the
mule, together‘with his humbler coni-
panion the donkey, notwithstanding
his well-known determination to al~
Denomlmc- Dues: DENT-FAUEE.
ways go as near the edge as possible
thoroughly enters into all the fun
The President was well aware of this
and, bravely exposing himself to thrs
good-natured laughter of his compa-
triots, he reviewed the troops of the
Republic in this original fashion, ccr- ’
tainly a. great improvement on the
method pursued by M. de Freycinet,
who, when French Minister of War
was never seen by the soldiers save in
a. landau.
It. is a. rare thing for a theatrical
manager to be memorialized but that
is what London has done for the late
Sir Augustus Harris by the erection oi
a handsome drinking-fountain in red
granite and blue Manéfield stone, now
being put up in Catherine street, at the
north corner of Drury Lane theatre.
The structure is from a. de-
sign by Mr. Sidney J. R. Smith,
the architect of the Tate gal-
lery. When completed it will
be about 30 feet in height, and in an
arched recess there will be a bust of
the late Sir Augustus Harris, by Mr.
T. Brock, R. A. It is expected that
the unveiling cermony will take place
this month.
. Wonderful Boy Preacher.
Whatever one may think of the wis-
dom or allowing a child of tender years
, to mount the pulpit and‘descantto his
é‘lders on. Bible truths, the phenome.
, non of a boy of twelve years who is
.ablo . to ,tallij cohgpently before large
audiences is certainly curious.
- . boy-Panace-
Here is a portrait of a boy named.
Willie Powell, who is creating,a sen-
sation in Wales at the present time by
his preaching performances. On a. re-
cent Sunday morning this boy spoke
from the Baptist pulpit in Porthcawl
to a. packed congregation for forty-five
minutes, and preached again in the
evening for thirty-five minutes from
the, text “How shall we escape it we
neglect so great salvation?” '
The boy is twelve years old, and he
composes his own sermons. This is
how a correspondent describes him:—
"The boy is possessed of a massive and'
well-formed cranium, he has a. pleas-
ant countenance and very winning
manner, and he speaks without notes
of any sort. He has a very clear and
distinct utterance, and is deliberate in
his manner.” .
The Kalcer’s Russian Hound.
Kaiser Wilhelm’s Russian Barsoi
hound travels in a. third-class railroad
carriage, with an attendant, ten tickets
being bought for him, as he will not
go in a. baggage car and~ objects to
strangers. He once jumped from a
train going at full speed, but was un-
hurt. A peasant found him and took
care of him till he discovered the own.
er, and that the Kaiser valued the dog
at $4,500. ’He then returned the dog
with a. bill for {450, “the finder’s legal
ten per cent." The Kaiser cut the
gold. and “the rudhe Als’of killed him-ls l bill down to "wt—New York Sun.
I
chlflon. .
I
. , \
i . we IBETH BOOK.
The Author of “ The l-‘e-avenly Twim
W‘riles Another N: vo-l.
“Madame” Sarah Grand, for some
how we do not say “Mrs.” Sarah G: am
has, as far as the name goesra kind 0
imperative sound, because it is associ-
ated with that pompous King Lori;
XIV., called in history “le Grand."
If Mme. Sarah Grand as a writer of
very remarkable romances is known to
the world, her individuality is not.
Francis Elizabeth Cook was born in
England, and, strange to say, her fam-
iily were Irish Quakers. Her girlhood
E'was spent in Yorkshire. At a very
; early age she married an cfiieer in the
‘Eugllsh Navy, who was a widme:
with two children. As Mrs. Mortal
she followed her husband‘s fortunes
l
l
SARAH GRAND.
i
l
i
l
l
l
l
and spent her young married lite in va-
5, rious foreign countries. As a girl she
5 wrote verse and stoxies. Her first ac-
:cepted story was for an English juve-
.-ni1e publication, “Amt Judy.” Sarah
iGrand as a. pen name She assumed at
,the start. “Ideala” was published in
5 1888, followed by “Singularly Deluded.”
There is good evidence that although
at the outset her fiction drew attention,
Sarah Grand found some difficulty in
placing “The Heavenly Twins” with a
1 publisher. In 1893 the fastidious Spec-
;tator wrote a full column about “Ide-
ala,” and in the same year The London
iChronicle gave “Singularly Deluded”
:much praise. This latter book was
; published by the Blackwoods. The ro-
'mance which brought the author most :
conspicuously before the public was
“The Heavenly Twins,” issued first by
Cassell in 1893. Sarah Grand’s last
work is “The Beth Book,” just issued
- by the Messrs. D. Appleton & Co.
Sarah Grand is a remarkably hand-
some woman', with light hair, blue
eyes, and of a commanding presence.
The name she has selected is the one
intimates, and she signs “Sarah
Grandt" to all her correspondence.
EIDER DUCK FARMSIN ICELAND.
About 10,000 Pounds of Elderdown are
Collected Annually in Iceland.
All accounts formerly given about
elder ducks say that. nests are robbed
of their down twice, the duck supply-
ing it each time from her own’ body;
The third time the drake gives his white
down, and this is allowed to. remain.
Now it is stated, however, they :01-
low this custom no longer but. wait un-
til the little ones are hatched. It‘lias
been found that the birds thrive better
and increase faster whenjthe'y are al~
lowed to live as nature mount them to
do. so now thepoor mother-sure no
longer obliged to strip» themselves of
all their down to returnish their. de-
spoiled nests. Sometimes it the quan-
tity is very great a little may‘ be ta-.
ken, but enough must be left to cover
the eggs when the duck leaves her {1831,
for food.
are gathered annually in Iceland. 7,0fm
being exported to foreign countrics.
Formerly the peasants used to receivu
over 21 shillings a pound, but the pl‘lfit
has now fallen to half that amount.
The peasants seldom receive money and
are obliged to barter their down for
merchandise furnished by the Danish
merchants at the little settlements at
the fjords. A pound and a half of down
is enough to fillan ordinary bedpuff.
These very comfortable articles are
found in the guestroom of every Ice-
landic farm, however poor and small
it may be.—-Good Words.
- ‘l'llo Czar'a Car.
The height of luxurious traveling
has been reached by the czar and czar-
ina. The empress’ private car is up-
holstered in pale blue satin. The elec~
tric lamps are .all in the form of lilies,
and it contains writing and tea. tables
made of mother-ofvgearl. The nursery
is the next apartment, and 'is as com-
roonis in any of the czar’s‘ palaces.
There are dining rooms and drawing
rooms and several sleeping apart-
ments; in fact, this train is a miniat-
ure palace. The wheels are covered
with india rubber tires—Tit Bits.
_ llcssings of Freedom.
Foreign Visitor—I never in my life
saw such lying, thieving, insolent cubs
as the boys of this country! .
American—Oh, you have not 'met
any real American boys yet. All are
well-behaved. Those you have seen
are street arabs, gutter-snipes, hood-
lums.
F. V.——Humph!
them when they grow up?. ,
A'.—Well——er-——they mostly become
ward politicians and do the vote-count-
ing and ofiice-holding.—plew' York
’Weekly. .
“Dar ain’ no wuss victim ob mis-
placed confidence," said Uncle Eben,
"dan de man who-(its ter’thlnkin’ he
knows lev’rythlnsfk-Wuliington Sun,
or AN OSTRICH Flinn.
used exclusively by those who are her ,
About 10,000 pounds of eiderdowc'
fortable and handsome as the same'
,What becomes of'
CONSTANT L‘ove FOR THEIR MATES
A CHARACTERISTIC.
the Birds Live lo be Seventy or Eighty
‘ Years Old—Plumage of the Female 0!
Nu Great \‘alue—Feuth‘ers in Their Raw
Condition Bring $60 :1 Pound.
One might write much about. the
habits and manners of the ostrich.
When about four years old the birds
are paired off. if they have not. al—
ready chosen their own partners for
life; they are of an affectionate and
loyal nature, however, and there are
more love matches among them than
marriages of conveniences. From that
l lime until the end of 'their seventy or
eighty allotted years, there is only loy-
alty and devotion; any ostrich husband
will fight off a strange hen who comes
hood ever induces him to love twice.
When the birds are eighteenmonths
' , old, that is, soon after they; reach their
permanent style of dress, they may be
plucked. A plucking occurs only once
in ten weeks; as often as that, the
whole troop is looked over, and those
whose plumes are ripe are marked as
victims. No bird undergoes this pro~
cess oftener than every nine months,
so their lives are for the most part
peacefully undisturbed, being one
of lovemaking and sugargheets. It is
a sorry sight to see this destruction,
even though pride and a haughty spirit
do precede it. As ever, the wolf comes
in sheep’s clothing, and the plucker
would make any ostrich
mouth water: "Here’s a fine meal,”
says the whole troop, and forthwith
they come, lunging, plunging, lurching’
from far and near. The dmnurely gar-
- bed females are worth little for palm—
age; when their brother took to his
dashing style, he did not realize that
. in his glory lay his downfall. As the
whole troop crowds close around the
pile of corn, one of the doomed follows
is singled out, drived or coaxed a little
to one side, and in a second the gate of
a pen has closed him in.
It is a narrow pen, with sides joining
in a wedge-shape, and into the wedge
the angry bird is forced by two men
who guard most carefully the while
against a kick from a heavy foot. It
is the work of a second to clap the
BtOClC over Mr. Oslrich's head, and this
calms him like a dose of soothing
syrup. -The stocking is made from a
long strip of heavy blue jeans, and
the sudden blinding of it bewilders the
bird so that the beating wings grow
still in his wonder. The long stacking
; is shaken and peeked at, but it cannot
. be worked off by any blundering vex-
ation, and from this moment the
way that
. Now the plucking begins.
One of the great close—held wings is
turned back, revealing a Wealth of
black plumes, white plumes and varie-
gated plumes. The great floating
white ones, such as adorn the picture
hats, are cut close to the root; if they
Were left until ripe enough to pull, the
ends would have outlived their perfec-
tion. The scissors are sharp and mer-
ciless, and clip, clip, they are sulpplng
off, dollars and dollars with every
stroke. 'l‘he‘smaller feathers in the
wings, those which are protected closer
as my guide depreciuted, hurting the
to the body may be pulled out without
bird very much.. Not very-much. As
won as the clipping and the tugging
cease. 'The bird probably imagines
the inexplicable ordeal over, but a mo-
ment more, mywhilom dandy, that a
daub of red paint may designate your
sign post. legs as belonging to a pluck-
ed bird. That done, the stocking
comes off, and out you go to liberty in
the broad corral once more, to liberty,
but not to present happiness. For the
It is long before he can rise above it,
and his more fortunate companions
lose no chance to twit him on his dis-
grace, fighting him off as often as he
tries to mingle with them.‘ His only
eon-fort lies in having companions in
misery, for several proud fellows must
undergo the humiliation on the same
day. The feathers are carefully stowed
away by a man with a. bag; the loss of
one would mean loss of money. 1::
their raw condition, uncurled ard un-
dyed, they are sold at wholesale for
$60 per pound, or about 60 cents for a
leather, but some of the finest plumes
are worth much more. The body
feathers are never pulled, but gathered
daily as they dmp in the corrals.~~‘l.‘or-
onto Globe. »
______.____._....__
A Jewish Custom.
It may not be generally known that,
as a constant reminder of the'forty
vears’ wandering in the wilderness,
and of the fact that here “there is no
abiding city,” in the houses of all good
Jews some portion is‘left incomplete.
In Lord Rotschild’s mansion in Pic—
gilded ceiling is unfinished, while in
the famous white-and-gold drawing
room of the late- Baron Hirsch one
corner was left nearly bare. It is said
that when curious guests inquired the
that the money gave out before the
decorations could be completed.
“And now,” said the colonel of the
sappers and miners, “who will volun-
teer to crawl through the trench and
fire the magazine?" ' .
, There‘was no response.
“It is a dangerous mission,” said the
officer; the man who attempts it will
find himself in very cramped quarters.
and is liable at any nfoment to get
stuck. Who will go?” _
There was another brief silence, and
spoke up: = .
colonel. ,I used to live. in 'a New Yer-k
flat.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer.
his way, and only a. lonely widower- .
rattles a great sack of dry corn in a.
ostrich is in the hands of his masters.
shame of a. plucked bird is crushing. ,
cadiliy a small part of the beautiful ‘
reason he was wont to reply gravely»
then a thinman with a weazened face‘
-4
. "I-guess Lean do it, if any man can. \
I
Norwalk Chronicler