Newspaper Page Text
October 27, 1909. THE
said Mrs. Morton. "It doesn't make any
difference though whether it is dusted
or not. You are getting little anxious
puckers between your eyes, Belle, that
ought not to be there. You should think
of only beautiful and restful things."
"I don't know what this family would
do if I followed that advice," said Belle
repeating this conversation later to her
sister in the kitchen. Anna was strue
gling with the washing, which was greatly
increased since Mrs. Morton wore the
elaborate white waists she had recently
purchased. A colored woman came each
week to help, but she was incompetent
and had to he watched continually, so
both girls had their inexperienced hands
filled to overflowing.
"If mother would only stay out of the
kitchen It wouldn't be so bad," said Anna,
prodding the steaming clothes vigorously.
"She worries me almost to pieces
by advising me to let things alone and
not worry."
"John, if you will hang up the clothes
I'll bake a pumpkin-pie for dinner," said
Belle to her brother, who was lounging
on the porch. "Put them up anyway, for
mother will never notice them. I wonder
if Mrs. Whitesides still thinks she is a
pizen neat housekeeper when she finds
things upside down every time she happens
in."
"Better lay them on the grass, son," observed
Mrs. Morton from her comfortable
seai on me porcn. "l wonder way I ever
worried about having the clothes on the
line the right way when there are so
many more important things in life."
"You girls must have been crazy when
you urged mother to join that club," said
John bitterly, as his sister ran out for
the basket. "I don't care if the shirts
are hung to the line by the sleeves. If I
wasn't on the ragged edge of starvation
I wouldn't touch the mussy things at all."
"We girls," said Anna indignantly.
"That's a nice way for you to talk after
telling mother time and again about
Dick's mother and how
"Yes, I did," admitted John, "and 1
should have known better. Dick always
had a starved appearance and was tickled
to death when mother used to ask him
here to supper. Well, all the fellows are
in the same boat if that's any consolation.
Since the mothers have joined that
club Fred Saunton says he wouldn't
know a cookie if he saw one and I have
only the faintest memory of what gingerbread
tastes like."
"Tnhnl Ia?I. t 'I ..IJ > 1
uuuu< iwurv iuui c i oaiu AUlitl| auu
her brother waved a limp skirt around
his head at the Joyful sight, for there at
the end of the long line was Mrs. Morton
with a gingham apron on shaking out
and repining the garments to the wire in
the old orderly fashion.
"A few of the mothers of this town
thought their children needed a little education
along certain lines," she said as
they raced to meet her, "so they got up
the 'Don't Worry Club." As soon as that
valuable organization has fulfilled its mission
it will cease to exist."
ha,nk goodness!" said Belle, who fia4
come oil I to join in the celebratipn. , "I
^ ? M 1 '
> i
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SOUTI
Wiii
/JPB 1U?
C Makes m
No alum?i
ff from Royal Gr:
thought it was to be permanent and life
seemed hardly worth living. We are all
ready to go back to the pizen neat days
without a murmur."
"And help to make them pizen neat
ourselves," said John fervently. "My soul
can not rise higher than pumpkin-pie today,
in spite of the glorious news and I
don't care who knows I said so. Honestly,
mother, didn't you make a mistake in the
name of your club? Wasn't it work instead
of worry that you lopped off?"
But Mrs. Morton only smiled the smile
of a very wise woman.?The Advance.
PARROTS.
By Gra?e Greenwood.
The State of Iowa, among many remarkable
things, boasts a very remarkable
parrot, about whose story there is
something quite romantic and mysterious.
A farmer in the southern part of the
State was once driving through a lonely
wood, when he heard a strange, shrill
voice calling: "Stop! stop! Hold up! hold
up!" So imperative was the command
that the farmer checked his horses.
lnokflll AAffArlv nrniinH onH thou ahnva
him, as the voice seemed to come from
over his head. For some moments he
saw nothing; then, far up in a tall oak
that overhung the road, he perceived a
large green parrot, which was rapidly
letting itself down from branch to
branch, keeping up its shrill cry of "Stop!
stop! Hold up! hold up!" At last the
bird dropped from the lowest limb onto
the shoulder of the farmer, and nestled
up against his face, with the immemorial
parrot-plaint of "Poor Poll! Polly wants
a cracker!"
' ??'('
The farmer, though almost afraid of
the queer bird, so strangely encountered,
assured Jher of protection and carried her
home, where she was ,well fed and kindly
, cared for in evej*y way, and where she,
i. ' 19 ,
taking Powder is the jjf
st of time and labor B
rs to the pastry cook. S
lomizes flour, butter (1
ggs and makes the f
gestible and healthful M
BV4L
Umg Vo^dek j
osft healthful food flj
10 lime phosphates j
taking powder made jj
ape Cream of Tartar M
has ever since remained an admired member
of the family circle.
A parrot owned by a good woman in
New England not only resembles her
mistress in conversational powers, but in
social feeding. She is very fond of company,
and, whenever a neighbor calls will
greet the visitor with great cordiality.
bustling up and down her cage and calling
out right cheerily, "How de do? Take .
a chair! Glad to see you!"
Occasionally the invitations are a little
awkward; but, as a general thing, Polly
acts as the feathered proxy of her mistress,
"on hospitable cares intent," like
another Yankee parrot, who, on the dropping-in
of a certain nice gossiping old
lady, always sung out, "Brought your
knitting? Stay to tea? Molly, put the
kettle on!" .
A lady known by the name of "Deb"
to friends and parrot, too, is very fond
of music and often sings and plays.
Polly usually listens complacently, with
the grave, absorbed air of a critic. But
on one occasion her mistress had a cold,
and was out of voice, or the bird was out
of temper, or both; certain it is that
before the first verse of a popular ballad
was finished Polly shrieked out in disgust,
"Oh, dear! dry up, Deb, dry up!"?
Christian Intelligencer.
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