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6 Worth Womans While Take Heed How You Borrow. * 00 E passed a very uncomfortable day re cently because of an incident too trivial for the mental upsetting of any broad minded person we are perfectly con vinced, too insignificant to acknowledge even to ourselves, and yet there is no denying that what would have been a pleasant day was completely spoiled. Our neighbor sent in for the morning paper; we had not read it ourselves, and sent it with the re quest that it be returned soon, that we had not yet read it, and would take our turn afterwards. It was not an offensive message, certainly—we had not intended it to be so, —but how” it was delivered by the child who took it we can only surmise, for the paper came back at once; and when we insitsed that it be kept until read, and sent it again, in the short est while it was the second time returned. By this we had become very uncomfortable, indeed, and thoroughly dissatisfied with our own unneighborli ness—Why had we not let it go without a word, and if it never came back, done without it? There have been times when we had such experience, for people who are eager themselves to read sometimes do not remember thata you may desire the same privilege after them; we have had our paper borrowed while while still fresh and never brought home again, and we do not see at this day and hour that we lost out in consequence on any important issue of life. Why could not we have let it go again so—for we value our neighbor, and would rather do without both morning and afternoon papers than give offense to one we hold in such high regard. What could the child have said? Something was wrong somewhere, for the paper had twice come back. Some Results of Borrowing. It set us thinking, whether it were not better never to borrow except in cases of necessity. Now, we are frank to say we have a genuine attachment for our borrowing neighbor, who with all the confi dence of her generous soul sends in without hesita tion to us for just anything not at hand in the mo ment of need; it gives us a sort of warmth about the heart that we can send over to her to get change for a dollar when our gas meter announces itself out of fuel, and to know that she will oblige us with the utmost willingness, or if she cannot will just send the desired quarter that the cooking of the dinner may not be interrupted. Anything from her books to baking soda she would loan as cheerfully. And yet that paper—We fell to wondering if sometimes it might not inconvenience her to change the money—small change is so valuable an asset to housekeeping—or if she might not need the eggs she let us have before we had got in our fresh supply to repay her—eggs are as necessary as change. And suppose, needing that change, she cried in dis tress and perplexity, “Oh, if only I bad kept that quarter for my own gas!” Or—“lf my eggs had not been borrowed, I would have enough for my pudding!” Do our little neighborly requests oc casion her trouble like that? Or, worse still, are there ever any little complications, unbeknownst to us, which involve the mental worriment and regret the incident of the paper has cost us? Heaven fore fend!—Why could not we have provided ourselves ahead for the inexorable maw of that onward marching meter, and foreseen that the eggs would run short? One Sided Exchanges. An amusing little colloquy took place the other day which must have embarrassed the chief parties to an overworked system of borrowing, if they heard. We do not know whether or not they did. A mutual friend, an early riser, heard voices in the rear of her next door neighbor’s, and recognized the servant? of the two houses in stormy altercation. The Golden Age for June 28, 1906. By FLORENCE TUCKER Out of the excitement presently floated up to her this: “Yo’ all ain’t nothin’ but ole po white trash no how—Won’t even loan me a little lard for my brekfus—jes’ a little lard to make up my biscuits for my brekfus!” “Sen’ back them things what you already ber ried! Gimme back dat flour; gimme back dat cof fee; sen’ dat scrubbin’-bo’ad back here; gimme back dat sody—Turn back all them things what you done borried!” Thet speaker was in high dudgen; the respect ability of Gier white folks,’ was assailed, and by the very people who had borrowed, from her repre sentation, practically everything that kitchen or larder called for—at least, by their servant, which was the same thing. It was undeniably amusing, but how humiliating! And what a nuisance those borrowers must have made themselves to the long suffering people next door! We recalled the words of a dear little boy in Charleston whose grandmother was overfond, he thought, of sending him on errands to a neighbor’s. Finally one day he protested—‘Grandma,” he said, ‘I should like very much to oblige you, but you know the Bible says, don’t let your foot be found going too often to your neighbor’s house!” And we have thought it out this way: we may become a vexation to our neighbor; we may occa sion her serious inconvenience, even discomfort— unhappiness possibly, if misunderstanding arise; in the mouths of servants we will become a reproach. And it appears to us the Scriptural application of little Tommy would be good for ourselves, and we have tried to write it on our mind in such way that we won’t forget, “not to let our foot be found go ing too often to our neighbor’s house a-borrowing!” A Bargain in Potatoes. A woman got a bargain last week in a peck of potatoes, and has been worrying over it ever since. Which statement is anomalous on the face of it, for what woman ever rued a bargain? And this woman in particular—any who know her must smile at the mere suggestion. And potatoes selling at sixty cents a peck too! But what must one do, with the exorbitant price of things, when if not actually eating our heads off, as the saying goes, we are eating up our clothes and all the many other things that would add to our comfort and happiness— paying for food what ought to buy them all. What would you do if you needed potatoes, and had but a lean purse that day, and a silly old thing from the country came along and offered, actually offered, them to you at—Why, at the ridiculous price of twenty-five cents! But pray, don’t ask us what we would have done! It was just this way: As she walked out onto the porch a wagon came lumbering by, and a voice called, “Beans, potatoes, apples! Beans, pota toes— ” She let him get no further. “What are your potatoes?” she asked, looking in her economical soul to find them cheaper than at the grocer’s, certainly less than sixty cents a peck. He was a black-faced, kindly old soul from the country sure enough. He drew in his team and called up to her, “Well, twenty-five cents, I reck’n!” “Twenty-five cents?” she said pleasantly. “Well, I’ll take them!” Nor showed by a muscle of her face that she knew she was getting them too cheap, or that he coud get twice as much if only be knew the price of things,—evidently he had not been to town in a long time. He filled the measure and heaped it up almost to toppling off—good, sound, fresh potatoes; none of the sort that we sometimes get in the market with the skins all bleached and curled by some chemical process to look just right and gold for ‘-flew toes.” They were just what she wanted, and she walked into the house and displayed them. “See,” she said—“all these for twenty-five cents, and potatoes selling at sixty cents the peck!” But—and this comes of having to use a very full conscience with a very thin purse—her satisfaction was only momentary. The old innocent negro was scarcely out of sight when she began to feel qualms. “I declare it was not right,” she said to herself— “it was a shame to do the poor old fellow so!” She ought to have given him more she reflected, and then with a glance at the purse that had been so drawn upon it would hardly have reached so far as a sixty cent peck, she recalled that he had only asked twenty-five, and if she had not taken them somebody else would have gotten them at the same price. But there was small solace in that. “It w T as his ignorance. And I knew better—and it was not quite honest of me”—The more she thought about it, the more her conscience prodded, till finally she knew that she, her real self inside, had been dis honest and had tacitly defrauded, taken advantage of another’s failing to know. It was only an old negro, and undoubtedly he would have sold to some one else at the same price, but the very facts made it only the worse; he was just a poor negro, and others would treat him unfairly undoubtedly, so it was, indeed, too bad that she should have done him so. He was gone—she had never seen him before, and likely never would again—what could be done? Nothing;—poor old fellow! But worse than his plight was her own; he had simply missed getting the full value of his goods,—she had the goods, only half of which were honestly hers, and with them the consciousness that they were illgotten gain; and what she endured in mental conflict more than out weighed the balance which she could have wished had fallen the other way. It was a day of experi ence—we have it from herself—and from indica tions, experience which will stand her in good stead the next time she buys from an old man like that, or perhaps we were better to say will stand him in good stead. Funny, any way, about women and bargains. Things to Forget. If you see a tall fellow ahead of a crowd, A leader of men, marching fearless and proud, And you know of a tale whose mere telling aloud Would cause his proud head to in anguish be bowed, It’s a pretty good plan to forget it. If you know of a skleleton hidden away Tn a closet, and guarded, and kept from the day In the dark; and whose showing, whose sudden dis play, Would cause grief and sorrow and lifelong dismay, It’s a pretty good plan to forget it. If you know of a thing that will darken the joy Os a man or a woman, a girl or a boy, That will wipe out a smile or the least way annoy A fellow, or cause any gladness to cloy, It’s a pretty good plan to forget it. —Answers. Be on the lookout for mercies. The moiv we look for them, the more of them will we see. Blessings brighten when we count them. Out of the deter mination of the heart the eyes see. If you .want to be gloomy, there’s gloom enough to keep you glum; if you want to be glad, there’s gleam enough to keep you glad. Say, “Bless the Lord, omy sou', and forget not all His benefits.” Better lose count in enumerating your blessings than lose your bless ings in telling over your troubles.—Maltbie D. Bab- PQcfe , • -■= 1 I I ' V LI —o