Newspaper Page Text
; .
*.r, .--■"'•■•■--■ATiTia
j
|
1
isxt
Ipltickg J
i.'a Sootl.
»»
WALTER BLOOMFIELD
Coprtlikt UM fcr B«»ut BmkTiv SMC
'< CHAPTER XX.
t Continued.
My cheeks tingled Kith indignation
• Trlileh t did not dare' to express, I
followed my uncle down the stairs.
Thoroughly, Vexed and pained as 1
was to near my dear father so pitiless
ly. disparaged by bis brother, I was
not at all sutprised at ancle Barn's
bitK-rnoss. Circumstances seemed to
show that my father and I had both
'alien victims to the clumsy fraiid of
an Ignorant old man. But the slum
tlon bad now become hopeful. If
uncle Bain's theory was correct, as I
hoped and believed it might prove to
be, reconciliation of the brothers was
not (ply possible but highly probable,
. iny ancle's recent declaration to the
con'.ary notwithstanding.
•' .is soon as be entered the brilliant'
ly lighted dining room uqcle Bam OS'
mimed his airiest manner, in no way
indicating the serious thoughts which
had occupied bis mind a minute or so
before. All the company, except Ur.
lioscubcrg, had departed; and my
iiuut and' Miss Marsh, who were
. dreserd for dinner, appeared very
charming In whtto silk robes trimmed
Vr'.ik old lace, each lady Wearing a
JJirdle from which depended a superb
fan omnmented With feathers and
diamonds.
1 shall not attempt to describe either
the apartment or the decking of the
table, being well assured of my In
ability to do so. Suffice it to say that
both were as. artistic and luxurious
ns the best artists in tboso things ut
the end of the nineteenth century can
provide for men of lavish expenditure.
, As soon as dinner was over, we ad
, journal to the drawing room, with
the exception of uncle Bam, who be-
tcok himself to the roof .to emokc,
'baying that he would prefer to be
aloue ns he hod a troubled matter to
unravel, and could not accomplish his
purpocc without consuming three
clgan. ‘tit is now," said be, glancing
nt bis watch, few minutes past
nine, and I may not sec you ngain be-
fora,'morning, so good-night and pleas
ure' dreams.''
t)cnr old unde Bam! How well I
know the subject on which he intended
to exercise his thoughts, and how ar
dently I hoped a renewal of his friend
ship with my father would result from
bla deliberations!
, Whether her womanly Instincts had
perceived the attraction which her
sister had for me, and her kludllucss
<of heart prompted her to gratify me,
or that It ao befell of accident I know
not; but to my great eatlsfactlon, on
returning to the drawing room my
annt nt once entered Into conversation
with Mrf Rosenberg, lcavlpg Miss
Marsh and me to pass our time as
beat we conld.
, What an evening was that! Why, 1
waa almost happy and really believe
I should have been quite so but for
the shadow of the estrangement be
tween the two brothers whose lives
were bound up with mine.
The conversation of lovers, so de
lightful to tbe parties Immediately
concerned, Is notably uninteresting
to everybody else; and it is not my
Ipteutlon to bring upou myself tlml
ridicule wbich meu past tbe amorous
phase of their career so mercilessly
and Inconsistently mete out to tlielr
fellows engaged in it by recording
In this place my conversation with
Constance Marsh on that memorable
occasion. Suffice It to say that In
telling tbe tale of the sequins, which
F seised this opportunity to relate, I
greatly excited her sympathy. My
long silence was forgiven as soon us
Its cause was understood and it was
dear to me that I had established my
self lu her favor more Ornily than
aver.
m
&n
"Yea," replied Miss Marsh. “I am
going to Tarrytown. Mrs. Van Reus-
selaer lias Just returned from Europe,
and !s t? give a big reception.”
“Where is Tnrrytowu, and who Is
Mrs. Van Iteussclaer?’’ I Inquired.
"A'arrytown is a beautiful village
ou the Hudson, about twenty-five miles
from here. Mrs. Van Rensselaer is
tbe widow of Martin Van Rensselaer,
the ruilrcr.d Utug. Everybody has
.beard of old Martin Van Rensselaer,
who died two years ago worth fifty
million dollars." ‘
“Yes, l think I have read something
about him somewhere,” l said. ‘Tell
me, Connie dear, will the Rev. Mr.
Brice bo there?”
“I don’t know. I’iu sure. I ko;ie
not,” replied Miss Marsh.
•*1 am quite unable to express my re
light that your entertain such a hope.*
May I beg yon will increase It by tell
ing me why you hope be may uot be
there?"
"Because he is a tease, and mouopo-
Uses my time when be nas the oppor
tunity to do so,” confessed Miss
Marsh.
"If the Rev. Mr. Trice were to uik
you to become bis wife, what would
you say?”
•‘The came as I have said before."
“What! has he asked you to marry
himr
"Dear me. yes. :.ot8 of times."
•And «ba*. hat been you* answer?*
•‘Dear Connie! And If I were to ask
you that question, what would your
reply be?” '
"The same.”
"Do you like me no better than Mr.
Price?”
"O yes; ever so much better.”
"Then who Is It you prefer to either
of us?”
"Myself.”
"Connie/* I said, taking one of her
little bands and holding it tightly in
both of mine, "I don't mind confess
ing to you that I was vain enough to
hope your decision might be different.
I would not ask you to marry me while
I am poor; but all the world know
and no place furnishes more examples
that this city— that wealth Is a thing
which passes from hand to hand and
la as often gained as lost. What If I
were rich enough to keep my wife in
the manner In which you have lived
your life?"
"I was not thinking of money; my
father left me more of that than
can possibly require in any circum
stances. I don't think I'm much in*
dined to marry anybody/*
You may change your mind. Some
young ladles who hhre talked as you
talk now have afterwards become ad
mirable wives. If that should be your
case, what sort of man could you toler
ate as your husband?’*
"Not Mr. Price."
"Dear Connie! And me—could you
tolerate me?”
"I think perhaps I could If 1 tried."
"May I rest assured that, should you
ever marry, It Is my wlfo you will be*
come? That provisional promise
would make me happy.”
Take it then and be happy, you
silly boy.”
Dearest Connie, I must seal this
compact with a kiss.”
'Not now. Earnest dear,, not now.
Hush! Leave gq of my hand; here
edmes my sister and Mr. Rosenberg."
CHAPTER XXI.
ANNIN WOLSHT FOUND.
Though Constance Marsh had not
promised to bo my wlfo (indeed that
could hardly have been, for I had not
asked'her for nuy such promise), her
undertaking to accept me for her hus
band should she n/arry filled me with
satisfaction. Her professed Indispo
sition for marriage 1 regarded as a pro
fession and nothing more—the banter
ing playfulucss of u high-spirited,
noble-minded girl. I had not lacked
opportunities to observe that the am
bition of every woman is marriage;
and that the few, the very few wom
en who deny this assertion with words,
Illustrate its truth lu the failure of
their lives. The girl of my choice was
Intensely feminine, her nature tiu-
warped by nuy of tbe pernicious hum
bug of woman's so-called rights, con
cerning which a shrieking sisterhood
of the malformed, tho neglected, anil
the deluded spoil much good paper
and rend the all* lu many lecture halls;
and I did not at all doubt that I bad
now merely to raise my fortune to
tho level of hers Uf enable mo to claim
her hand and find my claim allowed.
Love will lightly attempt tasks from
which reason would shirk, nud the
difficulty of effecting the necessary
change in my condition had no terrors
for me, or I was too dazzled by the
prospective prize to perceive them.
With an unquestioning faith In my
uncle’s perceptive powers, I wna now
more than ever disposed to unreserv
edly accept his theory of the robbery
of t)io sequins, ni^l I resolved to neg
lect nothing that might tend toward
their recovery. Filled with this idea,
I arose early the Doxt morning, re
solved to discuss with him ways aud
means expedient for me, and was our-
i understand you will be from honu^ prised to learn that he had atlsen bc-
to-niorrow," 1 observed. fore me a
and was onguged in bis study.
My mental conditlou was such that
it appeared to me Impossible that an
other man could have affairs com
parable for Importance with tbe mat
ter upon which the possession of my
dear Constance more or less depended,
and I did not in the least scruple to
Interrupt my uncle. I found him
seated at his desk, writing with mar
vellous rapidity. "You come early,"
he said, looking tip, but without for a
moment ceasing to write. "Take a
chair. I will talk to you presently.”
Seeing that he was busy, I did uot
auswer, but sat down as requested
and listened to the industrious scratch
ing of my uncle’s pen. Presently the
writer ceased, folded his papers,
placed them in an envelope, on which
he bestowed a vigorous blow at the
sealing place, then threw himself back
in bis chair and folded bis arms. He
appeared to know perfectly why I had
disturbed him at that early hour,
though I had not yet spoken to him;
and with his accustomed bluntness he
at once grappled with the business
be conceived 1 bad come upon.
‘With regard to thoae sequins." said
uncle 8am. "I find no’cause to revise
the remark I made about them last
night. Adams, the butler, or what
ever you call him, stole them; of that
I don’t entertain the smallest doubt.
He may have been assisted by another
of the Holdenhurst servants, or by om
of Knight & Faulkner’s men; but it
were making tho alterations In tbe
Hall, the treasure was accidentally
revealed to Adams?—who would be
quite safe, he would think, ih conclude
Ing that its existence was unknown to
your father or any other member of
our family from the mere fact of ft
being where it was. Many people who
can look with equanimity on piles of
bank notes are strangely moved at
sight of a heap of gold coins, and find
the infernal stuff quite irresistible.
This I believe was the case with
Adams; and I base my opinion on bis
going so much in and out of the crypt
about the time tbe robbery is sup-
posed to have taken place, his strange
finding of you there, his illness Imme
diately afterwards, his lies to incrimi
nate me, and bis gift to you of fifty
pounds. This lost move of the old
man was to salve his conscience rather
than to benefit you. That conscience
is a vile thing and troubles a great
many people, 1 know well; for I bad
a conscience myself some years ago.
It was a great nuisance. However, I
take only a remote interest In all these
things, and but for your sake, don’t
care two straws what became of tho
sequins. Your father has treated me
too badly for friendship between us
even to be renewed; but I confess I
should be gratified to learn that his
frightful blunder has been demon*
strated to him. This is my position;
and If you intend to try to recover tbe
treasure—good; I will help you with
advice and money. Or if you don’t
think the amount worth the trouble,
good again; and we will agree not to
speak or tblnk any more of tbe mat*
ter."
At another time my uncle's declara*
tfon wonld have depressed me, for cer
tainly there was but one thing I more
ardently desired than his reconciliation
with my father. But J was not now
disposed to be easily depressed. On
the contrary, to ray eyes all things had
put on a rosy hue, and I not oniy
looked for the speedy possession of a
quarter of a million sequins, and of
Constance Marsh as my wife, but also
for the patching up of the miserable
feud of which uncle Sam bad just
spoken. Lovers’ thoughts are so ex
travagantly fantastical that*I was
oblivious of the fact tbnt the sequins
might never be recovered, or if recov
ered were not mine; tlmt Constance
Marsh had not promised to marry me;
and that my uucle bud just declared
the Impossibility of renewing bis for
mer friendship with my father. In
this cheerful mood I answered that
1 hud fully determined to followup the
clue he had suggested, and was pre
pared to accept any assistance ho
uilftht think necessary uud was pre
pared to offer.
Very good," said unde 8am. "Tho
case Is n simple one. You have not to
deal with an accomplished thief, but
an Ignorant old miser, who was over
come by a large temptation aud has
already manifested u symptom of re
morse, Tbe world knows uothlng of
its, greatest thieves; their success pre
vents that. Your object, as T under
stand it, is to get a grip on those se
quins; aud raiue merely to establish
tho fact that 1 had no baud in ab
stracting them. Am I right?"
"Quite right, uncle.’’
"Well, you have but to follow mj
directions, and 1 venture, to predict
that you will recover every sequin be
fore three weeks are over your head.
Return nt ouce to Holdenhhrst, and for
a few days closely observe every net
of Adams; but be extremely cautious
that the old man doesn't become con
scious you are watching him. Tuik to
him freely, but make no attempt to
sound him ou any point which bears,
however remotely, on the matter in
hand. It Is not unlikely your vlgilauco
will be rewarded by valuable knowl
edge. About a week after your re
turn send (be old man ou tome errand
which will keep him away from Hold
enhurst for an entire day, and during
his absence thoroughly examine his
room and everything that Is his. Don’t
scruple to turn out his drawers nud
boxes—his suspicious conduct fully Jus
tifies the act. Should you full to find
the sequins, when tbe old roan returns,
seize him by tbe throat and, forcing
him against the wall thus”—here uncle
Sam suddenly aroso and, grasping me
tightly around the neck with his left
hnnd^ pushed me backwards agaiust
n large cabinet with such vigor that
I was almost strangled, aud my white
tie, which I had spent twenty minutes
in adjusting, hopelessly spoiled—"tell
him you possess the clearest possible
evidence that he has stolen the con
tents of ten chests belonging to your
father; that if he immediately restores
what he has stolen he shall be for
given, but that If he dare refuse or
even demur you will at once hand him
over to the police and charge him with
robbery. Be intensely earnest in your
mapner, and let your subsequent acts
accord with your words. If you defa’t
find the sequins while Adams is away;
your accusation on his return will
throw him into a deadly terror; he will
fall on his kuees like a penitent vil
lain in a melodrama and give you in
formation worth $500,000. If you find
the sequins, you can afford to deal less
harshly with the old man."
"Yes,” I gasped, as soon as my un
cle relaxed his grasp ou my throat.
To be continued.
Softly (who fell overboard and was
dramatically rescued)—"Did—you—a w
—faint, when you heard them yell
‘Mau overboard?*'* Ilelcu (sobbing)-
•*No—uo. Choll.v. I net'-** rpoe sus
pected they could menu you.'—Tit-Bltp
0
A KANGAROO MESSENGER.
tO 14,. T seems to be a law of na
ture that tbe inevoerlenced
J should suffer ridicule. All
_ y the world over & begiiiner
W is* considered "fair game/*
Tbe new boy finds this out before h#
has been many hours at school, and tbe
"tenderfoot" In America or the "new
chum" in Australia is not a whit bet
ter off than the urchin whose compan
ions do their best to make him realize
his own insignificance and their im
Meuse superiority.
It happened not long ago that ft
young matt went to Australia with the
Intention of settling in that country.
The station he purchased was a con
siderable distauce from Sydney, and
part of the Journey was taken by
coach. The young man secured tbe
box seat, and, finding the driver, an
intelligent, talkative person, be
thought it a good opportunity for gain
ing information about the country.
Tho driver was quite willing to
oblige him, and in tho course of the
next hour or two related many things
which astonished him much. He won-
dered how it was that the statements
so seriously made *by tbe driver
seemed to afford vast amusements to
the other passengers. But this did not
trouble him. No doubt these facts
were an old story to them, while to
him they were new and deeply inter
esting.
He began to nsk about the wild an
imals of the country, especially about
kangaroos—were they dangerous.
"Not at oil," replied the driver, with
a wink at a grinning friend in the rear.
"It is the easiest thing in the. world
to tame kangaroos; in fact, tbe squat
ters herenbonts train them to be use
ful In various ways.”
But the "new chum” had caught n
sly twinkle in his companion’s eyes
and begnu to suspect.
‘You think me rather green, I dare
say?” he remarked, with an air of cau
tion, "but I'm not going to believe that
tale. It Is a little too absurd."
"Well, sir. I’m only telling you," pro.
tested the mischievous driver. "I nev-
or tamed a kangaroo myself, certain
ly; but a friend of mine who lives not
far from here has some very intelli
gent kungaroos. He sends one down
to meet the conch most days. I just
pitch off tho mailbag, amt tho kan
garoo picks it up, pops it into her
pouch and carries it back to her mas
ter."
At this moment the coach rounded
ft”b*nd In the road, and behold, in front
of them and not tlireo yards from tho
roadside was a large kangaroo seated
up on his hind legs nud watching the
approaching coach exactly as If he
were,there on purpose.
Curiosity must be n strong point in
knugcroo nature, for, timid us they
are. those animals seem easily attract
ed by any unusual sound, and will sit
up motionless, ns if fascinated, until,
with a sudden start, they awake to n
sense of danger and arc off like the
wind. - -
Needless to say, the merry driver
was*quick to see Ids opportunity. He
drove ns near the animal as he con
sidered prudent, and then, waving U!s
long whip, he shouted:
"I’ve nothing for you to-day, sir;
nothing for you to-day!”
And, us he expected, the kangaroo
wheeled suddenly about, sprang over
the bushes and disappeared.
Tho "new chum” was delighted.
"Bless my heart!" he cried. "What
a wonderfully Intelligent creature! t
never would have believed it If I had
not seen it myself. I should like to
have a kangaroo like that; 2 must
lenrn how to train them."
Among the many things ho learned
during the next year of his lifo kan
garoo training was not Included.—New
York Weekly.
SQUTH AFRICAN GHOST YARN.
B. Fletcher Robinson tells the story
of an army captain—n "quiet, tbick-set
level-headed man, with a clear eye, a
strong will and enough common sense
in a morning paper”—who went to
dine with some lady friends at au old
Dutch mauor house at Stellenbosch.
First of all, on his arrival he was
startled by the nppenrauce on the
veranda of a huddled-up old woman,
"with a lai'g yellow face and thin
lips,” and later on in the evening
when, after some music in the draw
ing-room. lie returned to the dining
room for something he noticed that a
half-length portrait hanging ou the
wall was swaying from side to side
witli a slow, deliberate swing, and that
the eyes of the man It represented
were watching him enviously.
Then It seemed to the captain that a
fog or mist was rising in the room. It
crept tip and up till it reached Ills chin,
and then, with a shiver of wild terror,
he felt two hands fasten on his throat
—hands with thin yet muscular fingers
that clutched even tighter, as if grow
ing in strength ns they materialized.
And tho man of the portrait, hanging
clear of the gathering mist, still
watched him with an evil leer. With
an effort he managed to get away, but
again, as be hurried from the house,
he was startled by tbe vision of the
old, yellow-faced woman.
On the following morning he heard
that his friends had left the house, and
that one of them stated that she had
been nearly strangled In the night.
Afterward the captain discovered
that the house had for some time been
used as a temporary hospital, and that
two of the sick who had been placed in
the dining-room had screamed for heio
during the night, imploring their at-1
tnidthti la tike them away, aa aonw
ok had td choka them.
Lastly, from local inquiries, ho
learned that the amiable gentleman
whose portrait had brought Mffl •<*
strange an experience had hanged him
self, about 1810, after strangling his
youngest daughter ih the dining-room.
Von Holt* was his name, and the
legend of the tragedy is still whispered
in the district
It U a story to which the captain
rarely refers. But if you ask him
whether he believes in ghosts he says
“Year* quite simply.—Johannesburg
SNAKES IN BED,
No matter where he is, or at what
hotel he is stopping, John L. Carter, a
Well known railroad character of Col*
orado, always, before going to bed,
removes the covers and shakes them
thoroughly before daring to turn In.
That is, lie does this in tbe season
when snakes are around.^ While talk
ing to a group of friends in tbe lobby
of the Savoy Hotel, Mr. barter told a
story that explained this unusual habit
of his.
It was about the middle of one July
when he was at Ttlcumcarl, N. M*
with a construction party of tbe Rock
Island road that the experience he re
counted befel him. After an unusually
hard day’s work be entered the quar
ters of the engineers late nt night, so
worn out that be did not even strike
a light, but threw off his clothes and
piled himself into one of the beds
along tho wall. In a few moments he
was sound asleep, but frequently dur
ing tbe night be was awakened by
what seemed to him a moving ridge
beneath him In the bed. He was too
sleepy to get tip and investigate, how
ever, and anyway felt that it was only
a trick of bis imagination. Rising
early the next morning, he, as was the
habit of the men in the camp, began
the tpsk of folding up and putting
away the blnukets on tbe bed. As he
jerked the third one from the bed anil
gave it a vigorous shake he heard a
heavy thnd on tbe other side, ns of
some body striking the ground. What J
confronted his eyes when he lowered
the blanket almost paralyzed him with
fear. There, nil coiled and ready foi
battle, lay an Immense prairie rattle
snake. Later, when with the aid of
some of the men about the camp who
lmd answered his call, be bad dis
patched the reptile, he measured it
and found tbnt it was exactly five feet
in length and us large around ns a
man’s wrist. That’s why Mr. Carter
always inspects his bed in tbe snake
season.—Kansas City Journal.
FIGHT WITH A LION.*
Details of a terrible encounter with
a lion iu Mashonnlnnd are to hand by
the lastjnail from South Africa. An
Englishman named Nicholson, accom
panied by bis Zulu servant, sighted the
animal lying ou top of a stony ridge.
With a view to testing the theory that
a lion will, If boldly approAched, turn
tail and run, Mr. Nicholson advanced
until he was about ten yards from the
ridge, while his Zulu made a flank
movement.
As the lion was about to spring Mr.
Nicholson sent a bullet from bis Snider
rifle Into the lion’s shoulder, and right
through Its body. With on angry roar
or pain, the beast sprang and a blow
front tbe pad of his pnw sent Mr.
Nicholson rolling down the slope for
some twenty feet.
On rising be witnessed a display of
r.ti n ordinary pluck on tbe part of Job,
Ills Zjtlu servant. Without tho least
hesitation the nntlre, carrying'a' shield
and two assegais, made straight for
the great brute, and when it sprang at
him received it ou the shield and
thrust an assegai into its chest. But
Job fell, though fortunately under bis
shield. Mr. Nicholson then jumped to
the rescue. Drawing out his clasp
knife, he severed tbe tendons of one
of tbe (least’s hind legs and once more
the lion attacked him and threw him
clean over its .head.
Then it turned on tho Zulu, but Mr.
Nicholson succeeded in cuttiug the ten
dons of tbe other hind leg. This com
pletely disabled the brute, which'raved
and roared until Job, who had been
roughly mauled and was covered with
blood, gave it the coup de grace with
two thrusts of his assegai. The plucky
Zulu bad Ao undergo repairs. Mr.
Nicholson was only slightly damaged.
—London Globe.
SAILORS FIGHT TARANTULAS.
The Italian bark Anita Menottl re
cently arrived at Philadelphia from
Buenos Ayres. Under her hatches she
bad 1000 tons of bones. When the
hatches were lifted and the crew went
below they found that a horde of ta
rantulas, centipedes and nameless
bugs were prepared to give battle.
When the sailors began the work of
unloading the pests fought them. The
seamen Armed themselves with long,
strong bones, and with these they
sought to bent off the tarantulas and
centipedes. As fast as one tarantula
was killed another took its place.
Several of the seamen were nipped in
the legs, but saved from severe bites
by their sea boots. The sailors In the .
hold soon became exhausted, and j
others of the crew took their places,
but they could not put down their te
nacious foes. At last the sailors j
clambered out of the hold, leaving the
tarantulas and their allies victors. It
was decided to kill the tarantulas and
centipedes by fumigating the hold.
This was done by burning sulphur.
HUNG BY ROOT ABOVE CHASM.
At Mt. Carmel, Pa., George Kolosky,
a fireman, at u colliery, on the way to
work, fell Into a mine breach 300 feet
deep. His fall was stayed nftef drop
ping ten feet by the root of a tree, to
which he hung until a number of men
formed a human chain and rescue/
TO REMOVE SPOTS.
To remove spot, tram dotb mike »
haste ol tuner’s earth and carefully
cover the spot; when quite *1“**
oil For light face cloth, dry French
chalh should be *»
far. ■ S '* V'
TO MAKE SILK PORTIERES. ^
A lady la Inquiring about silk por
tieres. To make a nice pair of por-
llerea, one and one-half yards wide/
three yards long, good and heavy, it
reqnlres about six and a half to seven
Dounds medium fin#. ;
CLEANING THE SINK.
A true housewife should take the
greatest pride In her kitchen sink and
keep It spotlessly clean. The easiest
and best way to clean a galvanised
Iron sink which has been more or less
neglected is to rub strong soap powder
Into every corner pnd over every in«J*
of surface. Let it remain on for ten
or fifteen minntes, then with a stout
brush go over the .whole, dipping the
brush into boiling water. When the
sink Is thoroughly scrubbed, polish It
with kerosene, rubbing the oil into tho
iron and leaving no rcsldpe of grease
behind. The kerosene prevents it from
rusting after the strong soap powder
and boiling water are used. Caro
must be taken that the painted wood
work around the sink does not comes
into contact with tbe powder, as it
may eat off the paint. The kitchen
sink should be cleaned as thoroughly
as this twice a week, and every day
carefully rinsed out .with hot ^soap
suils.
moil ART WITH EGG3.
To properly boll eggs for table n*e is
0 high art. Many rules have been
given as to the time required to prop
erly boil an egg, but the cook cannot be
looking at the clock all the time, and
It Is a very poor rule, anyhow. Nearly
nil cooks put the egg in boiling water.
It is a very bad habit and a bungling
way to cook an egg. Soused into boil
ing water, one of two things ia sure to
occur. Either tho shell will l)urst.
permitting part of the egg to escape,
and water to enter the shell, or the silk
on the inside of the shell, and the wh5(o
of the egg, will be made tough and un-*
palatable. The result Is that when an
attempt Is made to break the egg at
the table the silk comes off with the
shell. Cooks have often complained
wliAn, trying to take the shell from
hard boiled eggs that pieces of tbo
egg slicks to the shell. Of course they
will. If tbe egg has been Immersed in
boiling water. Every kitchen ought
to be provided with an egg testers
They are easily made, but very efficient
ones can be # purchased at a small cost.
Tbe eggs should be tested before being
put In the water. When ready, put
your eggs In cold water, place upou
tbe stove, and as soon at tbo water
comes to n boll they are ready to serve.
If soft boiled are desired. If medium
or bard boiled are preferred, let them
boll a minute or two. Eggs thus pre
pared are palatable and nutritious, and
yon will always know when to take
them off without having to look at the
clock all the time. . ,
RECl^J,
English Pudding—One cup molasset,
half a cup butter, one cup sweet milk,
one teaspoonful soda, one teaspoon
ful different spices, one cup chopped
raisins, three and a half cups flour.
Steam two or three hours and serve
with whipped cream.
Fish Chowder—Six large potatoes
sliced thin in two quarts water; boll
fifteen minutes; cut three slices fat
pork In small pieces and fry out; when
done put In one large onion and a little
water; cook three minutes; then put
with tho potatoes, pepper and salt to
taste; when the potatoes are most
ready add three pounds fish; let boil
five minutes; then add one pint sweet
mlik and let come to a boil; last of
all drop In a few common crackers.
Baked Bean Soup—Two cups cold
baked beans, one large onion sliced,
tops and trimmings of one bunch of
celery. Add one and a half quarts cold
water and simmer gently three hours;
strain; stew one quart can tomatoes
thirty minutes and strain It into the
other mixture; add one large spoonful
sugar and salt to taste; rub one large
spoonful butter and one of flour to a
paste; add a little of the hot soup to
paste and when dissolved add to rest
of soup and boil up till thickened and
serve with croutons. Very nice and
ecconoraical.
For Making Bread in Day Time-
In the morning dissolve in three pints
of warm water two cakes compressed
yeast; add to same two tablespoonfuls
salt, three of sugar, a little shortening
if wanted and enough flour to mako
a smooth dough; knead well for ten
minutes; let rise in a warm place for
three hours; knead again for five min
utes; let rise for one hour and fifteen
minutes; form Into loaves and let rise
until about twice its size, usually one
and a half hours, then bake in a
moderate oven. Careful attention to
these directions will enable anyone to
make with ease that rarest of all table
luxuries, perfect bread. «•
C«»t of Maintaining Children.
In the children’s homes of Ohio are
1903 children, which are maintained
St % cost of $138 each per ann^yn,
