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CALLED FOR.
Bessie Lynn sat alone in the wide,
shady kitchen, busily engaged in pick
ing over worthleberries. Without, the
sunshine of an August afternoon bathed
the green fields and dusty road that
.wound to the village, and touched with
ticher hue the nasturtiums and gerani
ums in the tiny garden, and the Virginia
creeper that climbed and blossomed
above the door. Bessie made a pretty pic
ture as she sat on a low cricket with a big
calico apron spread over her blue spring
muslin dress to defend it from the stains
that had soiled her little brown hands.
She was a petite and daintly rounded
maiden of about eighteen, with great eyes
and glossy curls, shading a fair Vtow
and cheeks that had a touch of wild
rose bloom upon them.
The kitchen, too, was such a pretty
picture with its well scoured floor and
■dressers, its asparagus-topped clock, its
sinning stove with bunches of herbs
bung behind, and great bouquet of viv
id cardinal flowers set on the snowy ta
ble. The kitchen was perfectly still,
.save the buzz of flies and ticking of the
clock; and outside the cricket and the
insects alone disturbed the peace. Bes
sie believed that every one in the house
was asleep but herself, and yawned some
what wearily as she tossed over the ber
ries, finishing the yawn with a bit of
soliloquy uttered about half aloud.
'‘Oh. cl ear, this having summer boarders
i’sn't very pleasant!”
“Miss Bessie, ” said a voice in the door
way so suddenly that Bessie nearly upset
her berries in her great surprise.
“Oh! Mr. Vane, is it you ?” she said
bashfully, bending down to pick up a
few berries that had rolled from her
apron.
“I'll pick ’em up!” exclaimed the
new comer, a tall and handsome-looking
youth of about twenty-one, withfnerry
blue eyes, short auburn hair curled close
ly under a straw hat, diving for the mis
sing berries with ungraceful dexterity.
“Yes, it is I, of course. Have you for
gotten your promise to go for lilies with
me this afternoon?”
“Oh, but I didn’t this say afternoon,
you know; only some afternoon this
week,” responded Bessie, demurely.
“Well, we’ll call it this afternoon,
won’t we?” was the persuasive rejoinder
as the straw hat was tossed on the chair.
"I'll help you. Lend me half that
•aprdn and we will have them picked over
in a trice.”
“But I shall have supper to get. Mother
is away, and there will be biscuit to
make,” insisted Bessie, turning her
face away to hide a smile that would
curve her lips.
“Never mind that,” responded Mau
rice Vane, bringing a cliair to her side.
“Tea is at half-past six, isn’t it ? and it
is now only half-past two. We’ll be back
at five, without fail, and have time to
get half the lilies in the} river,’’and he
began to assort a handful of berries with
much earnestness.
“W-e-1-1,” assented Bessie, after a
pause for consideration and a glance at
thg clock. “I can go for a little while,
erhaps. Oh ! don’t stain your coat,
Mr. Vane.” But Mr. Vane was sub
limely indifferent to his boat and worked
with such good will that the berries
were soon picked over, and Bessie and
himself on their way to the river.
Five minutes later, Bessie with her
draperies daintily bestowed around her
was seated in the stern of the boat,
which, propelled by Maurice Vane's
practical hand, shot swiftly down the
stream. Although -Mr. Vane said to
Bessie five times within an hour that it
was a lovely day, and although Bessie
.assented every time, I hardly think they
appreciated tffe beauty around them,
for Bessie was quite absorbed in the
lilies and their reflection in the water,
and Mr. Vane looked more at his com
panion than at the aspect of nature.
They had enough lilies to satisfy them,
and Bessie was leaning backward and
idly trailing one hand in the water,
when she suddenly uttered a little
scream and sat erect with white cheeks,
from which the color had been fright
ened.
“Oh ! I almost lost it. IIow careless
I am !’’ she exclaimed, replacing an old-
fashioned ring, set with a tiny circle of
rubies, on her finger.
“Did the water sweep it out of your
?”
juppose so. It’s too large for me.
Iwavs loosing it and finding it
I wouldn’t lose it entirely for
because it used to lie graml-
She gave it to me.”
itacurious old ring it is !” said
without interest. “May
i^on’t trouble y<mrse
hand
take it off,” he said, drawing in liis
oars and leaning toward his companion.
Bessie allowed her tiny brown hand
to lie in his aristocratic white one a
moment, then as coquettishly withdrew
it. “Isn’t it pretty?” she inquired,
archly.
“Very pretty. Shall I tell you how
to guard against • losing it in the fu
ture ?”
“Oh, yes, if you please.”
“Well, wear this little ring of mine
to guard it, or better yet, exchange
with rne. Give me yours and take this
instead,” said the young man, dar
ingly.”
Bessie looked at the heavy chased
gold ring he held out to her, then looked
back at the water with an innocent
“Oh, I don’t think it would fit ?”
“Try it,” suggested her companion,
softly.
Bessie shook her head, but finally
agreed, blushingly, that it would be no
harm to try, and slipped the ring on her
forefinger.
“It’s a perfect fit,” cried*Mr. Vane,
delightedly ; “nothing can be better.”
Why, Miss Bessie, you surely don’t
mean to give it baok ?”
“Of course I do,” was the saucy re
joinder. “Why not?”
“Because,” said Mr. Vane, speaking
earnestly and disregarding his fears al
together, while he tried to get a glimpse
of the face hidden by the fiat hat, “ bee
cause I meant to ask you to wear it for
my sake. I meant to ask you—”
“ Oh, Mr. Vane,” cried the listener,
“do you see that lily on your left?
Won’t you get it for me?”
“ I’ll get that and twenty others if
you will listen to me first. • Do you care
for me ? Will you marry me?”
Bessie’s head was turned away, and
her head bent lower. A crimson flush
stole over her ears, neck and chin.
“ Bessie!” No answer. Hercompanion
leaned over and took her hand, ventur
ously.
“ Bessie, will you wear the ring ?” he
questioned, softly. But the hand was
hastily drawn away: a pair of saucy
black eyes flashed into his own, and
Bessie’s merry laughter rang over the
water.
“ I’d rather have grandma’s, please.
I cwHght to go home, Mr. Vane, for I
know it’s almost tea time.”
Mr. Vane put the ring in his pocket
and took up the oars again energetically,
without a word. He was fresh from
college and held the stroke oar in many
a race, hut never made better time than
he made that afternoon in rowing up the
river. The light boat shot along with
the rower’s brow knitted and his teeth
set. Not once did he look at Bessie,
who sat in lialf-puzzled, half-alarmed si
lence, now and then stealing a sidewise
glance at the offended young Hercules
from under her hat. Mr. Vane_drew a
breath of relief when the boat at last
grated on the sand, and having assisted
Bessie to land and curtly offered to carry
her lilies, he shouldered the oars and
marched firmly toward home by her
side. Bessie, somewhat bewildered and
more angry, made no effort to break the
si ence and studiously endeavored to
keep from crying. When at last he leit
her at the door with a cold “Thank you,
Miss Bessie,” and departed to carry the
oars to the barn, it was well he did not
look back, for Miss Bessie tossed the li
lies aside with a petulan? gesture and
had a fit of crying with her head on the
kitchen table.
When Vane returned from the
barn half an hour later, he did see a
picture which comforted him a little
through the hop-wreathed pantry win
dow. It was Bessie with her sleeves
pinned up, molding biscuits in desperate
haste, while the tears fell thickly on the
high calico apron. This picture so
amazed Mr. Vane that he retreated
hastily behind a lilac bush to observe it;
and lingered so long that he was late at
tea. This was a model supper. # There
was the great dish of berries with snowy
cream beside, flanked by cheese and
raspberry jam. There were two moun
tains or plates of snowy biscuits con
trasting with sponge cake and the richer
gold of the butter. Mr. Vane, who had
supi>o8ed he should never have an appe
tite again, felt quite revived by the sight
of this table and the memory of the pic
ture.
The rest of the hoarders stemed to
share the sensation, for the group was
very hilarious and the eatables jlis;
peared rapidly. Bessie, presij
tWeen the pots, seem
spirits, but F
her silence by
the biscuit
hospitable farmer pressed it Upon him.
“ Don’t be afraid of it, there’s plenty
more in the kitchen, ain’t there Bes- 4
sie ?”
Thus pressed, Mr. Vane accepted the
biscuit and Bessie disappeared to re
plenish the plate. Mr. Vane divided
the biscuit, then dropped it suddenly
with an exclamation that brought every
eye upon him. There embedded in the
light, white bread, lay Bessie’s ring.
Shouts ©f laughter arose that brought
Bessie back from the kitchen in haste,
just in time to see Mr. Vane coolly re
move the ring from the biscuit, amidst
the merry chorus, and drop it into his
waistcoat pocket to “be kept till called
for,” he said, with a significant look at
her .^arlet face. Poor Bessie! There
was no peace for her after that. An
army of jokes quite overwhelmed her
protestations and disclaimings, and she
was thankful to beat a hasty retreat to
the kitchen when the meal was over.
But there even,was pursued by a laugh
ing trio of ladies who harassed her with
questions, and wonderment, and rnerri- !
ment, until the last dish was set away,
and she started to the village for letters.
Instead of going to the village, she slid
along the hedge, climbed the wall and
ran to the other end of the orchard
where she flung herself on the grass and
cried as if her heart would break. She
perhaps had cried half an hour, when a
step crushing the dry grass by her side
roused her, and the very voice she most
dreaded to hear, said :
“I’ve come to return your ring, Miss
Bessie.”*
Poor little Bessie sat up hastily, took
the unfortunate ring with a faltering
“ Thank you, ” then immediately lijd her
face again.
“You needn’t thank me; I should
have brought it before, but I couldn’t
find you. I hope you are not troubled
about those ridiculous jokes?” he
added. »
“N-o,” responded Bessi" miserably,
between her sobs. “ 1—I thought you’d
think I did it on purpose.”
“How could I have thought so ? It
was a mere accident my getting that
particular biscuit. I’m very sorry you’ve
been so annoyed in this way. I'm going-
away to-morrow, Miss Bessie.”
The sobs partially ceased, and Miss
Bessie said, surprisedly, “ Ail you ?”
“ Won’t you bid me good-by ?”
'“Yes,” Bessie said, unsteadily, but
did not raise her head.
“ You’ll shake hands, won’t you, Miss
Bessie?” No answer. “I can’t go
away while you are offended with me.
Won’t you at least tell me why you are
crying ?”
“ Because I—I lost my grandma’s
ring,” sobbed Bessie, making a great
effort for composure. Mr. Vane laugh-
e# in spite of himself. “ Why, it’s safe
on your finger, and not a whit the worse
for its baking. Is there really no other
reason ?”
“No—o.”
“ But there is. I shall never have
another happy hour if I’ve offended
you,” said Mr. Vane, tragically. “I
was a brute to treat you as I did this
afternoon; but I’m going away and
shan’t annoy you again. Won’t you
forgive me now and shake hands?”
Another long silence. Mr. Vane turned
away in despair, but was detained by a
faltering voice.
“ I—I’ll forgive you if- ”
“Well?” was the breathless inter
position.
“ You—won’t—go—away ?”
The more observant boarders noticed
at breakfast the next morning that
Maurice wore the ring he found in the
biscuit on the little finger of his left
hand, and Bessie wore a heavily chased
gold circle in the place of her last orna
ment.
To use the words of one of the before-
named boarders: “ That tells the whole
story.”
Simple Remedies.
The best remedy for sprained ankles
or wrist, until medical aid arrives, is to
bathe the afflicted member in arnica,
and if it is not near at liand cold water is
the next best thing.
Half a teaspoonful of common table
salt dissolved in a little cold water, and
drank, will instantly relieve heart-bum
or dyspepsia. If taken every morning
before breakfast, increasing the quantity
gradually to a teaspoonful of salt and a
tumbler of water, it will in a few days
cure any ordinary case of dyspepsia, if,
at the same time, due attention is paid
to the diet. There is no better remedy
than the above for constipation. As a
gargle for sore throat it is equal to
chlorate of potash and is entirely safe.
It may be used as often as desired, and
if a little is swallowed each time it will
have a beneficial effect on the throat by
cleansing it and by allaying the irrita
tion. In doses of one to four tea spoon
fuls in half a pint to a pint of tepid
water it acts promptly as an emetic;
and in cases of poisoning is always at
hand. It is an excellent remedy for
bites and stings of insects. It is a
valuable astringent in hemorrhages,
particularly for bleeding after the ex
traction of teeth. It has botli cleans
ing and healing properties, and is there
fore a most excellent application for
superficial ulcerations.
Mustard is another valuable remedy.
No family should be without it. Two
or three teaspoonfuls of ground mustard
stirred into half a pint of water acts as
an emetic very promptly, and is milder
and easier to take than salt and water.
Equal parts of ground mustard and
flour or meal, made into a paste with
warm water, and spread on a thin piece
of muslin, with another piece of muslin
laid over it, forms the often indisi>ensa-
ble “mustard plaster.” It is almost a
specific for colic, when applied for a few
moments over the “ pit of the stomach.”
For all internal pains and congestions
there is no remedy of such general
utility. It acts as a counter-irritant by
drawing the blood to the surface ;
hence, in severe cases of croup a small
mustard plaster should be applied to the
back of the child’s neck. The same
treatment will relieve almost any case
of headache. A mustard plaster should
be moved about over the spot to be acted
upon, for if left too long in one place it
is liable to blister. A mustard plaster
acts as well when at considerable dis
tance from the affected part. An excel
lent substitute for mustard plaster is
what is known as “Mustard Leaves.”
They come a dozen in a box, and are
about four or five inches in size ; they
are perfectly dry and will keep a long
time. For use, it is only necessary to
dip one in a dish of water for a moment
and then apply it.
Common baking soda is the best of all
remedies in cases of scalds and burns.
It may be used on the surface of the
burned place, either dry or wet. When
applied promptly, the sense of relief is
magical. It seems to withdraw the
heat and with it the pain, and the heal
ing process soon commences. It is the
best application for eruptions caused by
poisonous ivy and other poisonous
plants, as also for bites and stings of in
sects.—Hall's Journal of Health.
The Elopement.—A Tale.
Their pa-
From win-
Ronts said
Dow ope
They must
There hung
Not wed.
A rope,
By which
Quoth he.
To slope.
“Bet s fly
To par-
Without
Son nigh. 1 ’
A souftd
Quoth she,
"Ay! Ay!"
She reached
The ground,
Her lov-
One night
Er found.
She rose
Took her
They fled,
Rest clothso,
^ Were wed,
While Pop
Enough said.
-Arthuu Lott in “Puck."
Did doze.
ways to be noticed in the faces of ohild-
workers. The gayety of youth, its
freshness and its gentleness, seem to be
crushed out of them. In the centre of
the shed, with its raftered ceiling—a
bleak and wretched building, through
the walls of which the wind readily
finds its way—there is a “hearth,” fed
by “gledes” or breezes. Probably there
is a girl or woman blowing at the bel
lows, while the strips of iron from which
the nails are made become molten. Or,
to take an actual case witnessed by
the writer a few nights since, close upon
midnight: In one of these forges were
a mother and several children. The
mother was a woman probably forty
years of age ; her youngest daughter—a
flaxen-haired girl, with a sweet and
winsome face—was certainly not more
than twelve years of age. By the side
of the hearth there was what is techni
cally called the “Oliver”—a barrel-like
construction, on the top of which is
fixed the stamp of the particular pattern
and size of the nail required to be made.
The workmen and workwomen, by
means of a wooden treadle—an indus
trial treadmill it ought more strictly to
be called—shoot out the nails from the
slot into which they are fixed. They
have previously hammered the top of
the incandescent metal, with masculine
firmness, so as to form the head of the
nail. The women and girls seem to
work with more vigor than the men—•
very often, indeed, they support their
husbands and their fathers, who may
have fallen into drunken habits; in
other cases, this nail-making is the
means of supplementing the husband’s
wages.
But what do
A Cincinnati clergyman thought lie
raise his own pork. So he
ht five pigs and failed the
that they are ‘ “ '
ap
Pictures of Privation.
Hardships Endured by the Nail-
makers of England.
About 24,000 people are engaged in
the ‘Black Country’ part of Great Britain
in making nails and rivets. It would not
be so much a matter for surprise, even
for the lowness of wages that they earn,
if they were all men and youths who
are engaged in this industry—one of
the worst paid in any part of the coun
try. But it so happens—and here
arises the social degradation of the
traffic—that there are at least 16,000 fe
males engaged day after day in the oc
cupation. They are not all mature
women either; daughters work by the
side of their mothers—daughters who,
in their tender years, ought to be
either at home, if they have any
home, or in bed, instead of working
their weary arms in shaping, in the still
small hours of the morning, molten iron
into the form of nails for the benefit
what are called the “foggers
is a picture of what may be se
night ill this district-7-excen
Saturday ni
shed
the nail-makers earn a
week ? may naturally be asked. The
remuneration they receive is incredibly
small. It is no unusual thing—on the
contrary, it is rather the usual custom—
for a family of three or four persons,
after working something like fourteen
hours a day, to earn ill in a week. But
out of this money there has to be de
ducted Is 3d. for carriage to convey the
nails to the “gaffers,” as they are
termed in the district; then tiiere is
allowance to be made for fuel and the
repairing of the machinery, which re
duces the £1 to about 16s. 9d. for three
people—for three people who have com
menced to work every morning at half
past 7 or 8 o’clock, and who have worked
on through all the weary day, with no
substantial food, until late at night.
Who is it that reaps the benefit of all
this terribly hard work ? Certainly not
' the laborers ; for it is a well-known fact
that they rarely taste meat from one
week’s end to the other. In the expres
sive but simple language of one poor
workman, this is how they fare:
“When the bread comes hot from the
bakehouse oven on Saturday we eat it
like ravening wolves.” The “foggers”
or “ Tommy shop” men live lives of
contentment, profit and rest at the ex
pense of the poor nail-workers. The
“ fogger ” is an intermediate agent be
tween the worker of nails and the
buyer. Out of the bone and sinew of
these poor people he makes a very fine
living—and he does not work. He has
a huckster’s shop attached to his dwel
ling ; he supplies, at the beginning of
the week, the nail-workers with their
sixty-pound bundles of iron, and when
they return the bundles of iron in the
marketable shape of nails—out of which
he makes at leaht twenty per cent profit
—if they do riot buy his high-priced
provisions, they get iiq more work from
him. These are the men who, by cut
ting down the workmen’s wages to
starvation point, are at the root of the
evil.—London Standard.
Why He Was Absent.
The Reverend Whangdoodle Baxter
recently met Jim Webster on Austin
avenue.
“ What’s de reason, James, dat I
doesn’t see yer at de church nomoah ?”
asked Whangdoodle.
“Becase I wasn’t dar, I reckon.”
“But why wasn’t yer dar?”
“I tell you, parson, perzactly how
dat am. Eber since I stole dej^urkey
outen your hen coop I has
confidence in rpysel