Newspaper Page Text
20
MISS WILLIAMSON..
By Mr.'. IV. K Clifford.
(Copyright, 19OT, by Mrs. W. K. Clifford.)
I.
Edward Trovers had been taking out
■ year's leave In England. The cold had
worried him a good deal, and country
bouses and London society alike bored
him, but he had struggled through the
winter! even to the end of the Easter
holidays. Then he sprained his foot.which
obliged him to be up and gave hint time
for reflection. Let it be said here that
he was four and thirty and good-looking.
He cared little for frivolities, he read
books when they were not too stodgy,
but he was neither particularly learned
nor even highly cultured. He had agree
able manners and pleasant instincts; tie
was to his sisters, though he
could get along well enough without
them; staunch to his friends, though hi
did not care to see too much of them, or
easily make acquaintances. As for fall
ing in love, it simply did not occur to
him; life was pleasant enough; why com
plicate it with untried conditions?
"I think 1 shall go an do a travel," he
said to his mother when his foot was
better, "There are some ships that go
from Liverpool along the Mediterranean.
From Geno y .vet- to Milan
and the Italian lakes, over a pass into
Switzerland and wait there for you all."
The Travers family went to the Bngadine
every August as naturally as It went to
church every Sunday. “Then we could be
together till I had to hurry back to the
coast and catch ship for Bombay.” it
was a peculiarity of his that the laying
out of a programme meant, as a rule, a
sense of obligation to carry it through.
Tom Barton, went down to Liverpool to
see him off. The Arab was not to sail
till 3. So they lunched at the hotel, and
were as silent as oid chums often are—
they had been at Woolwich together—
when a parting is at hand. Darton tried
to talk of the people and doings they
lioth remembered; but it was no good.
Then he noticed a woman, quietly dress
ed In some sort of dark woollen stuff
and a little hat close fitting and soft,
lunching alone at the next table. She was
thin and careworn looking, even a little
he stood by her leaning on the rail.
Insignificant at the first glance, and not
young—3 or 4 end 30. perhaps. There
was something pathetic about her. There
was a half-hunted look in her eyes that
arrested attention. j
“I think I have seen her before," Dar
ton said; her face seems to be familiar;
wonder who she Is."
“Sensible anyhow," Travers answered, I
"Mytton chop and a glass of claret. 1
can t eland a woman who has a pouched
egg and a cup of tea in the middle of the
dov. You may take it as a pretty sure
rule that she doesn't know much and is
tiresome" Then the talk drifted into
other channels and the solitary woman
was forgotten.
Late in the afternoon when Travers
•tood watching the shore retreating into
the already dim distance, he saw the slim
figure again. She was leaning over the
side of the ship watching the distance,
too. with an eager, thankful manner—for
there was no one near her and she imag
ined herself unobserved. Travers looked
at her for a moment and wheeled around
to retreat. Suddenly the sprained food
gave way and he went down. An ex
pression of pain and vexallon escaped
him; it was mortifying to measure his
length at a strange woman’s feet. She
turned quickly and put out a hand to
help him, but It was unnecessary.
"You are hurt,” she said. "You must be
hurt.” and her tone was half frightened,
half compassionate.
“It's nothing." he answered, “thank you
very much. I sptained my foot pretty
badly six weeks ago, and ought to be
more careful.”
"Of ooure you ought, a sprain Is such a
slow thing to recover ftom." Her voice
was deep and sweet; It seemed to burrow
its way right into his heart; but his foot
was hurting and she saw it.
"Sit down and res’.," she said, "you are
in pain. This floor is so slippery—stay, let
roe get you a deck chair."
.“This will do quite well,” he sat down
gracefully on the scat along the bull
warks, while she remained standing be
side him. “They mode me try the new
dbdge," he explained, "walking. It is i
rather weak still; gives way at unexpect
ed moments."
"You ought to rest it well." she said. 1
still compassionate, “but you will he able
to do fhnt easily on Isjard ship."
< M J am only going as far as Genoa. I
wanted to make my way from there over
the Hi Go>fiar.i and do sotrp walking,"
“It won't be- safe," she suld. and looked
*tl wlih an air of • on v let lon that was 1m
presalVr. He saw that her eyes were giay.
deep and clear, and that the tielf-liuiite>j
look of the morning had gone from 1 hem
“Vou iii'.ri not wa.k for a bdig iiine," she
added "at least not much." Thar* wee
sn Iri'iwlsfibli magnetism about her; h
feh It In eveiy word she said
"If is M great teats.' be sad and there
was a pause. Thin suddenly he asked,
"IHdu t I r. e you lunching at Htr h'mlb
Wasted in day""
"Tag. I was (tiers
* Ate you going fat by fids ship!"'
gangers
•Hi 1 4s fl#) 0 iiyt i II ,4 1 i
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Good Thing
and, knowing it,
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with gentlemen of
elegant taste.
It Is emphatically, as Its name indicates
a club whiskey, listed In every fashion
able club in the union and a prime
{.vorite
JOS. A. MAGNUS & CO.
CINCINNATI, O.
"I know Posßlppo. There’s a little res
taurant up there., where one goes to
breakfast, you know."
"I don't know anything about It yet,”
she answered, distantly. "I have never
been there.” She turned as if to go below,
then hesitated. “You must be careful of
your foot,” she said. "Could I fetch you
a stick, or give you an arm back to the
stairs, if you are going down?” Her man
ner was quite Indifferent. It showed no
desire in it to strike up acquaintance—
rather the reverse. She was evidently
merely doing her Christian duty toward
a stranger.
"O, I shall manage all right," he said,
gratefully, and she slowly went her way.
“She doesn't look more than eight and
twenty when she speaks," be thought.
"Wonder who she Is—probably a strolling
spinster.” for he had noticed that she
wore no wedding ring on the third finger
of her left hand. "Perhaps dissatisfied
and restles. as women of her age often
are. But she’s rather nice. I like her.
somehow.”
An hour or two later, when 'he eat
down for the first time to dinner on
board the Arab, he found that his place
was next to hers.
"We are to be neighbors for a whole
week," he said, "unless you object?”
"1 am not likely to object. Why should
I?”
She was very unsophisticated, he
thought.
"People sometimes become very intimate
on board ship in a week, then say good
by and usually never set eyes on each
other again. I often watch them on the
way out.”
"Do you travel so much, then?"
"I have been to and fro a good deal.
I am a soldier. Going back to India in
October—on leave till then." He paused
thinking she might give him some infor
mation about herself, but she said noth
ing. Ho noticed that she had a beautiful
shaped head and soft brown hair that
grew close round her ears, and was coiled
up very simply at the back. She looked
up once, as if trying lo take in the evi
dently novel scene alxiut her, and he saw
that the gray eyes had long dark lashes.
It was very odd about this woman, he
thought; at first sight she seemed insig
nificant, then gradually you felt that
there was something almost beautiful
about her; but her attractions came out
slowly, and one by one, as stars in the
twilight. "Do you know any of the peo
ple here?" he anked, simply to make
talk.
“ 'Not a soul," she answered. "I don't
want to know them," she added half to
herself. ,
“Well, they are rather an ungodly look
ing set. Most of them will probably be
Invisible by this time to-morrow—perhu|K<
you will, toi."
"O. no," she answered with a little
shudder, "nothing will hurl me. I mean
to sit on deck all the time and feel the
four winds of heaven."
"Blowing away I lie cares of life, eh?"
A sudden idea seemed to dirt from her
>os “Yes, blowing them all away," she
said. "I wonder If they will."
Khe seemed unwilling to talk but he
liked In r for It lie listed people who
snatched at anew acquaintance, who
chattered M l tables d'hote and hung about
la t* Is to attract attention; they belonged
to a definite class he despised. He was
Vexed wllli himself for trying to draw
h> t out, he felt MS if In wars forcing
h Unset I upon Ini, but for III* life of him
le •’■lUldli'l help It,
him dlsi.pl>. ami quickly wh.n the din
in i Mini uv#r, iit w lor noi hour
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THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, APRIL 28, 1901.
but it was so dark that at first he had
not really made her out. She looked up
and recognized him.
"Ought you to be walking?" she asked.
"Is your foot better?"
"It is getting- all right, thank you—only
a little stiff.” He hesitated, then, said
shyly, nodding to the distaince, ‘May I
come and look out, too?"
She made a movement of assent, and
he stood by her, leaning on the rail os
she was doing. She looked at him for a
meynent, the shadows seemed to make
way for her face, and he saw it quite
clearly. It gave him a little thrill, and
he wondered what it meant; for he was a
hardened sinner, he thought, four and
thirty, with the remembrance of many
seasons not only In England, but at Simla;
never in love in his life, or, at least, only
once for a month, when he was 19, with
Dolly Ronaldson, who laughed .at him
and married the curate. He was used to
P. & O.'s, too. up to .the ways of enter
prising damsels and giddy grass widows,
ready to beguile the monotony of a voy
age in any way to which the other sex
would respond. And yet, for no reason at
all that he could define, here was this lit
tle woman in black, with a pale face and
a pair of big eyes stealing over his senses
and rousing not only his curiosity, but
some sort of feeling that made him eager
to listen to her, grateful to stand beside
her, and that set him wondering about
her past and future. Quite suddenly she
asked a question:
"I wish you yould tell me your name?”
she Said.
"Travers,” he answered quickly, “Ed
ward Travers. I know who you are,” he
added. She started a little and looked at
him; it seemed as if she held her breath.
He thought she resented his curiosity.
"Miss Henrietta Williamson. I saw It
in the passenger list.”
"O!"
"Yes; alone.”
"No one even to see, you off to-day?”
"No one.”
Then she asked; him something else.
"Tell me who you are. I know your name
quite well.”
"My governor’s name. I expect you
mean; he’s a judge, you know.”
“I have seen him—somewhere.” she
added, after a moment's hesitation. "I
have heard that he Is a very kind man.”
"Awfully kind, it breaks his heart 1f
he has to hang anybody."' X>me one on
the piano below- played a German air. He
stopped for a moment and listened. "That
tune brings back things,” he said. "We
used to call it the long Indian day at
Simla."
"It's a 'Herz, mein Herz.’ "
"It makes me think of the Waylett case
last year.”
She turned and looked at him again
Her face flashed something that was like
defiance.
“Why?” she asked.
"My father was trying it. We were
waiting for the verdict at home—just be
fore dinner—for it was late when It fin
ished. We felt certain she would be found
guilty, and we knew what it would be
for my father to sentence her, because
he was so sorry for her. And It’s an aw
ful thing, you know, for any one to be
hanged, especially a woman.”
“What has ‘Herz, mein Herz, to do
with it?” she asked. She had put her el
bows on the rail and supporting her chin
on her hands was looking straight out to
sea again.
"A brass band was playing It in the
square when the telegram came—he al
ways telegraphs his big verdicts home
Ten minutes later he came in. He had
summed up in her favor—"
"Yes?” her voice was faint as If she
took but little interest In the subject.
"For he said that even if she had done
It the man was such a brute that he de
served it. I believe some of the jury felt
that too.”
"Besides;” she said, almost bitterly,
“we might generally spare ourselves the
trouble of setting out pains and penalties
for criminals. Greater punishment is gen
erally attached to the crime than any
that can be Invented outside it.’
“O, come,” he was a little shocked; "we
must have laws and things, you know."
But she answered nothing "Are you go
ing to say long at Naples," he asked by
way of changing the conversation.
“I don't know."
“Not going to friends?”
“I am going to an old friend of my
mother's, and then, with' a sudden rush
of confidence, "she Is badly off and keeps
a pension there."
"Shall you stay long?"
SHE PUT HER ARMS UP SOFTLY
AROUND HIS NECK.
"I don't know. All my life, perhaps—or
only a day. I wish I had traveled,” she
went on suddenly. "I have been nowhere.
I want to see everything in the wrold. I
think one ought, and somehow I will.”
She lifted her chin and doubled her
fists beneath It, lier tone was determin
ed. she spoke as if for a moment she had
forgotten that she was with a stranger
"That's right,” he said, "I don't think
that 1 should be content with a little
slice of the world myself." She turned
away; evidently she took no Interest In
what might or might not content him.
“I’m going down," she said; "it is
lime.”
"Have you got a good stateroom?"
"Yes, thank you. and a woman who
appears to be quiet enough has the other
berth." She wtop|>ed while she spoke
and looked round as If Into the shadows
that crowded over the deck.
"Rather a bore, though, having anybody
at all, tsn'l It?”
"Oh, no," she answered with a little
shudder. "I hate being alone.” Then
she disappear’d Into th* darkness; he
felt as If a mystery went with her.
11.
Ten days later the Arab l U u! I>atiled
across the Bay of Hlaeay Into culm seas,
coaled at Gibraltar, ploughed through the
Irene he rous Gulf of Lyons, and was
within a few hours of Genoa. It seemed
to Edward Travers that he had lived
yearM since he left l,lver|Nol long, sat
isfying. dreamy years. Miss Williamson
bad ployed herself as excellent a sailor
HaUr ■
and all H
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ns he himself was, and they had been
almost inseparable. Their companionship
was for the most part a silent one;
neither was a great talker; but each seem
ed instinctively and almost unconscious
ly to seek the other if they were but
an hour apart. Through long days of
rough weather, when everything was bat
tened down, and all the other passengers
were invisible, they sat in the saloon;
reading generally, but sending now and
then a look or word across the space be
tween them, till It was possible to creep
out to the deck once more. Then, as
a matter of course, they went together,
for an hour at first, end then for whole
long hours that sped as the ship did thro’
the rushing water. Gradually the air be
came like velvet, and happiness seemed
to be softly stealing over the sea and
towards their ship—or so he felt. To her
it was different. The sound of the
screw, the calming of the leaping waves,
the sight of a distant sail, and of noth
ing else save sea and sky, the long deck,
and the white awning that had just been
put up over it, the wonderful morning
when she first saw Gibraltar and the
dim African shore far away, everything
seemed to burn its memery into her heart
and soul. She neither looked forward nor
backward; she Just dared to live and that
was all. Love, and remembered hate,
despair, desperation and maddening dread
each had their hold of her in turn. Trav
ers found her difficult and reticent, though
now she allowed hiru to stay beside her
on deck or in the saloon, as naturally as
he took his place beside her at dinner,
and gradually she waited and watched
for him. Most of the other passengers
had been invisible till the night they
sighted the lights of Lisbon. The two
people who had seen each other casually
for the first time at the Liverpool hotel
seemed to have inherited a world to them
selves, and, if -the woman stared fate in
the eyes dumbfounded, the man was un
afraid. He knew perfectly that he had
fallen in love with Miss Williamson, that
ail the years that had been his hills of
defense were leveled under her passing
footstep. He hungered, thirsted, panted,
to know more of her, to wake her from
the half-sorry dream that It struck him
sometimes she had found life, to rouse
her into happiness from the world made
her now, to know everything about her,
above all, to see the grey eyes that he
could swear remembered sorrow, llkht up
with love—and love of him.
“By Jove,” he said to himself, “I have
come a capper this time, and for a wo
man I had not set eyes on ten days ago.
What an ass I am! But she’s like no one
I ever sow on earth before. If I could
only make her care for me, what a time
I'd give her in India.” He was not going
lo leave the ship at Genoa. He remem
bered that it was four years since he had
seen Naples, that it would be rather a
good idea to go on; besides, he told her,
it was better for his foot, which was
getting strong, a few days more would
make a difference to It.
“It seems as if we had known each
other for years,” he said, as they sat on
their deck chairs that night. The watch
hud lust been changed, there had been a
rumor of phosphorescence, the air was
soft and warm; the breath of Italy was
in it; the delicious sound of the water
was in their ears, the whoje world seemed
half an enchantment. "To-morrow we
shall be at Genoa. W’e ought to land for
a little while; I should like to show you
the Red Palace if you will let me.”
“I am sorry we are coming to the land
again,” she said. “I should like to stay
on the sea forever, yet I want to see
everything.”
"How is it you nave never been away
before?"
“O I don't know," she answered. He
knew as little about her as he had done
on the day they met first. She listened to
everything he said concerning himself,
but she told him nothing of her own his
tory.
“Perhaps you had relations to look
after?"
"Ves, I had them to look after," she
hesitated, then she went on. “There were
a great many of us at home, and l was
the eldest. We were poor, and had no
time to go about l used to teach my lit
tle sister* their French verbs and make
them play their scale* till I wan eighteen.
That was ten years ago—l feel like a hag
gered old woman, but I am oni> eight and
twenty."
"But you have not Just left home—"
"1 left it when I was nineteen, I went
—to take care of someone. i don't want
• o talk about It," she added, "blit J have
never had any happiness -never In my life
-and I havo longed for II so much." I
Then with a quiet Jerk of her ,voice, she
went on. ’’You spoke of the Wsylett case
the other night, your father tried it, do I
you renumber'.' I knew that woinan—aml
I have longed for imppliies* just ** she ,
did—”
"You knew tier?" He was almost star
tled
"Ye, | knew lier very Well,"
"1* you tilt ok *be did it?"
"I • n’t ti It you that, but I know that j
site insure and him to escape front poverty
aixl worry Its treated h*r shamefully.
Ist gtudgrd eveiy jeony she spent or run
and aliy Moment s peace that eeriiyed
poeeibh . tie world Is belli r without such
mm If eh* killed Mm site tost her soul
lii living s ifgtttMous deed, Mtel fi was her j
h |e taie I*unget fvr bep(tincg that awdt j
lu 1 do it ti did do it, | gay
k nal | ewatd*' t el sit,l gie.ui licy was
that, af'ei e<*> wsS • quoted alt* , aim
ly pewit and ola will day* Uetg hid money '
!** euO'dn t have Peep #>!• k a very bat* 1
* hep lor |a left hat all lye had ‘
“He couldn’t take it with him,” she
said grimly.
"Do you know what became of her?"
"She disappeared—l suppose she is an
outcast forever.”
"Well! Crime or no crime, she hasn’t
gained happiness yet.”
"People never gain it; they only pur
sue it.”
“By heaven,” he said with sudden emo
tion, "what an awful thing to be that
woman.”
"But there are so many awful things
in the world,” she said. "It's Just a
chance which variety we draw.”
“You must have suffered horribly,” he
said uneasily, “to speak as you have done
to-night."
"Perhaps.”
“Anyhow, you’re not as badly off as
the Waylatt woman is, if she did it. I
mean you’ve nothing on your mind.”
"No,” she said, “I suppose not. I
! have certainly done nothing that I would
not do over again; though I suppose we
have el! done some things that we re
gret.” She looked over her shoulder in
| the odd way that characterized her, as
| if she were half-afraid of the dark. "But
sometimes we do such desperate things to
gain happiness," she said almost in a
whisper, "only to 'lose its possibility. We
are like slaves who make a desperate
struggle for freedom, and only make their
captivity worse."
"Why do you harp on so much happi
ness? I wish you would tell me about
yourself,” he said suddenly. “Is it—l
mean, have you cared for someone?”
“No," she said in a low voice. "I have
never loved anyone," she hesitated al-
I most as if she were goiDg to say "be
fore,” and chose her words carefully, “in
the way you mean—in my whole life. Per
haps that is really the tragedy of it.”
“Won't you trust me,” he said hoarse
ly. "We have only known each other a
few days, but we have hurried years into
them. I feel toward you as I never felt
yet toward human woman, but when I
reach out to you in my thoughts it is Into
the unknown or the darkness—"
“Into the darkness," she echoed.
"Tell me about yourself,” he said pas
sionately. He rose and pulled her gently
from her seat, and putting his arm about
her waist drew her gently toward the end
of the ship. It was dark anti none could
see them, the deck was deserted and none
could hear. "Trust me with your whole
life. Tell me if I may care for you, if you
could ever come to think of me. It is such
a little while since we met, but we are
not strangers. I feel as if we had started
out from opposite ends of the world to
meet each other."
"I have felt it, too,” and, as if against
her will, she drew closer to him.
"I love you," he said. “I swear I love
you.”
A little sound came from her lips. She
put her arms up softly round his neck.
“I think it is killing me,” she whispered.
"No—no, it is all right," he answered,
"we are not fools, we can’t have made
a mistake. We love each other and there
is no reason why we should not—” ♦
"Love you,” she said, “I feel as if I
stood by Heaven's open door—but I shall
never enter it."
"You will! You shall! We will walk its
whole length together. Oh my beloved
woman, whom God has given me.” But
she only shuddered at his words.
"God will take me from you," she said.
"Why should he be so cruel?”
"Say you love me, say it again. It goes
through me,” she said desperately.
"I love you,” he repeated. “I love you,”
and he held her in his arms and kissed
her long and slow, while he felt as if the
world stood still to let them drink deep
of love. Suddenly through the darkness
they heard footsteps.
"Who Is it?" she cried, starting.
"It is only the captain," Travers said.
"How nervous you are!”
"He frightened me," she whispered. "I
thought—"
"A dark night," the captain said, cheer
ily; "doesn't look as if we should be at
Geno in the morning, does it?”
"What time do we get in?”
"About 7, I hope, and out again at
night. Just a day there,” and he passed
on.
"A long good day,” Travers said, as he
turned to her again. But she held him
away further.
"I cannot,” she said; "I cannot! Let
me go. To-morrow you will understand."
He took the hand* she was holding out,
and stooped and kissed them. “I want
to tell you again.” she went on under
her brootb, "I have never loved any one
In my whole life before—l mean. In this
way. Il has changed everything." She
drew her hand* away, and In a moment
she had vanished altogether.
A gray, damp morning, the Iteauty of
Genua hidden In mist and rain. Travers,
lying In his cabin, woke with the sound
of the drip-dripping on Ihe deck. ’•ltaly
ami raid," he thought. "1 won’t get up
till the I a- 11 rings It may clear up in a
eouph of iioura—we can do nothing in a
downpour." There were footsteps ovt
head Bonn* one was going on shore,
ship’s officers, |rtol-abl>. to git fresh to!
for leiakfast lie heard the sound of a
boat la Ins let doW’ti, the wplaeti of oars !
As It went toward land, but It was no I
concern of hi* lie dugrd off, wondering
w ' si eh* would say when she met him
|e *iM not divine lo ids has) thought* J
Go manorr of hour they would sfieiwl I
nett hut linn would mak* It tdsln V/liy I
Itoi i t of lotOMO H M *
|f tomm ¥ ot lo k | to Utg\ M I
laiwkfaat trail had rung Me dressed I
** “Hr hut lrefute lie was rw > SrrWre I
"• ' h’ " htd s< Me gt i |4 tags Mm stew |
ft* withs Ist Iff
"Miss Williamson gave it to me this
morning, sir. She changed her mind about
going to Naples, and was put ashore with
her luggage; said she was going by train
somewhere else." Travers took the litter
without a word. He shut the door and
stood staring at it, listening the while to
tha steward's retreating steps along the
passage; they sounded like the drawing
back of life. Then he tore open the en
velope. It contained a litlte bit of fold
ed newspaper and a note, which he read
at. a glance:
“I told you that I stood on the steps
before the open door of Heaven; now I
am closing it upon myself forever. Good
by."
111.
He put it down bewildered, and unfold
ed the bit of newspaper. It was evidently
a cutting—a portrait of Miss Williamson,
badly reproduced, but unmistakable. Un
der it was printed: "Mrs. Waylett. Ac
quitted last week for murdering her hus
band.” Against it, in pencil, was the date
of a year ago, and the words, "I did it.”
He looked at them stupefied for a mo
ment. Then he remembered Iher kisses,
and her arms, how they had stolen closer
and closer round his neck. The steward
came again a litle later. "Beg pardon,
sir; but shall I bring you some break
fast?”
“No, no; I am coming." He reached out
his hand for a match case and setting fire
to the letter and the bit of newspaper,
watched them slowly burn away. Then he
gathered up the ashes, and lest any one
should enter and divine what they had
been, he put them through the porthole;
and a groan escaped him, but he did not
see them as they vanished or know the
direction in which the wind scattered
them.
(END.)
A STOCKi’OT FOR SEASONING.
It Can Be Kept in the Form of
Flonred Vinegar* for Salads.
The difference between palatable and
unpalatable food is frequently a mere
question of seasoning, said a woman
whose own cookery is above criticism.
SPRING COATS AND GOATLETS.
SOME ECCENTRICITIES O F WRAPS THIS SEASON.
New York, April IM.—Coat* are worn as
ornament* In these extensive and sophlts
tleivtrsl days. The tribe of *prit)K coatee*
and coat lets are wrought of good* that
nr* beautiful, hut eomfortlea* In cold
wind*, and the shut** of the little gar
ments render them a* usr.es* as protev
ir*n against !irn weather a* a chiffon
pnrnsoi In enow time, Nevertheless, they
ate beoomina decorative and popular to
a degree, and. like rlteerful migrating
nlrds, the talfrla coatees have ome la>'|(
to their aecuaUMßed daunt* and ndmliers,
l.nst *|>rlng and summer ols'-k silk Jack,
et* tl<h Is ' •m rueiHf rever* made (he
liveliest estes; this year we have silk
rtons, boleros, aouaves, etc , |n all tha
loess feert, I rum startling eerlae to
■ uninetal grey.
Now to tlrjth ■lerrernstrat# the eatresrte
•merdi't*tty and 4t*erful audacity trial
taeee saatl gsrroes.ia aaeurwe, It Is only
peteaeary to nudutup two Very appoetta 1
■eyes Tfcej had frusa hat and, *m hi Um I
Nor is the barrenness of market or gar-
den any excuse for flavorless dishes—it
is all a question of keeping seasoned vin
egars on hand.
Now when mint grows on every gro
cery bush I get a quantity of the fresh,
green shrub for a few cents, put it in a
quart preserving Jar, and fill the Jar
with good cider vinegar. Tlhe mint mar
ket may then rise or f%ll without causing
me alarm.
Few people who enjoy a salad of to
matoes know how vastly they are im
proved by the addition of a little thyme.
This may be added in the form of the
powdered leaves spread on the tomatoes
and allowed to stand in the ice box for
a few hours, or if fresh thyme leaves
are to be obtained they may be thrown
into a preserving bottle, covered with
vinegar and allowed to stand for a few
weeks. After the aroma has been taken
up by the vinegar it is best to strain it
off, and for the purpose of keeping The
aromatic vinegar old beer bottles, _ the
kind that have attached rubber tipped
corks, are very good.
It is now considered an accomplishment
either for man or woman to be able to
make a good salad. The following recipe
will give a flavored vinegar which will
insure a good salad on short notice, even
in remote mountain camps. A quart of
vinegar, one dozen tarragon leaves, half
a lemon peel, three heads of garlic from
which the skin has been removed, half a
green pepper. Let it stand for ten days
and strain, using in heavy dressing in
the proportion of three parts oil to one
of vinegar. Equal parts of summer sav
ory, thyme, sage and mint will give a
vinegar, a tablespoonful of which may
be added to thickened sauces to be used
with roasts.
Favorite seasonings for sweets can b#
expressed and stored against a lean occa
sion in the same manner, substituting
sherry for vinegar. Bits of orange and
lemon peel from which the inner skin has
been removed, a spring of mint, a cinna
mon stick, as one happens to have an
extra bit of flavor from time to time,
thrown into the jar of sherry, will giva
an added zest to gelatine jelly or a flavor
to punch at a time when the housewife
may be rather short of supplies.
land of their origin are called respectl''*"
ly lot Folle and 1m Sore!. The Sorel t*
so named in honor of the most beautiful
of the younger aotresse* In Pari*,
tva* designed for her *|ieclal and particu
lar use in one of her last and mo*t *"’-
cesirful role*. It 1* an aftsrnoor. con*
In soft moth grey laffeta, cut at b*t k
and sides well up under the should* r
blade* and arms, but arranged with *'■”
shaped fronts that drop nearly to t fl "
knees. Inside the lining iw done In lb*
palest broched yellow satin serge.
Ira Ko.le la hardly more than an aril*
tic dim prole- U> with sleeve*, and i
made of biack panne satin lined with
turquoise Irlue, or • *ac h plllk silk 11
all (lies* fantastic little coats, when twit
lorrn a part of Ineir decoration ins (He )
cm assume any but the regular patali'
pattern; (Irsy *.,**.>* or describe r*h■ be*
glen** *r tifMtoit la oinf*fl>h tf
tl# nui fiitt'ifui tln*k if*'*
ttf p((rfti* *fr mor¥*h
H)#r*Sf |(w *|f *i <**
i4*o9o*t