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♦JljhlK. CrlLOlK'UrllAN MACiAXlljN£<
This Is the Opening Installment or the New Serial---Read It!
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA A Locc Story of the Old Spanish Missions By Gertrude Atherton
PART i.
D ONA POMPOSA crossed her hand*
on her stomach and twirled her
thumbs. A red spot was in each
coffee-colored cheek, and the mole in
her scanty eyebrow Jerked ominously.
Her lips were sei in a taut line, and
her angry-llt eyes were fixed upon a
girl who s«t by the window strumming
a guitar, her chin raised with an air
of placid indifference.
“Thou wilt stop this nonsense and
oa«t no more glances at Juan Turnel?"
demanded I>ona Pomposa. “Thou little
brat! Host thou think that 1 am wont
to let my daughter marry before she
can hem? Thank God, we have more
sense than our mothers. No child of
mine shall marry at lifteen. Now listen
thou shalt be locked in a dark room
if 1 am kept awake again by that hobo
serenading at my window I am worn
out. Three nights have 1 been awak
ened by that tw-a-n-g, tw-a-n-g "
"You need not be afraid," said her
daughter, digging her little heel into
the floor. “I shall not fall in love. 1
have no faith in men."
Her mother laughed outright in spite
of her anger.
Had Read Dumas’ Novels.
“Indeed, my Kulogia! Thou are very
wise And why, pray, has thou no
faith in men?"
Kulogia tossed the soft, black braid
from her shouledrs and fixed her keen,
roguish eyes on the old lady's face
“Because I have read all the novels
of the Senor Dumas, and I well know
all those men he makes. And they
never speak the truth to women; al
ways they are selfish and think of only
their own pleusure. The women suffer,
but they do not care; they do not love
the women -only themselves. So 1 am
not going to be tooled by the men. 1
shall have a good time, but I shall
think of myself, not of the men.”
Her mother gazed at her in speech
less amazement. She had never read a
book in her life, and had not thought
bf locking from her daughter the few
volumes her dead husband had collected.
Then she gasped with consternation.
“A fine woman thou wilt make of
thyself, with such ideas a nice wife
and mother, when the time comes!
What docs Padre Klorges say to that,
1 should like to know? It is very
strange that he lets you read those
books."
“I never told him, ' said Eulogia, in
differently.
"What!” screamed her mother. “Thou
never told at confession?"
“No, l never did. It whs none of his
business what 1 read. Heading is no
sin. I confessed all."
Dona Pomposa rushed at Eulogia with
uplifted hands; but her nimble daughter
dived under her arms with a provoking
tauffto and ran out of the room
fall in love with me I shall have a
good time. That Is enough."
The padre smiled; he was used to
her
"Men Shall Love Me."
“Thou little wise one." He collected
himself suddenly. “But thou art right
to build thy hopes of happiness on the
next w'orld alone." Then he continued,
as if he had merely broken the con
versation to say the Angelus: * And
thou art sure that thou wilt be th^ la
favorita? Truly, thou hast confidence
in thyself—an inexperienced chit who
has not half the beauty of many other
girls."
"Perhaps not; but the men shall love
me better, all the same Beauty is n °1
everything, my father. I have a greater
attraction than soft eyes and a pretty
mouth."
"Indeed! 'Thou baby! Why, thou ar
no bigger than a well-grown child, and
thy mouth was made for a woman
twice thy size Where dost thou keep
that extraordinary charm?" Not but
what he knew', for he liked her better
than any girl in the town. As the
night was warm the younger people
danced through the low windows onto
the wide corridor: and if eyes relaxed
their vigilance stepped off to the grass
and wandered among the trees. The
brown old woman in dark silk sat
against the wall as dowagers da to-day. j
Most of the girls wore bright red or
yoliow gowns, although softer tints
Advice to the
Lovelorn
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
BOTH RUDE AND CARELESS.
nKAR MISS FAIRFAX;
O' is a young girl keeping
company with a young man josti-
fied in feeling offended when the
young man making an appoint
ment to meet her on the way
homo from business does not keep
this engagement, this having
happened twice? The excuse
giwn bv the young man for not
keeping the appointment was, "he
had forgotten all about the ap
pointment." ANXIOUS.
She most certainly is justified In
being offended, and if I were she 1
would never make another engage
ment with him. He has treated her in
a way that is both rude and careless.
WITH HER PARENTS' CONSENT.
D ear miss Fairfax:
I am a young man IS years
of age. During business hours 1
am forced to answer the telephone
very often. I have struck up an
acquaintance with a young lady
over the phone, and have asked
her to go out with me. but she re
fuses' to go. Do you think it
would be proper for me to ask the
young lady again, and would it be
proper for her to accept the invi
tation? G. H.
She is quite right in refusing to go
to the theater with a mere telephone
Well, my daughter, have I not won the battle?” said a voice behind her, and Eulogia sat
down on the window seat and swung her feet with silent wrath.
Town Was Still Awake.
Thai night Kulogia pushed aside the
ite curtain of her window ami look
ed out. The beautiful bare hills and
Hr ding San Luis were black in the
jpUvery night, but the moon made the
^iown lighi as daj The owls were
booting on the roof of the mission;
Kulogia could sec them flap their
.•rtrir.gr V few Indians were still mov
Irg along the dark lints outside tlie
jpvallt*. and within the Padre walked
inn long his olive trees. Beyond the
?wulls the town was still awake. Once
a horseman dashed down the street,
and Kulogia wondered if murder had
been done in the mountains; the ban
dits were thick in their fastnesses.
8bc < id wish she could see cne. Then
*he glanced eagerly down the road be
neath her window In spite of the wis
dom she accepted from the French
romanticist her fancy was just a little
touched b> Juan Turnel. His black,
flashing eyes looked so tender; he rode
so beautifully ' She twitched the cur
tains Into place and ran across the
room, her feet pattering upon the bare
floor. She jumped into her little iron
hud and drew the dainty sheets to her
throat. A ladder was leaned heavily
♦gainst the side of the house.
* She heard an agfle form ascend and
neat itself on the* deep window sill.
Then the guitar vibrated under the
touch of master fingers and a rich,
sweet tenor sang to her.
* Kuh gla lay as quiet as a mouse in
the daytime, not daring to applaud,
hoping fatigue had sent her mother to
hew!. Her lover tuned his guitar and
began another song, but she did not
hear it; she was listening to footfalls
in the garret above. With r present
ment of what was to happen, site sprang
f ut of bed with a warning cry. but site
was too late ^There was a splash and
e tattle on the window seat, a smoth
ered curse, a quirk descent, a tri*
Atmphant laugh from above. Kulogia
stamped her foot with rage. She eau-
tlousb raised the window and passed
her hand along the outer sill. This
time she beat the casement with both
hands, for they were covered with warm
ashes.
"Well, my daughter, have I not won
tiie battle?" said a voice behind her.
and Kulogia sat down on the window
seat and swung her feet with silent
w ra t h.
Dona Pomposa wore a rather short
nightgown and her feet were encased
in a pair of her husband's old boots.
Her hair was twisted under a red silk
kerchief, and again she crossed her
hands on her stomach, but the thumbs
held the candle. Kulogia giggled sud
denly.
"What dost thou laugh at. senorita?
At the Way I have served thy lover?
Dost thou think he will come again
soon ?"
"No. mamma; you have proved the
famous hospitality of the Californians
the Americans are always talking about.
You need have no more envy of the
magnificence of Los Quevos."
“Oh, thou canst make sharp speeches, |
thou impertinent little bral, but Juan I
Tornel will serendae under thy Win- )
dow no more! Go to thy bed! Diosl
but the ashes must look well on his
preity mustachio Go to thy lied. I I
will put the< c.u board in a convent to- i
morrow." Then she shuffled out of the
room, her ample figure swinging from |
side to side like a huge pendulum.
The next day Kulogia was sitting on |
her window seat, her chin resting on .
her knees, the volume of Dumas beside I
j her. when the door w as cautiously |
opened and her Aunt Anastacia enter
ed the room. Aunt Anastacia was very
large. In fact, she nearly filled the
ui,i»rwa> She also disdained whale
bones and walked with a slight roll
I lor ankles hung over her feet, and her
ted cheeks and chin were covered with
a short black gown. Her hair was
twisted. Into a light knot ami protected
by a thick net. and she wore a loose
gown of brown calico, patterned with
large red roses. But good nature beam
ed all over her indefinite features. Her
little brown eyes dwelt adoringly upon
little Kulogia, who gave her an absent
smile.
"Poor little one!" she said
dwlgent and contralto voice,
was cruel in my sister to tl
Not but what
?.r s
idfrt not
;ia malic
and she
l adst n
man >
iously
the
"It Is loo bad thou
one," Interrupted Kuh
"Perhaps thou wouldst
ed up her book "if ilu
Senor Dumas."
"Thou heartless little l aby!" cried her
indignant aunt. "When ! I v thee so.
and bring thy note? at the tusk of my
life; for thou knov. . i that thy mother
would pull the haw from n:> head, Thou
lii tie brat! To - <4 1 could r • 1*; : ry.
when I had twenty
Kulogia jumped up and peched her
on the chin like a bird.
"Twenty-five, my old mountain! !
only joked with thee. Thou did
marry because thou liuript more
than to trot about after a man.
not so, my old sack of dour? I was
hut angy because l thought thou hadst
helped my mother last night."
"Never! i was sound asleep."
"I know, I know! .tow rot away.
I hear my niothoc c m.rg." and Aunt
Anastacia obediently 1 left her niece to
the more congenial company of Senor
Dumas.
not
it
T
Green With Fruit Trees.
IK hills of San Luis Obispo shot
upward like the sloping sides of
a well, so round was ihe town.
lopes the wide
let patches lay
blossoms of the
The garden
low OH
f the mil
t n ill was gre
Unit trees and silver with olive
On the white church and long
In: the red lile; bey< nd the wall
lull ear;li huts of the Indians,
the straggling town, with its
adobe house* c rouching on the
acquaintance. If you call at her house
blossomed here and there. Silky black and meet her parents, and they sanc-
hair was braided close to the neck, the tlon the acquaintance, it will be all
coiffure finished with a fringe of chenille, right for her to accept your invitation.
As they whirled in the dance their full Xsk her if you may can on her.
blight gowns loowed like an agitated 1
flower bed suddenly possessed by a
wandering tribe of goddesses.
Eulogia came rather late. In the last
moment her mother had wavered in her
part of the contract, and not until
Kulogia had sw'orn by every saint in the
calendar that she would not leave the
sala. even though she stifled, had Dona
Pomposa reluctantly consented to take
her. Eulogia's perfect little figure was
clad in a prim white silk gown, but
her cold brilliant eyes were like jewels,
her large mouth was red as the cactus
patches on the hills, a flame burned in
either cheek.
In a moment she was surrounded by
the young men who had been waiting
for her. It might be true that twenty
girls in the room were more beautiful
than she. but she had a quiet manner
more effective than animation, a vigor
ous magnetism of which she was fully
aware, and a cool coquetry which
piqued and fired the young men, who
were used to more sentimental flirta
tions.
I Am Not a Man. "
naried bent at
truth had bee
gotten him.
shot over her
sion church;
sixteen. A year had
Juan Tornel had sere-
! her window, and. if the
1 ;o!d. she had almost for-
Many a glance had she
prayer book in the mis-
many a pair of eyes.
Slie uanced && airy as a rower on
the wind, but with untiring vitality.
"Senorita," said Don Carmelo Bena.
“Thou takest my breath away. Dost
thou never weary?"
“Never. I am not a man."
“Ay. senorita, thou meanest"
"Ttja? women were made to make the
; ' n, l l,a, l responded. But wor j f j round, and men to play rhe
<i spoken with no man. After a guitar."
'■ •is sccene with her mother. - Ah> 1 can play the guitar. I will
who .1 Aunt Anastacia had wept serenade thee to-morrow night."
a compromise had been “Thou wilt get a shower of ashes for
g a had agreed to have no pains. Better stay at home and
i. unions until she was sixteen, prepare thy soul wuth three card
monte.'
"Aye. senorita, thou are cruel. Does
tempest
during
profuse!
made.
- re fiitations until she was si
I . a 1 ihat age she should go to balls
and have a many lovers as she pleased
TROUBLED OVER NOTHING,
D ear miss Fairfax;
I am 28 and have been
keeping steady company for one
year with a girl of 18. We are
about to be engaged. Do you
think it improper to be married
to a girl ten years younger than
yourself? To be engaged, what is
the proper way to do it, and must
it be announced? Also is it nec
essary to present her with an en
gagement ring? E. F, S.
She is not too young for you. Ask
her to marry you, and if she accepts,
you are engaged. If her parents know,
further announcement is immaterial.,
though it is a safeguard against mis
understanding if all your friends
know it. By all means, give her an
engagement ring.
NO SERIOUS OFFENSE.
FJEAR MISS FAIRFAX;
I am 16 years of age. Last
week I was invited to a party to
which I was requested o 1 g a
young man. I invited a young
man whom I know to bo very re
spectable and' polite, but I had
known him a very little time, and,
at that, only to talk to. Now.
what I want to know is if it was
right to invite him. ANXIOUS.
You have been introduced and you
knew him to be honorable. Under
the circumstances, you did no great
wrong. The mistake, if there- was
any, lies in the custom of asking a
girl or 16 to hunt up a boy c s' ort.
•e walked through the olive groves I no m an please thee?"
i\udic Mcraga on the morning of j “Men please me. How tiresome to
r l he new padre i dance with a woman!"
"And that is all thou hast for us?
For us who would die for thee?”
“In a barrel of agi:adiente? I prefer
thee to dance with. To tell the truth,
thy step suits mine."
“Ay, senorita mia! Thou canst put
honey on thv tongue. Light of my life,
Senorita—I fling my heart at thy feet."
Wltu 1 amc .tiuagi
her sixteenth birthday
and she were the best of friends.
“Well," raid the good old man, push
ing the long white hair from his dark
face it fell forward whenever he
etc?oped— “well, my little one, thou goest
to th> first hall to-night. Art thou
happy?”
“Happy? There is no such thing as
happiness, my father. 1 shall dance
and flirt, and make all the young men
D ?A Ft MISS
I would
To Be Continued To-morrow.
1 he Spinster By Ella Wheeler Wilcox
r<ipyright. 1 !♦!?►. by Star Company.
H
arc
t
th
in
Not
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White Skin ?
I DLE wishing never yet
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plexion. Do something. Find
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swarthy looking skin TRY
Dr. Palmer’s
Skin Whitener
There is no doubt whatever
about its marvelous whiten
ing effect upon a dark, sallow
complexion, and it makes the
skin soft and clear.
Of course you won’t believe
this unless you try it. But one-
box will chow you how easy
it is to improve your complex
ion. woe postpaid anywhere.
Gccd agents wanted in every
town. Write fer terms
FOR SALE BY
All Jacobs’ Stores
And Druggists Generally.
but what
lovers, my
to at iwelv
My little <
1 her in-
"But it
>w ashes
thou art
aiding, al-
But times
. I have a
KR1
And yo.
In little
A mother bit
Urges her yoi
A purring ra’.*;* .
Shu*.-; and fxpauds
While sturdy kitten
.leu 1 no
d. wiHi
tig to 1:
1.
iyhard trees
vs, luancliwi!
-\v<ei in-i.-t
f e their n x\: r
ret died upon
her . • I \ el j
nuzzle at lu
ill large
with yi
:’d from
witi
ring
'•i wings,
he *w a 1 d,
as in joy,
breast.
«> mighty Mak» r <
Am I not pail ar.
And one with Xa
Must this great r
Hhjdcn, ashamed
Until it starve** n
if the Universe.
I parcel of Thy world,
live'.' Wherefore, then, in n
productive impulse lie
un nourished and denied.
1 slow and torutouK death?
too young fo
though i hud
have changed
note f<»r thee. Thy mother is out, ami
he has gone away, so there can lie no
harm !n reading it"
"Give it to me at once!” and Kulogia
dived into her aunt's pocket ami found
ihe note.
Shrugged Her Shoulders.
"Beautiful and idolized Kulogia
Adios! Adios! 1 came a stranger to thy
town. I fell blinded at thy feet. I fly
forever from the scornful laughter of
thine eyes. Aye. Kulogia. how couldst
thou'.’ But no! I will not believe it was
thee The dimples that play in tIty
checks, the sparks that fly In thine c>es
-God of my life! I cannot believe
that they come from a malicious soul.
N- enchanting Eulogia! consolation of
my soul! it was thy mother who so
cruelly humiliated me. who drives me
from ihy town lest 1 be mocked In the
I know the hope of
Now ripe with fre
\\ e laughed ioget b
\\ c dream* d tog t »*.
Till nil Thy pnrp
Were to fruition hr
The Woman in tnc
The Mot lie2* in 1110
And made no ttnsv
Thun lower form
host Thou hold .
Full com pen
For lonely v:
A life unnntu
Springtime
r. I budded,
r. through i
lik
rad
• the tree
then bloomed;
ttr.g May morns*
Summer radons;
w 1
tin
;bf
crying for t,
crying, for tl
1*. A m 1 less
of Nature, o
Thou hast heard
> Man:
1- Child;
*0 Taco
in tt nth
Somewhere in another
n and large reeompens
forced by Fate to liv
in a natural world?
Rea *1
II.
Till >U
1 The 1
Planned
at t h
made
and l
.' lives
s ire purposes
t thing that is—
in the air
With fine precision and consummate care.
Thou who hast taught the bees the secret power
<>f carrying on-love’s laws ’twixt flower and flower,
Why didst Thou shape Unis mortal frame.of mine,
if Heavenly joy^ alone were Thy design?
Wherefor the wonder of my woman's breast,
By lips of lover and of babe unpressed,
If spirit children only shall reply
I nfo my ever urgent mother cry?
Why should the rose be guided to its own,
And my love-craving heart beat on alone?
111.
V UT do I understand; for Thou hast made
1 Something more j-ubtle than this heart of me;
A finer part of me
To be obeyed.
Albeit l am sister to the earth.
This nature seif is not the whole of me;
The deathless soul of me
Has nobler birth.
The primal woman hungers for the man:
My better self demands the mate of me:
The spirit fate of me,
Fart of Thy plan.
Nature is instinct with the mother-need;
So is my heart; but. ah. the child of me
Should, undeflled of me.
Spring from love’s seed.
And if in barren chastity I must
Know but in dreams that perfect choice of me,
Still with the voice of me
Proclaim God just.
T
sire
la
Aye.
Adios!
Eubgia!
>e, miseri-
Nh
HERE seems to be one univer
sal and unanimous answer t
the question of "What make
rally worth the living?"
matter to whom
or
live
,»u pul
in tiie
"Well, my mother is
She has driven him
1 shall net have to g;
“Thou arc so soh
said Aunt A nasi a.i
•)U
fifie
joyed and suffered -the
er whmiincr*! given in "Ohildrct
,\ , * And. afu j- all. the lit
isheo perhaps. mak( , this 0 pj v . rid of
\t least, hving in. They may be
a tribulation—they may
and a sacrifice—but wher
who an vvers to the name
mother, who are reall. 1
it. tf
living
ns wer
1 ebt
l
Bui
away.
to the convent."
my little noe,”
disapprovingly,
n years, and yet
e a lover as if he
i Mother « f God!
a 1«1 have w* pi and
perhaps, tl at is the
o men urc wild io.
a tykes do
aura worth
a trial end
the
1*men. \v
t<
shade*
W<
l ilia
all
men
eh’.l-
>rm
dr mi will not have to deal with them, change in the atmosphere at once
Tim man who is money mad most ! and humans who were glowerin°- at
' “ %J ‘“ «*ach other smile and laugh to see'the
little one ape her grown-up sisters.
The nifty little kid you meet on the
way. who looks up at you with
friendly eyes, clear and unafraid,
stirs your heart more than all dreams
and visions of money and success.
The little tatterdemalion you meet
makes you want to change conditions
so that all children can be taken
away from the city and given the
joys of the country and a taste of
childhood close to nature.
And the baby, who plays with its
little pink toes, and is all unconscious
of your presence, is of more interest
than the speculations and theories
of the philosophers who have tilled
the libraries with their thoughts from
the long ago till now.
times pile.; up his hoards of golden
' r s i the children who come after
him. Tin parent who lives in the
b«»vel sees better times coming for
hi- eildrcn. and is content to put up
\ .1 1 • hard lot. knowing that he
will live again in their enjoyment and
m the.tr ease.
T < -oriety lady knows the vapid-
“• ' ■ f her life and feels that she has
u« lived iii vain und been a drone
*n t!i< it v if uhe gives forth to the
w Id children. The poor washer-
\\( m. work-s and denies herself to
U" ** !•« r family of tots together and
;v< th ;n advantages that she had
uier in a fq-bwded car my little
in-; in an'd perches primly on
c of the seat. There i3 a
not
TELL YOUR BEST FRIEND.
FAIRFAX:
like to establish
a home. I have no woman ae
on Yntanee. Can you give me any
help or direction toward the at
tainment of my desire either
through social or direct introduc
tion? H. G. M.
Tell the best friend you have
among the men. If he is married, he
will tell his wife, and every woman
is. at the bottom of her heart, a born
matchmaker. She will see that you
meet* other women and have a choice.
YOU MUST DO NOTHING.
DAKAR MISS FAIRFAX:
^ l am eighteen and am deeply
in love with a young man who
often invites me up to the show.
He is an usher. What could I do
to gain his love, or show* him
that 1 love him?
HEART-F,R< >KEX
You are too young to be involved
in any sentiment as serious as lov
ing. Make no attempts to win his
love, and touch yourself to know that
yo** do not love him.
EXPLAIN IT.
P)EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am a young lady of eighteen.
Some time ago a young man ask
ed the pleasure of my company
to a show. I refused it ; later he
asked me again, but 1 told him
T did not care to go to the place,
but changed my mind and went
by myself. 1 met him as I waa
entering. He did not say any
thing. Since then he has spoken
to me. but has never asked for
my company. Lately 1 have come
to like him very much. DOT.
Explain it by saying you changd
your mind, but do not take it to heart
if he never asks you again. Your
actions showed you did not care for
his company and that i3 what rankles.
SHE WAS WRONG.
1“)EAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I took a lady friend of mine to
an evening dance, and at 11:30
o'clock I asked her to come home,
and she begged me to wait until
she had just one more dance. See
ing that she enjoyed it. I consent
ed, but it w*as to be the last, as
we had about two hours’ travel
for home. After she got through
with this dance she wanted to
wait for the next one. and I re
fused to give my consent. With
this she claimed I offended her.
MARK.
She did not keep faith with you.
but her offense is not serious. If vod
took her to the dance for her pleas
ure. and that is alway s assumed, you
should be glad to stay as long a >
she chooses, reserving to yourself the
decision not to take her again if she
chooses to stay too late.
Beauty Secrets:
HAIR PULLING MAKES
IT GROW QUICKLY”
il J &
Two Portraits of Miss Josephine Brown.
IV
By Margaret Hubbard Ayer.
ISS JOSEPHINE BROWN, the
pn tty actress, stood before the
mirror and clutched her short
curly mane with both hands. Then
she gavt a yank as if she were deter
mined 1 » pull all her pivtly reddish
hair out by the roots.
".Don't !o«*k mi woir >" she : id
to me. “I’m not mud at niyi tdf. ThU
is the latest Paris method of growing
hair in a hurry.
“Yes, I cut it off because I had to
be in style. And to be in style in
Paris to-day means that you must look
as if you had short hair. Most of
the really smart women are really
cutting theirs off altogether.
“Leon "Baker, who did the costume
designing for the Russian ballet and
for all the Oriental plays, has sol the
rage for short-haired coiffures, and
short hail* is absolutely THE THING
now in Paris. To b“ chic you must
wear your hair very flat <>n the head
and bound a round with a s i 1 !•. sas h
of Oriental material, from under
which a few short curls.are allowed
to escape.
‘There must be no wad of hair in
spoil the contour of the head. The
head must look* very boyish, indeed,
and those women who have cut all
their long hair off attain the true
Bakst effect," the pretty young act ‘ess
continued.
“I want to have lung h :i for sev
eral reasons. First, I am in America
again, and America has not ac*. opted
the short-haired woman. Over here
you still think short hair masculine,
while in Paris short hair is consid
ered fascinating on a woman’s head,
and the boyish look of these Bakst
coiffures is the latest and smartest
and most bewitching style. Lverj-
one is in love with short hair, and con
siders a woman with curly locks, sntp-
ped off at the nape of the neck, much
more attractive than her sister or
.Sutherland descent.
“I shall never keep my hair very
long any more, because I know tne|
delights of short, healthy, clean hair.
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ate ^fnUdtwn^'
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The Sad Lady—I want a law.
The .Milline, --Yes. madam.wMer
Widow?” *
The £ud Lady — No; mis: rah; v. u
Another Frecocions Otild.
A directo! of one u' the great trans
continental railroads was showing his
3-year-old daughter the pictures in a
j work on natural history. Pointing to
la pictur <f a zebra, he asked Bio
j baby to tell him what i; represents i.
Baby answtua d "Colty.”
picture of a tig r in
I th * s-tm? way. she ansv/f-ed: “Kitty."
Then a I ‘*0
| Elated wit h hv seeming quick percep-
I 11 “Babiy what j^this?"
\ Fd U ;
PIEDMONT COAL CO.
Both Phenes M.
I