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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 Do You Want White Skin ? I DLE wishing never yet changed an ugly com - plexion. Do something. Find the remedy. Then is a rem edy for every evil. If you have a very dark, ••parse, 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. n vam smpuREUfitut for Infants »nd Invalids Get ^ BOR LICK’S If means Jhe Original and Gen ul °* MALTED MIL! ate ^fnUdtwn^' The Food-Drink for a!! Ages Rich milk, malted grain, in powder form, For infants, invalids end growing children Purenutrition.upbuildingthewhole 10 ■ Invigorates nursing mothers «ml th = More healthful than tea or cottee Take no substitute. As* for HO RUCK, HORLICK’S Contains Pure MW This Model Greatly Reduced. 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