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4 T One Woman’s Story . By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER CHAPTER XVII. P ERHAPS Mary Panforth was right when she told her mother that one could not expect a man to write as often as a woman does. Certain It was that for the months fol lowing that statement Gordon Craig’s letters came always once a week. They contained always the same excuse— that he was "fearfully busy," and that he knew Mary would not be vexed if he did not take time from his work to write often. After all, she understood him so well that she would make al lowances. Once he wrote that if she found writing to him a burden, she must not feel that she must communi cate with him when she was worn out. "Send me a line telling he how you are every week or two,” he suggested, “and promise to let me know if you are ill. But I can not bear to have your letters to me add to your already over heavy cares." The girl smiled at she read. Even yet, she mused, he did not appreciate how much she loved him, how the thought of him was the only bright spot In her sordid life, that he and her moth er were all the beings she had to love. But he did know her well enough to believe that she understood his not writing oftener. Did she not know that he was working for her, working with all the strength of his young manhood to make a home for her and to hasten the time when he could claim her and take her away from all this unhappi ness and uncongenial toll? He did not say at all this to her. But she knew, ah. she knew! And she loved him the better for not reminding her that it was for her that he was toiling and sacrific ing himself. "Of course I understand," she wrote to him in reply to his half-apology for his one-letter-a-week habit. "I know all about it, dear Gordon. Explanations between us are unnecessary. I can read between the lines and find there that which you do not write, that which I respect you for not writing. Each Mon day evening now brings me a letter from you. Keep on sending me a line so that I will get it then, and T shall be satisfied. Somehow it gives me cour age to go back to work each Monday, after a Sunday at home, If I know that when I return at night I shall find your letter in the box waiting for me. It has never failed rne on a single Monday since you went away." Why should she make any more pro testations? She w’as not by nature ef fusive. and she could not write what was in her heart. This message to Craig must have crossed his epistle to her, a hastily penned note, containing no newts, say ing merely that he was well and "still at it, up to his neck in work.” “But I have the satisfaction of know ing that I am making good,” he added, “and that is a comfort to any man. I hope that by this time you are doing as well as you deserve." There was something in this note, or lack of something, that made the reader vaguely uncomfortable. Surely next Monday’s letter would be more satis factory. But next Monday no letter came. Yet on Tuesday there arrived a post card, saying, "Well as usual, but fear fully busy. G. C." The following week was the longest that Mary Panforth had ever known. She looked forward with an eagerness which she could not explain to Craig's next letter. She had a presentiment that matters were coming to a Joyful crisis, that soon he would tell her what she already suspected, that she might expect him soon. She sat in the office late on Monday afternoon, thinking. She had com pleted her work for the day, and now only w’aited for her employer’s per mission to go home. It was February, and the snow had begun to fall early in the afternoon. The light on her desk rendered the outer darkness blacker than usual. The wind struck against the panes with a force that made her shiver. She decided to ask Mr. Pear son if she might not go home now without waiting for him to sign the letters he had dictated to her. She knocked at the door of her employer’s office and it was not until she had obeyed his summons to "come in" that she remembered that Mr. Fletcher had called to see him an hour ago. and was still in conversation with him. Bowing gravely to the visitor she proffered her request to Mr. Pearson. "Surely you may go," was the kind reply. "I hope you have overshoes. It’s a bad evening ” "Thank you!" she said. She remem bered suddenly that when she had left home that morning the weather had been mild with the treacherous warmth that February sometimes brings for a day or two. and that she had foolishly worn thin shoes and a light jacket. Bert Fletcher, w’atching her, may have seen a shade of dismay cross her fea tures. "Excuse me, Miss Panforth." he said, "but it is sure an awful night. I am not fixed up for it myself, so I’m call ing a cab to take me as far as the elevated road. Let me take you along." The look In his eyes was again like that of a kindly dog. Mary thought. She was tired, and was in a hurry to go home. An impulse made her an swer frankly: "Thank you! I will be glad to go as far as the elevated in your cab." Bert Fletcher could not afford to be extravagant, but he decided quickly that he would "blow In the price of a cab all the way uptown" for this girl, whom he adimred more than he had ever admired any other woman. But it was not until he was seated beside her in the closed conveyance that he remarked: "I’m going to take you all the way to your home, Miss Danforth. You must let me do it Just this once. Now don’t say you won’t, for it’s fierce walking, and you need to be taken care of." So worn was the girl that she found it pleasant to be taken care of "just this once." She recalled this pleasure with a sudden revulsion of feeling as she looked in the empty letter box at the door of the flat building to which Fletcher had escorted her. She hur ried up the one flight of stairs to her apartment and opened the door with trembling fingers. But the tray on which her mail was always laid when Mrs. Panforth received it was empty. "No, dear,’’ said the mother wearily, as she came out of the kitchen and met her daughter's inquiring gaze. "No letter from Gordon again to-day.” Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women The Care of the Hair as Told by Evelyn Carleton By LILIAN LAUFERTY. “I F I had a million dollars," began Evelyn Carleton, "I know ex actly what I’d do " Where upon the mind of the Beauty Editor, attuned unto lotions and garments of rare texture, and "cures” and all the adjuncts of beauty—which is so sel dom unadorned—began to vision jew els rare, and creations from Parisian artists. But Evelyn Carlton went on seriously. "I would adopt all the poor, dear little kiddies I could find, and I would take ’em all out in the country and let them kick up their heels in the long cool grass, and pick posies and get dirty and clean again and grow up with some of God’s sunshine in their little hearts." Ahem! "The Follies of 1913” were being exploited down on the stage of the New Amsterdam Theater in New York. In a dressing room on the third floor the beautiful girl w’ho thrills you with loveliness when she sits in a gold-armored figure on the gold horse of Jeanne d’Arc was telling me of an ideal that is greater to her than all the lure of 1 loveliness. Do you wonder that Evelyn Carleton is a beautiful girl? Most women who art normal, and sweet and sane—and womanly with the full heritage of what their Maker meant them to be—are attractive with the sweetness of ex pression and the charm of the eternai femininity that the Germans call "Die ewlge weibliche.” A Pointed Question. "But since you—supposedly—have not a million dollars," said I. “won’t you please tell me how you make life and yourself as attractive as possible? All the little means to the great end of feminine humanity—Beauty." "Oh, but I am not a beauty," said Miss Carleton with misguided en thusiasm. Excuse me. Miss Evelyn, for remarking it here in open meet ing. and in such wise that you have no chance to talk back—“You are a beauty." On with the conversation of th«' evening. Said Miss Carleton: "I have rather nice hair—no credit to me, it runs in my family. It’s long and thick, you see. I shampoo it at lea. L 't fortnightly. and sometimes once a week. About a shampoo—if you can not get some one who is an expert at the art, wash your own hair. Buy a bottle of liquid green soap and shak- some of the liquid into the masses of your hair, rubbing away till you get a foamy white lather. Then wash an? wash and wash some more untir*your Anal rinsing water is clear as Croton water ever can be. Just don’t leave a bit of soap in yovr hair if you mean to have it pretty and fluffy and tract able. Don’t wear false hair, don’t jam your head full of combs and hairpins, don’t burn your hair off in search of a curl that the first damp hour will steal from you. Sham poo it as I have told you. brush it faithfully, and often open it to th 1 benefits of sun and wind ay often as you can. All growing things like sun and air as well as those little kiddies of my million dollar dreai^i. you know? At night and in the morn ing loosen your scalp by giving it a “I shampoo my hair fort nightly. “Don’t wear false hair. “At night and in morn ing loosen your scalp.” A Tale of Adventure tMW\iC w MISS EVELYN CARLETON rotary massage with your finger-tips: this will stimulate the flow of blood to the scalp veiny and blood vessels and feed the roots of the hair. For a tonic my mother used to recommend breaking a few’ quinine capsules into bay rum. and applying this on alter nate nights. "Tonic should always be applied from a bottle w r ith a shaker top, or dropped into the partings of the hair from a bottle with a shaker top. or dropped into the partings of the hail from a medicine dropper. The idea is to get it into the skin from which the hair is deriving its nouriyhment— and not to get the hair oily or greasy and so ready to attract a coating of dust. To sum it all up. keep your hair and scalp clean, stimulate th- 1 flow of blood to the scalp, and feed the roots of the hair, and I am sure the results will justify you for ‘tak ing pains.’ "AH I can add to my ‘beauty inter view’ is to go back to my beginning again and recommend that grown ups try my dream-for-ehildren—liv ing out in the golden yunshine. It is good for hair—and figure and dispo sition.” In Parting. Whereto be it added that out doors surely offers you some of the health and beauty with which it has so generously dowered Evelyn Car leton. Next time you shampoo your hair, dry it out in the golden sun light—and when you behold with joy the vital glowing mass fnto which the sun has tranymuted your locks just register a vow to try a little sun shine tonic on your nature! THE MIRACLE A Startling Short Story Complete S OME days ago I heard somebody speaking about policemen in the most disparaging manner. “You are quite right," I agreed; “they are all rascals, and in proof thereof I should like to tell you a lit tle Incident. I have on my country place a gardener named UUmann, who was formerly a policeman. In spite of his 58 years he still makes a very young Impression. For years he was the terror of tramps and va grants. and now he is tenderly nurs ing flowers with his big, powerful hands, which have knocked down more than one criminal. The flowers have changed him altogether, but he says this is because he is breathing a different air now. One morning I met him in the vegetable garden. He had just been sprinkling the straw berry beds and was in his shirt sleeves. He was evidently in mood for a chat that day, for he addressed me. A Beautiful Night. "I have now been in your service for nine years, monsieur," he said, "and I want to tell you how happy 1 have always felt here, much happier than while I was a policeman. That is a dreadful calling. I tell you. Whether you put criminals in prison or cut their heads off, they are not punished enough. It would be much better to condemn them to become policemen, even if only for a few months; then they would have more than enough of it. But probably the public might object. When you look at me, as I am now In my working clothes, you would think that my life had always been smooth sailing, as content as I look. And still I tell you I have met with enough expe riences to write more than one sen- ,, c . i cove!, "I was very young when we first married, and at first we had a hard time to make a living, and later on worse anxieties came to us through a wayward child who wrecked our happiness. Of all the sorrows he caused us, I will tell you the one which shocked me most. "It was a beautiful summer night, the sky was full of stars and it was THREE CLASSES OF MEOWS are the Animal. Vegetable and Miner al, of which the Vegetable King dom furnishes by far the most and the best. More than 700 varieties of roots, plants and herbs are known by pharmacists to hav« medicinal value and probably the "Indian Medicine Man" knows of as many more. It was In this most interesting study, more than forty years ago, that Lydia E. IMnkham. of Lynn, Mass., discovered her now famous Vegetable Compound for woman's ills, which has proved of incalculable value to hundreds of thousands of American women. Its wonderful success proves its merit. bright moonlight. It was about twelve years ago. I was walking my beat from the Bois de Boulogne to Passy together with my mate, a Cor sican, whose sense of hearing was so sharp that he could hear the ants running. From time to time a cab rolled by and through the windows we caught a sight of kissing couples. The night was made for loving. Sud denly we were startled by a piercing cry. ‘Help! Murder!’ We rushed toward the sound and found a man who was trying to strangle a gentle man, w’ho wore a light coat over his evening dress, evidently on his way home from a dance. "Before the bandit had time to look around we had the handcuffs on him. but unfortunately we had come a lit tle too late, for his victim was bleed ing profusely from two stab wounds in neck and face. ‘‘You had better stay here," I said to my chum, “while I rush this fel low to the station house and hurry back with an ambulance. "I started off with him. We had about half a mile to walk to the sta tion house. He made no attempt to resist, which would have done him no good, as he was handcuffed and 1 had a good hold of his coat collar. We did not exchange a single word, but suddenly he stopped under a street lamp and said: “ ‘You don’t seem to recognize me.’ "He threw back his head, his cap fell off and I recognized—the face of my own son. "It was a dreadful shock. Even if you have been fighting burglars and fdotpads for twenty years you still remain human. My heart stopped beating. His Son’s Plea. "He looked at me with horrified eyes and open mouth and stammered: ‘I have never done you any harm, father. You won’t have me sent to prison, will you?’ "Why I did not drop dead or go insane on the spot I do not under stand, but a miracle happened. I felt my brain and heart growing cold, and in one second I saw a thousand things; the day w’hen he was born, when he was christened, his sweet little baby face; I saw him go to school, where he was the first in ev erything. our fiat on the top floor of a tenement, and his poor mother stooping over his bed, when he was saying his prayers. "Then I imagined the terrible catas trophe. I saw his mother fainting as she heard of the dreadful calam ity. the reports in all the newspapers, our honest name disgraced. I do not know how to explain it to you, but my heart swelled with pity and love of ' the unfortunate boy. I took the handcuffs off his hands, and whis pered: ‘Run away from here.’ "I have never seen him again. If what I did was wrong, I hope God will forgive me. That's right, don’t be bashful ’’ At these last words he knocked a fat caterpillar off a leaf of cabbage, i T HREE men were sitting together in a compartment of a train speeding across the steppes of Russia at 60 miles an hour. The man who was sitting between the other two was about 32, hand some, with a high, intellectual fore head and a very determined mouth. He had been thinking so much dur ing the last hour that it was Impos sible for him to think any more. He felt as if he were facing a high wall, which, as far as he could see, was quite insurmountable. Twenty-four hours ago he had been a happy man. possessing the best a man may pos sess in this world—a beautiful wife, who loved him as passionately as he loved her; three lovely children — Alex, Helena and Anna; a splendid practice and good health. Now’ everything w’as cnanged. He had been seized by a hand whose grip was as cruel as It was inexplicable. A man may fight cruelty, but to fight stupidity is hopeless, especially when stupidity is protected bv power. * And Sergius Koitschin thought that when he had been singled out for ar rest it was not only cruel, but also stupid. He had done nothing, had violated no law, no matter how anti quated or unjust. He was wealthy enough to be harmless. While he was pondering over his lost happiness, he suddenly broke the silence, asking: "The truth is this, I suppose that I shall be kept idle for a long time?’* The two men nodded assent. “You see." said the more intelligent of them, "it is not wise t"> think too deeply or be too smart. Neither is it wise to speculate on what may hap pen or not. You must take things as they come." "Then you are a philosopher your self." "It is better so.’ A Warning. "No." said Koitschin, sharply. “It Is not better so. One should try to make the future better than the present.” "Try to tell that when you are ex amined, and see what you will get.” "I shall have nothing to say when I am examined, but that I have done nothing to justify any examination. 1 do not want to make the case worse than it is." A short silence followed. "I suppose,” said the more intelli gent of the two keepers, "that you love Russia? All you revolutionists have only the best intentions." “I ain no revolutionist,” said Koit schin. "You are thought to be one, at any rate.” "But, strangely enough I am not. 1 am merely an ordinary physician with no other interests but my pa tients and my work. I may have some sympathy with the revolutionists, but I take no part in their propaganda." “But perhaps you Know somebody who does?" "Yes, I know several." "A man is known by his friends. Perhaps you help your friends Per haps you have had a man under your roof who may some day throw a bomb.’* Suddenly Koitschin remembered Savarin. He had never been able to understand why he was arrested, but now’ he understood everything, and also understood how exceedingly dif ficult it would be to prove his inno cence. Only a fhort time ago Savarin had spefit several nights at his house. He was an old friend, and the day be fore he left he had said he was going to Odessa, but would not tell anything about his business there. “Has anything happened in Odes sa?" Koitschin anked, at the same moment realizing the danger of ask ing this question. The Bomb. "Nothing, except that a bomb has been thrown with the result hoped for." ‘‘Do you know’ who threw it?" "A man named Savarin." The other keeper looked at him significantly. "Then you knew that something was going to happen in Odessa?” Koitschin saw that he fiad placed himself in an exceedingly dangerous position. He* knew in fact that he was already sentenced and that he should probably never see his wife and children again. • • • The less intelligent of the keepers invoked the help of one saint after the other, and when at last he knew the names of no more he began to pray for the help of his little father the Czar. The other keeper sat pale as a ghost w’hile Koitschin was bandaging his crushed leg with rtrjps made from his shirt, which he had taken off. A few’ yards away was the wreck of the train, which had caught fire and the flames were creeping closer to the place where the poor keeper. Invoking the saints; was pinned down by the wreckage. Koitschin saw that the flames would reach him sooner than the help of the saints and at the same moment the poor man looked up and perceived hie great danger. He screamed with anguish. "Be quiet " said Koitschin. "I will save you if I can.’’ The keeper imme diately forgot his saints and his Czar and begged Koitschin hurry. Kolt- scin had finished bandaging tht other’s leg. and was now struggling with a strong temptation. He only needed to leave this man who had heard his words about pdessa to his fate and he w’ould be silent forever. But a moment later he had released the poor fellow, and. h zing bandaged his wounds he began to attend some of the other wounded. It was a ter rible scene. With the carelessness so common In that country, a couple of heavily loaded freight cars had been left on the track near a sharp curve the night before, the express had run into them at full spe »d and the whole train wan now’ a burning pile of wreckage. When the wrecking train at last ar rived, It brought two high officials, sent out to investigate the fate of the dangerous revolutionist. Dr. Koitschin. They walked along beside the wrecked train trying to locate him, entirely unaffecetd by the sight of the sufferings of the wounded. Suddenly they discovered Koitschin. who was hard at work saving human lives. In Danger. They stopped and looked at him. It w;as evident he was a surgeon and. us he had attended many wounded, he probably could give them some infor mation. One of them touched his shoulder and said: "We are looking for a certain Ser gius Koitschin, a dangerous revolu tion'^! He was in charge of two keepers.” “It is none of my business to know- dangerous revolutionists, even when I see them. To me a broken log is a broken leg, w’hether it belongs to an official c i a bombthrower." "That is true enough, but It does not help us.’’ "I have no time to help you. As you see, I am busy setting this leg. But if you will wait a moment 1 will show you the two keepers, whom 1 have just bandaged." The older official bow’ed courteously. “We are exceedingly thankful to you," he said, politely. A moment later Koitschin intro duced the two officials to the helpless keepers. "These two gentlemen are looking for a dangerous revolutionist named Koitschin. hut as far as 1 know he w’as burned to death under the wreckage of the car that held him down." Saved. The less intelligent keeper, who knew what it meant to be pinned down under the car, which had now been.completely consumed by the fire, stared at Koitschin with open mouth, but did not utter a word. The other keeper, however, said very calmly: "That is quite correct. It was aw ful. Koitschin was burned up alivo and we were helpless to save him.’ "Most deplorable," said one of the officials. "He has received his sentence,” said the keeper. Koitschin drew’ a breath of relief. At* felt a free man once more. Officially he was now dead hut he had won back his life, his children and everv thing that made life worth living, for in the hearts of these two wounded men he had found something you mav find in Russia as well as anywhere else. • • • Somewhere on a shelf In a Russian office lies an official report of Ser gius Koltschin’s death, but the same Sergius Koitschin is living in Paris, happy and respected, with hia wife and children. A Joke on a Joker. That Inveterate Joker, Sothern, had made an appointment with Toole to dine at a well-known restaurant. Tiie hour of meeting was fixed, and Soth ern arrived some few minutes before the appo'nted time. An elderly gen tleman w’as dining at a table some lit tle distance from that prepared for the tw’® actors. He was r< a ding a newspaper, w hich he had < omfortably arranged before him, as he was eat ing his dinner. Sothern walked up to him, and striking him a smart blow between the shoulders, said: "Halloa, old fellow’! Who would have thought of seeing you here? I thought you never *’ The assaulted diner turned round angrily, when Sothern exclaimed: "I beg you a thousand pardons, sir; I thought you were an old friend of mine—a family man whom I nev^r suspected -to see here. I hope you will pardon me." The old gentleman trrowled a reply, and Sothern returned to his table, where he was presently Joined by Toole, to whom he said: "See that old bov? I’ll bet you half a dollar you daren’t go and give him a slap on the hack and pretend you have mistaken him for a friend." "Done!” said Toole; and done it. was immediately, with a result that may be imagineo. By BE 4.TRICE FAIRFAX { { 1 v O you think,” w rites a young I J ptrl, "that it is proper for a girl to kiss a man when they are merely friends?" 1 once he :rd a girl describe a box of candy an admirer had sent her. "It was just sublime," she gushed. "I never saw a grander, more mag nificent, more beautiful, more artistic or finer box of candy in all my life. Words can't describe it." "What words would you use," I re sponded dryly, "to describe the Grand Canyon?" She had se<*n the Grand Canyon. After a moment’s thought she replied that she would use the same; that she knew no words that would express more than grand, magnificent, beau tiful, artistic and fine. A girl asks if it is proper to kiss a man who is merely a friend. Sup pose 1 say, "Entirely proper. He is a good friend; no wrong is thought or intended. Go ahead and kiss him." She kisses him. She kisses him often, for that is a pleasure *hat once indulged in knows no limit. Some day she has a lover. It is a parallel case w’ith the girl who exhausted her adjectives on the box of chocolates, and would have to use the same on the Grand Canyon. A Proof. The lover asks for a kiss as a proof of her love, ar.d she gives this man she loves with all her heart, and who loves her. the same proof of af fection she gave a man who was merely a friend; one who is here to day and gone to-morrow, and kiss ing all the girls w’ho are foolish enough to kiss when on his way. One of the greatest offenses a man can commit is to kiss and tell. He coaxes a girl to kiss him, and the kiss, which is sacred with her, is only a passing Incident with him. He laughs about it afterward, as one laughs at an easy conquest, and TELLS. It was given in all innocence. It is not accepted as a proof of inno cence in the more vulgar minds of men. It cheapens a girl in the eyes of the man she kissed, and degrades her in the eyes of those who hear of it. Not any man can kiss her, hut they get that impression, and the love of a girl whom any man can kiss is not valued highly, nor eager ly sought for. It is a privilege with a price, and the girl pays. She commits no crime; she is guilty only of folly, but it is an injustice for which there is no redress that one of her sex must al ways pay a greater price for folly than one of the other sex pays for a crime. There is a rule w’hich clever wives heed. It is this, "Always leave some thing untold." Curiosity is the foun dation of interest, and the man is al ways interested in his wife if she keeps him guessing. There should be a rule somewhat similar in the game of Love. "Don't give all." The kiss should follow the engagement ring. If it precedes it, there is' usually no engagement. Long- for More. If there are few’ kisses, there is always a longing for more. The caress that is given grudgingly and shyly is the caress most highly prized. Love is all there Is in life, but it becomes only a passing sentiment if treated lightly. The love that is greeted with a kiss that was given the mere acquaintance of yesterday never lingers long. Don't kiss this mere friend, my dear. Somehow. I can’t believe that he is a real friend, or he would not ask it. ^^pUERE’S a bear in | announced Mrs. in the wood?," Peavy, with unction as she settled her self on the porch among the unpacked trunks and uncrated baggage that a summer resorter always takes along. "What?” stammered Mrs. Blggett, unbelievingly. "In these woods?" Mrs. Blggett might be pardoned for her incredulity, for she had spent several summers in the mild little forest bordering Blue Flag Lake and nothing more ferocious than rabbits, chipmunks and squirrels hpd been visible In that time. "Why, I think that's dreadful!” she said when tne fact had wholly permeated her brain. "I don’t contract to go big game hunting w’hen I go away for the sum mer! How can I manage a bear with a crochet hook or a tennis racket? How ’’ "You can’t manage him, because you can’t get near enough,” explained Mrs. Peavy. "Still, I suppose that when he gets desperate with hunger he will break into our cottages and attack us. They say he mupt have wandered down from the North. The rural postman saw him crossing the road and. poor man! his horse climbed one tree and he went up an other and they never did collect all the mall. His nervous system Is com pletely shattered, they pay. He Saw Him. "Several men have gone hunting him, and the Thompson boy really saw him, but Just in time he remem bered that his gun had nothing but bird shot in it—so he climbed a tree, too. According to the stories told me since I came, nearly all the trees in the woods have been climbed by about all the male population around here. The exercise must be very healthful. My husband i.« so fat that I know’ it would be good for him. but he says he doesn’t hanker after bear hunting as he did when he was a boy. He stole a pig from a farmer the other night ’’ "Your husband?" # "Certainly not!” 'snapped Mrs Peavy, indignantly. "I refer to the bear! Oh, It really is a tremendous animal! The postman said it w’as as big as a Newfoundland dog, but the Thompson boy had a longer look at It, and he says It Is fully as big as their cow. The game warden of this coun ty has been after It and he is a very reliable man. He was quite close to the bear, because the tree he climbed had only one strong branch, and it w’as near the ground. He says that, measured from tip to tip, the creature must be twelve feet long. It Is terri bly exciting—nobody#tdares take any | walks at all!" "I think It Is perfectly horrid!** ln- , slsted Mrs. Blggett, beginning to un- ; lock trunks energetically. "I’d go , right back to t^ie city If I thought we j were to be haunted by wild animals | all summer! Why doesn’t somebody ; shoot the beast or set a trap, or some. : thing? My goodness—where do you i suppose my children are?" "All the mothers on Blue Flag Lake are saying that,” commented Mrs T> ■ cheerily. Mrs. Peavy had no children. "'I he minute they are out of sight the parents think they must be eaten up by the bear. 1 should think he w’ould be despe rately hungry, because there really is nothing In the woods for him to eat but roots. When we had to walk to the chicken farm I mode my husband carry his bow-ie knife that he bought to clean fish. John is a great friend of the game warden, and the game warden Is very Indignant, over the whole affair. He says when a man takes office to see that the fish and squirrels of a county are protected I* is a mean trick to shove a bear off on him. I believe 1 he is going to ask the county board i for a gatling gun for protection. "I’m so nervous 1 can’t sleep nights. I keep expecting the bear to climb in at a window—and once when I acci dentally got the woolen blanket wrapped tightly around my neck. I woke up, thinking all was over and the bear had me!" "I never heard of such a thing." said Mrs. Blggett, still indignant. It is no way to run a summer resort! I am scared to death, because my chil dren are so naturally reckless. I real ly must go and look for Herbert at once " "I’ll go with you," said Mrs. Peavy, with unction. "Not that I think any thing has happened, but you never can tell—my goodness!" Her voice rose in a crescendo shriek as she grabbed Mrs. Biggett’s arm. The Bear. Before them the spectacle was pre sented of Herbert Blggett, aged 12; Genevieve Blggett, aged 9, and two or three other children clustered in terestedly around a small, shaggy ob ject w’hich was lapping milk grate fully out of a pan. "We found him in the woods!" Her bert explained. "He follow’ed when I called, and he’s awfully hungry, and he does tricks! Up, Bruno!” The bear obediently stopped lap ping milk and sat up on his little hind legs. Then he gratefully licked his finder’s hand with a pink tongue. "Kin we keep him?" chorused the children. "He’s so cute!” "I think I'll be going now," said Mrs. Peavy, weakly, to the still par alyzed Mrs. Blggett. "I’ll never be lieve a grown man again as long as I live!" A teacher, instructing her class on the composition of sentences, wrote two on the blackboard, one to exem plify a misstatement of fact and the other to illustrate bad grammar. The sentences thus read as follows: "The hen has three legs! Who done it?" The teacher then called to one of the children. "Harry," she said, "go to the black board and show where the fault lies in those two sentences.” Harry slow’ly approached the black board, evidently thinking hard. Then he took the chalk and w’rote: "The hen never done it. God done it." • • • An old Scotch golfer wa* asked to lay tw’o to one on a match In which he w’as likely to be much the bet ter. "Na, na, my man.” was his reply; "gowf lsn’ a game to be degraded by the vice of gambling, like your horse racin’, your pigeon shootin’, an* the rest. It 1? to be played for the pure love o’ the game. "Besides," he concluded, "there's nae twa tae ane aboot it—but I’ll lay ye sax to fower." to women miiimiiimminiiiiiiiimiia 1 THOSE HEADACHES 1 5 If accompanied with backache, g “ draggiaff-down pain, do not have m “ to be. Nature never intended that S S women should suffer in this g manner. Dr. Pierce's = favorite prescription | 5 For forty years has proved won- S derfully efficient as a remedy £ * for woman's peculiar weaknesses 5 and derangements. fllimilllillllll Year Draggi.! ka. it in Sto3 More Than He Expected Husband and wdfe had a little tiff, lie buried his nose In a morning paper, while she gazed out of the window- with persistent Intentness. Thus an hour and thirty minutes passed. A lady passed by. Husband dropped his paper and looked at her admiringly. "Ah!" he said, "that’s a fine wo man. And a widow, too. Don’t you think she’s handsome?" "Yes, rather. You seem to like ! widows." “Indeed I do. They’re charming.’’ j Husband evidently thought tips would pique his partner. But il ; didn’t. "Alfred." said she. tenderly, plac- j Ing her hand softly on his arn: | "Alfred, I was in the wrong a little | while ago. when I became angry wdlii | you, and I'm sorry, so sorry. Will you forgive your little wlfey?” "Certainly. Don’t say another word about it.” "And will you grant a little request I have to make of you. hubby, dear?” "Of course. Anything that lies in my power.’ "You say you think wddows are charming?” "Y.es, I did say so, but ** "Then make me one; that’s a good husband. Oh. 1 shall be so hapnv?” Better Tea Only rich, full flavor ed teas, carefully grown and properly cured go into the pack ing of Maxwell House Blend A 03 Iced or Hot It Hits the Spot K-Bk. H-lb. »nd 1-lb. Air tight CanUter* you r yroc. r far It Cheek-Neal Co“ee Co. Try This With Your Typewriter Tf it is an L. C. Smith & Bros., the writing will be in perfect alignment, even though the whole machine is raised up by grasping the platen roll. If it isn’t an L. C. Smith & Bros., you will find that you will have to be an expert juggler to get an impression of the type. The Ball-Bearing L. C. Smith is so closely ad justed that the carriage is firm during the entire travel from the be ginning of the line to the end. & Bros. Typewriter In printing capital letters, the carriage is not shifted, either horizontally or perpendicularly, as on other ma chines, but remains stationary. The type is shifted, not the cylinder against which the paper rests—that moves in only one direction and one space at a time, to receive the next letter of the line. Call us up and tell us when we can give you a demonstration of our typewriter. L. C. SMITH & BROS. TYPEWRITER COMPANY 121 N. Pryor St., Atlanta, Ga. Phone Ivy 1949 E-4- Ball Bearing Typebar Joint