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* T — • One Woman’s Story By VIRGINIA TERHUNE VAN DE WATER Beauty Secrets of Beautiful Women The Care of the Hair as Told by Evelyn Carleton A Token of j A Tale of Adventure CHAPTER XVII. that Mary Danforth had ever known. By LILIAN LAUFERTY. .LiOve { f r ' ■ MI FARE’S ft bear In the wood*,” 1 announced Mrs. Peavy, with I keep expecting the bear to climb In at a window—and once when I acci- rlpntflllv errtt th#» wnnl*n hlnnkpf P ERHAPS Mary Danforth 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 Craigs 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 communl- n ate with him w'hen 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 vet, 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 tolling 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 I shall be satisfied. Somehow It gives me cour age to go back to work each Monday, after & 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 me on a single Monday since you went away.” Why should she make any more pro testations? She was 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 news, 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 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 waited 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 feather had been mild with the treacherous warmth that February 6onjetimes brings for a day or two, and that she had foolishly worn thin shoes and a light jacket. Bert Fletcher, watching her, may have seen a shade of dismay cross her fea tures. “Excuse me, Miss Danforth,” he said, “but It is sure an awful night. I am no't 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 j apartment and opened the door with trembling fingers. But the tray on which her mail was always laid when | Mrs. Danforth 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.” $ 4 TF I had I Evelyn F I had a million dollars,” began 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 who 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 loveliness. Do you wonder that Evelyn Carleton Is a beautiful girl? Most women who an 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 eternal 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 the 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 leant 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 until your final rinsing water is clear as Croton water ever can be. Just don’t leave a bit of soap in yo*ir 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 the benefits of sun and wind as often as you can. All growing things lik9 sun and air as well as those little kiddies of my million dollar dream, 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.” MISS EVELYN CARLETON rotary massage with your finger-tips: this will stimulate the How of blood to the scalp veins 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 niehts. "Tonic should always be applied from a bottle with 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 nourishment— and not to get the hair oily or greasy and so ready to attract a coating of dust. To 6um it all up. keep your hair and scalp clean, stimulate the flow of blood to the scalp, and feed the roots of the hair, and I am sure the results will Justify you for *tak Lng pains.’ “All 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-chlldren—liv ing out in the golden sunshine. It is good for hair—and figure and dispo sition." In Parting, Whereto be it added that out doors surely offers you some of thf 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 into which the sun has transmuted your locks, just register a vow to try a little sun shine tonic on your nature! THE MIRACLE A Starlling Short Story Complete r 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. 1 have on my country place a gardener named Ullmann, 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 savs 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 ’d was in his shirt sleeves. He was evidently in mood for a chat that day, for he addresse’d me. A Beautiful Night. ”1 have now been in your service for nine years, monsieur.” he said, "and I want to tell you how happy I have always felt here, much happier than while I was a policeman. That is a dreadful calling, 1 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 1 look. And still 1 tell you I have met with enough expe riences to write more than one sen sational novel. "I was very young when we first marriqd, 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 T REE CLASSES OF MEDICINES I are the Animal, Vegetable and Miner- | a j, of which the Vegetable King- 1 dom furnishes by far the most and ! the best More than 700 varieties of 1 roots, plants and herbs are known by i pharmacists to hav« medicinal value ! and probably the "Indian Medicine ! Man” knows of as many more. It was J in this most interesting study, more i forty years ago, that Lydia E. 1 pinkham. of Lynn. Mass., discovered ! her now famous, Vege table Compound i woman’s ilia imich has nroved of 1 incalculable vahte to hundr*A 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 heal ing 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, who 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 I 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 footpads for twenty years you still remain human. My heart stopped beating. His Son’s Pica. "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 when he was born, when he was christened, his sweet little baby face; 1 saw him go to school, where he was the first in ev erything, our flat 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. 1 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 .'»■* bl'ihful ” t' i’leso last words he knocked a /.ermUar off a. leaf of cabbage. 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 os if he were facing a high wall, w'hich, 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 was changed. He had been seized by a hand w'hose 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 w hen 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 w r as 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 to think too deeply or be too smart. Neither is It wise to speculate on w'hat may hap pen or not. You must Lake things as they come.” "Then you are a philosopher your self.” "It Is better so." A Warning. "No," said Koitschin, eharply, "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 w'orse 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 am 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 t a;so understood how; exceedingly dif ficult It would be to prove his inno cence. Only a s»hort time ago Savarin had spent several nights at his hoyse. He was an old friend, and the da£ fore he left he had said he was to Odessa, but would not tell anytnlng about his business there. “Has anything happened in Odes sa?” Koitschin at'ked, 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 had placed himself in an exceedingly dangerous position. He knew in fact that he w'as already sentenced and that he should probably never see his w'lfe and children again. • • * The less Intelligent of the keepers invoked the help of one saint after the other, and w'hen 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 while Koitschin was bandaging his crushed leg with strips made from his shirt, which he had taken off. A few yards away was the wreck of the train, w'hich 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 his 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- scln had finished bandaging the other’s leg, and w'as now struggling with a strong temptation. He only needed to leave this man who had heard his word? about Odessa to his fate and he would be silent forever. • But a moment later he had released the poor fellow, and. having 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 speed and the whole train was now a burning pile of wreckage. When the wrecking tralv .«♦ !«st ar rived, it brought two high ^c-fflcld!*. sent out to investigate the fate of the dangerous revolutionist. Dr. Koitschin. They \valked 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. was evident he was a surgeon and, ns 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 tionist! -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 leg is a broken leg, whether It belongs to an official or 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 I will show you the two keepers, whom I have Just bandaged.” The older official bowed 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, but as far as I know he was 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 alive 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, he felt a free man once more. Officially he was now dead, but he had won back his life, his children and ever5’- thlng that made life worth living, for in the hearts of these tw’o wounded men he had found something you ma> find In Russia as well as anywhere else. • • • Somewhere on a shelf In a Russian office lies an official report of Ser gius Koltschln’s death, but the same Sergius Koitschin Is living In Paris, happy and respected, with hi® wife and children. A Joke on a Joker. That Inveterate Joker, Sothern, had made an appointment with Toole to dine at a w'ell-known restaurant. The hour of meeting was fixed, and Soth ern arrived some few minutes before the appointed time. An elderly gen tleman was dining at a table some lit tle distance from that prepared for the two actors. He was reading a newspaper, which he had comfc/rtably 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 never suspected to see here. I hope you will pardon me.” The old gentleman erowled a reply, and Sothern returned to his table, where he was presently Joined by Toole, to whom he said: "See that old boy? I’ll bet you half a dollar you daren’t go and give him a’slap on the back and pretend you have mistaken him for a friend.” "Done!” said Toole; and done it was immediately, with a result that may be imagined, By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. { {T~ > v O you think,” w’rltes a young II girl, "that it is proper for a girl to kiss a man when they are merely friends?” I once heard a girl describe & 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 seen 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 I 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 that once Indulged in knows no limit. Some day she has a lover. It Is a parallel case with the girl who exhausted her adjectives on the box of chocolates, and would have to use the same on the Grand Canyon. A Froof. The lover asks for a kiss as a proof of her love, and 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 who are foolish enough to kiss when on his w’ay. 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. but 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 which 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 w’lfe 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 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 *«everal summers In the mild little forest bordering Blue Flag Lake and nothing more ferocious than rabbits, chipmunks and squirrels had been visible In that time. "Why, I think that’s dreadful!” she said w’hen the fact had wholly permeated her brain. "I don’t contract to go big game hunting when 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 cottage* and attack us. They say he must 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 say. 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 ls» 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 was 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 was near the ground. He says that, measured from tip to tip. the creature must be twelve feet long. It Is terri bly exciting—nobody dares take any walks at all!” I think it Is perfectly horrid!” In sisted Mrs. Blggett, beginning to un lock trunks energetically. "I’d go right back to the city if I thought we 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 suppose my children are?” “All the mothers on Blue Flag Lake are saying that,” commented Mrs P‘ *"’v cheerily. Mrs. Peavy had children. "The minute they are out of slgnt the parents think they must be eaten up by the bear. I should think I. v would be desperately hungry, because there really Is nothing in the wo, for him to eat but roots. When we had to walk to the chicken farm I made my husband carry his bowie j knife that he bought to clean fish. John 16 a great friend of the gam. warden, and the game warden Is very indignant over the whole affair. H<* says when a man takes office to *e» that the fish and squirrels of a county are protected It Is a mean trick to shove a bear off on him. I believe he Is going to ask the " **ty board for a gatling gun for p., ^tion. “I’m so nervous I can’t sleep nights. 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 ha* 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 Biggett, aged 12: Genevieve Blggett, aged 9, and two or three other children clustered In terestedly around a small, shaggy ob ject which was lapping milk grate fully out of a pan. "We found him In the woods!" Her bert explained. "He followed 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 hi» 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 a* 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 follow*: "The hen ha* three legs! Who done it?" The teacher then called to one of the children. "Harry,” *he said, "go to the black board and show where the fault lies In those two sentences.” Harry slowly approached the black board, evidently thinking hard. Then he took the chalk and wrote: "The hen never done It. God don® It" • • • An old Scotch golfer was asked to lay two to one on a match in which he was 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 Is to be played for the pur® love o’ the game. "Besides,” he concluded, "there’s nae twa tae ane aboot it—but I’ll lay y® sax to fower." ro women iiiiiimmuimiiiimiiiiniiiB I THOSE HEADACHES 1 If accompanied with backache, S J drag* in*-®own p*tn, do not have £ to be. Nature never intended that Zj women should suffer in this £ — manner. Dr. Pierce** | FAVORITE PRESCRIPTION | £ For forty years has proved won- S derfully efficient as a remedy 2 * for woman's peculiar weaknesses ZT Z and derangements. nlillllllllllllll Tour Draggist ha, it in Stock More Than He Expected Husband and wife had a little tiff. He burled 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." Husband evidently thought this would pique his partner. But it didn’t. “Alfred.” said she. tenderly, plac ing her hand softly on his arn: "Alfred, I was In the wrong a little while ago. when I became angry with you, and I’m sorry, so sorry. Wlli you forgive your little wifey?” "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 widows are charming?” "Yes, I did say so, but " "Then make me one; that’s a good husband. Oh. I shall be so hapnv?” ■ 4- Better Tea Only rich, full flavor ed teas, carefully grown and properly cured go into the pack ing of Maxwell House Blend J 62 Iced or Hot It Hits the Spot W4U. H-Ib. »nd 1-lh. Air tight Cukun AmM your grocmr for it Cheek-Neal Cofiee Co. Try This With Your Typewriter Tf it is an L. C. Smith & Bros., the writing will be in perfect tdignment, even though the whole machine is raised up by grasping the platen roll. Tf 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 & Bros. Typewriter is so closely ad justed that the carriage is firm during the entire travel from the be ginning of the line to the end. ■ In printing capital letters, the carriage is not shifted, either horizontally or perpendicularly, as on other ma chines, hut 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 tall us whan we can give you a demonstration of our typewriter. L. C. SMITH & BROS. TYPEWRITER COMPANY 121 N. Pryor St., Atlanta, Ga. Phone Ivy 1949