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I i i \ 1 dm , 4 Their Married Life By MABEL HERBERT URNER. Mirrors and Millinery copyr,,ifet ’ n«w» iw xkll bkinku n As It Is for Her Now - -- -- - - - and Used To Be “H (ELEN! Hrien! HELEN CUH tin!" Helen turned In almost frightened bewilderment. To hear one’s name called In a familiar voice on a afreet In Paria! Then through the crowd of hurry ing Frenchmen rushed a young wom an who caught her eagerly by the arm. "Oh, 1 KNEW It was you!" excit edly. “Why—why Marlon Berkley!” stam mered Helen. The next few minutes were spent In a breathless torrent of questions. "What are you doing In Paris? How long have you been here? Where are you staying? "Well, we can’t stand here on the street." laughed Helen. "Let’s go somewhere for tea—where we can really talk.” "Come to my studio! I've got the quaintest, dearest old studio In the Latin Quarter! You must see It! Come, that bus will take us!” The next moment they were on the top of the bus laughing and talk ing with the eagerness and aban don of their boarding school days. When they graduated, Marion had come to Pails to study art, but It had never occurred to Helen that she would be here still. It was wonderful to see her again. "Have you forgotten about our old ambition—how you were to write a great novel and I was to illustrate It? So you gave up your career to marry Warren Curtis?" _ "It wasn’t much of a career," laughed Helen, "since I hadn’t writ ten anything but school essays " "But they always took the prise, so we thought you were destined to be a great 'Lady Authoress.' Re member how you used to write my essays while I did your algebra?" "Yes and that awful examination In which I failed because 1 couldn’t work a single problem?” ’’Here's where we get off," Inter rupted Marlon, when they reached the upper end of the Boulevard St. Michel. A Real Studio. Around the corner into a cobble- atoned back street, and Marion opened a high boarded gate to a quaint old garden. Helen followed her filled with the joy of adventure. To see a real studio in the Latin Quarter -and above all. Marion’s studio! The garden was a charming tang! of unkempt vines and shrubbery which almost hid the broken statuer> and the inoss-grown basin of an old fountain. A well-worn path led bark to a rickety old mansion now given over to studios. Up three llights of a dark winding stairway, and Marion unlocked a door on which was tacked her card. Helen gave an exclamation of d<* light as they entered a big barn-lik* skylighted room. It was a real stu dio, the kind one reads about in tin novels of the Latin Quarter Tin place was littered with unflnlslu «• sketches, easts, curious bits of old brass, pottery' and armor. "I suppose you’d like to get a dust cloth and ‘tidy up.’” laughed Marion “But it’s in the atmosphere over here —you get so you can’t work when things are ‘straight.’" “Oh, but it’s wonderful! Ami you have some really fine old pieces,’’ stooping to examine an old carved chest, for Helen was always interest ed in antique furniture “Bought that in a little curio shop for five francs. We students never have any money, fo we learn to pick up things for almost nothing.’’ “Just look around—I’ll he back in a minute.” as she caught up a small pitcher and ran <>ut bareheaded. Left alone, Helen gazed wonder- ingl>' around the studio. It was plain ly the living room, sleeping room and workroom in one. An old leather screen partitioned off one corner. The heavy beams of the roof were tare and besides the skylight then was only’ one window, which looked out on the tangled garden. In spite I J"^f the dust and confusion. Helen felt ! Y j ie charm of the place. It w as KANSAS WOMAN WHO SUFFERED From Headache, Backache, Dizziness and Nervousness, Restored to Health by Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. Lawrence, Kans.—“A y’ear ago I was suffering from a number of ail- rnents. 1 always had pain and was Hia irregular. During ffii the delay 1 suf- *1 fered a great deal with headache, backache. dizzi ness, feverish spells, nervous ness and bloating, had been mar- | ried near'- three years. 1 toon Lydia V3. Pink- ham's Vegetable Compound and now l feel better than I have for years I recommend Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com pound to all who suffer as I did."— Mrs. M. Zeuner, 1045 New Jersey streos, Lawrence. Kansas. Montana Woman’s Case. Burns. Mont.—“Lydia E. Pink- ham’s Vegetable Compound cured tne of awful backache which I had Buffered with for months. I was so •weak I could hardly do my work and my head and eyes ached all the time. Your Compound helped me in many ways and is a great strength - ener. 1 alw’ays recommend it to my friends and tell them what a grand medicine it is for women. You may use my name for the good of others.”—Mrs. John Francis, Burns, Montana. The makers of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound have thou sands of such letters as those above -—they tell the truth, else they could not have been obtained for love or money. This medicine is no stranger —it has stood the test for years. Btrangelv quiet and peaceful, for in the Hhut-ln garden, down thiH little back street, no* a sound of the city w as heard. Marion came in now’, breathless from her run up the steps. A’ith a pitcher of cream and a bulging brown paper bag from some nearby shop. “Remember our stolen midnight suppers at school? ’ as she cleared the table of paint brushes and drawings, and brought out the teacups and an ulcohol lamp. A Delightful Tea. The bag held some delicious French pastry and a tiny i*)t of cream cheese. Helen wondered if, since the nights of the stolen suppers, she ever had enjoyed anything as she did this im promptu tea. Marion told of her first three years "f study and the last four <>f work trying to make for herself a place In the art world here. “I suppose the chances of success w’ould lx* better anywhere else," mus ingly, “for there are so many work ers here—so many that are talented. But I’ve grown to love this life. There’ve been times when I’ve been hungry, yet last winter I refused a good post as art teacher in a girls’ school in Boston. I’d rather struggle along here typing for the big suc cess,’’ with a wistful smile, “that may never come.” “But surely you’re not dependent on your work?" asked Helen, anxiously. “I thought your father left a great deal of property." “It was all mortgaged. After every thing was paid off there was only a few thousand dollars, and that’s gon*» long ago. For the laat four years I’ve lived on what I’ve made. Occa sionally I sell a picture and for a few weeks I live gloriously well. The rest of the time I do without, but that’s the life of the Quarter.” "Hut don’t you ever worry about the future?" Marion shrugged her shoulders. "You learn not to worry over here. You live for to-day nobody thinks of to-morrow If you have money you spend it if you haven’t, you bor row from some fellow artist who has —or do without. You see,” whimsi cally. “how it simplifies life.” “Rut when you grow older- when you're not s<» strong and young and hopeful? Shouldn’t you try, Marion, to save something now?” “Nobody saves in the Latin Quar ter— you can’t. When you've got a tew extra francs you lend them to some poor devil to keep him in his studio. Nobody thinks of getting old we only think of painting the great picture of the year—winning the Academy prize. Most of us never will but we can all have the joy of dreaming.” There was a moment’s silence. Then, as though to change to more cheerful thoughts, Marlon went on hurriedly. An Invitation. "I want to take you to dinner soma avenini; to Mine. Jouven'a, u cheap restaurant here In the Quarter. I on 11 And It crowded with art ‘Stu dents, and you'll see what Jolly, care free Bohemians we are." "Oh, I should love to ro! I've heard so much about those places" “I'll pive you the address now," scribbling on a slip, torn from the brown paper bag. "Come any even ing that you and Warren feel In the mood—you'll almost always find me there. Mine. Jouven Is a friend to all the art students. When we have money—we pay her. When we haven’t -she credits us on her friend ly slate." “I wish you were here In the win ter— the long winter evenings at Jou- ven’s are so wonderful," musingly, "We furnish our own cahnret dance, sing, recite until almost midnight. Then we all go to some one studio and have supper. If any one has Just sold a picture or received a check from home -we have a feast. If not. we have Just as much fun on a green salads and a few bottles of vin or dinaire. Wait, I’ll show you a sketch of a studio supper." She drew out a ennvas from a pile leaning against the wall. "There! It isn’t finished—but you can get the spirit. It's supposed to he t’raig Stilton’s studio ■ a party we had there last winter." Helen was far from being an art critic, but Instantly she felt the at mosphere if this picture. The great gloomy studio, the shadowy corners am! the uncertain candlelight which lit up the faces of those gathered around the midnight supper. "Yes. it Isn’t bad," mused Marion, In response to Helen’s enthtk?» tsin "I must finish that. But there nre so many pictures of studio life—one of thit type has to be remarkable to get any recognition Bo you like this?" drawing out another -a street scene of a push cart market. "It isn't finished either, but 1 think the coloring's good." She brought out more canvases—. most of them unfinished, but all with a certain Interest and atmosphere. Helen was so absorbed that It w>as almost n before she realised it. What if Warren should get back to the ho tel first and he worried? 1 Helen Hurries. Marion, bareheaded, took her down the street, made her promise to bring Warren to Madame Jouven’s some evening: that week put her on the bus, and stood waving her a good-bye from the corner. How young Marion seemed, was Helen's strongest impression. How care-free—how full of the sheer joy nf living Although t • \ were the same age. Helen felt curiouslv older, as thoueh her life was half lived; while Marlon’s seemed only begin ning. with the possibilities of a great 1 success still before her. Then* are times when every mar ried woman, however much she mav love her husband, thinks of the pos sibilities of some independent career that might have been hers had she not married. And now as Helen left the bus and walked slowlv toward the hotel. In the background of her thoughts was a stirring of vague dreams and am bitions that had long lain dormant His Misfortune. The magistrate had the misfor tune to be cross-eyed, the result of which at times was rather amusing. One day he had three prisoners be fore* him. “What’s your name?" he inquired of th*' one to the left. “James Patterson." promptly re plied the man on the right. The man on the bench turned round quickly. “I was not address ing you. sir!” he snapped. At this the one in the center, quak ing and trembling with fear, #t&m- | me red: "I -I—I never opened my mouth, 1 sirl" Nell Brinkley Says- A LITTLE girl was deeply interested in mirrors and mil linery. She was eight and her legs were .just, long ing out and she wore little pinafores with blue flow ers on ’em, tied over her meager little shoulders. She sat on a gray rock with her little bare, scratched feet hanging down into the cool sedges close to the stream side. Her hair was all in black rings around her face. On top of the black rings was a sailor hat. Its outermost ring of straw was ripped loose and flipped up and down with a nonchalance that only a ring of ripped straw on a hat can show. Down into the green mystery of the water she looked sometimes. Here her round pinky face lay smooth, with the sailor hat above it. A maid and a mirror and millinery 1 A big girl was deeply interested in mirrors and mil linery. She was twenty-eight and her legs now were very long and she wore a brocaded blouse with an Elizabethan ruff over her round, beautiful shoulders. She sat on a little gilt chair with her satin-clad feet making their pretty imprint in the green depths of a velvet carpet. Her hair was all in black rings around her face. On top of the black rings was a tulle hat. In the tip-top of its crown was the charming name of a Paris maker of chapeaux. On its tip-top was a great butterfly bow poised with half- folded wings. Into the silver mystery of the mirror she looked sometimes. Here her slender, lovely face was held— with the tulle hat above it. A maid and a mirror and mil linery. It was the same girl! CUPID'S PLAY CROP By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. School Children’s Luncheons Selected by EDWIN MARKHAM rpHE hyi j lunch HE hygienic providing of school hes is a thing in the front rank of educational aids. Mrs. Louise Stevens Bryant, in "School Feeding,” gives the history and prac tice of this sensible custom at home and abroaef. I quote from her open ing pages: “More and more are we coming to understand that education is for life, and that physical health is essentiil to full mental and moral development and effective living. To the extent that tiie body fails to serve the will, the will is paralyzed and the best emotions rendered useless. The ,'S- tablishment of the physical health has therefore come to he regarded as a most important part of education. To a very large extent health must de pend on right habits of eating. “The custom of providing meals for children at school has. in recent years, become well established both in America and Europe. In America the work was begun first in the high schools. For several years midday meals have been provided for high school children in many of our cities and larger towns. It is only recently that the more important task of pro viding meals for the smaller children has been attempted. First in Germany. "At present, meals are provided In one or more elementary schools in nearly half a hundred cities. In Europe this work was begun earlier than here—In Germany a century and a’ quarter ago—and the school lunch eon is now a part of the daily pro gram in the elementary schools of many of the most progressive coun tries. "There is little doubt that the school luncheon idea, now well rooted in this country, will spread very rap idly, especially In our cities. In our large cities and smaller industrial towns many children come to school having had little or no breakfast. Many have eaten their breakfast at a very early hour, some as early as 5 or 6 o’clock, and so become hungry and faint before the noon hour. I have known many school children whose daily schedule of meals con sisted of a light breakfast at H or 7 o’clock, a cold dinner bolted at 2 or 3 o ciock, and supper at 6 o’clock. “Again many parents, instead of providing a luncheon for their chil dren at school, give them small amounts of money with which to buy food, and which the children spend for unwholesome and unnutritious stuff sold at large profits from push carts and corner stores. The Main Object. “The object of the school feeding movement is to supply such facilities as will make it possible for every child to secure an adequate, whole some noon meal, despite the fact that he is attending school. "The first provision of school meals of which we have record was made in Munich in 1790, when municipal soup kitchens were started by Count Rum- ford as part of his International cam paign against vagrancy. The kitch ens were designed to meet the needs of the people of all ages, and from the start the schools were encouraged to send groups of children to them for a warm meal at noon. This work was long unorganized but never dis continued, and in the seventies me obligation of providing meals was put upon the school authorities’ From this ancient beginning th* school feeding movement spread throughout the German Empire until now it is national in scope, and about half of the cities contribute to sup port wholly or in part school break fasts or dinners. Victor Hugo a Pioneer. "School feeding began in France 1n 1849 The founder of school feeding in England was Victor Hugo, who, in the early sixties, provided warm meals in his own house in Guernsey for children attending a nearby school, and so gave the initial im petus which led to the establishment in London in 1866 of ‘The Destitute Children’s Dinner Society.’ "From these early beginnings in Germany, France and England, the work of school feeding has spread, until now, grown beyond the local issue, it has received national recog nition and been made the subject of national legislation in France, Switz erland, Holland, Great Britain, Den mark, Sweden. Norway, Finland, Austria and Belgium. It has also been started in Spain, Russia and the United States. "The movement has attained great momentum in America in the last twenty years. The problem confront ing those who have at heart the wel fare of American public schools Is no longer, ‘Shall we have school luncheon?’ but rather, ‘How may we Irtlk guide this movement so as to develop all of its poetical benefits and at the same time avoid possible dangers?’ ” Enjoyed Smoke. Glbhs—I went on a railway Journey I he other day and took a box of cigars with me. Nibbs—Well, I suppose you had a good smoke. Gibbs—Aye, I had that; but when the train had started I found I had no matches. Nibbs—No matches, and yet you en joyed a good smoke? How did you manage for a light? Gibbs—Well, you see, I opened the box, took out one, and that made the box a cigar lighter. Poor Appetite. The Cleric—Just think, my dear lady, one missionary to every 15,000 savages! The Dear Lady—Dearie me! Well, they must have poor appetites or very big missionaries! rxAOURISTS’ guide books give ei- I plicit directions for those who wish to go to mountain or sea shore suitably dressed for a climb or a swim. Don’t \\ear thin-soled shoes; don’t wear long-trained skirts; don’t wear silk hose; don’t wear garments built exclusively for show*; don’t wear this and don’t wear that; page upon page for the guidance of the girl who is packing her trunk, and not a warn ing about a certain little adornment commonly worn in 6ummer in a most conspicuous place. Here is the warning which they willfully emit: Don't wear your heart j on your sleeve! Beware the Moon. A sole too thin, or a bonnet too | perishable never returned from a summer outing showing such irrepar- i able signs of wear as the heart that is worn on the sleeve. They may be j replaced; it can never be. The dam - ■ age to the shot and the bonnet are forgotten. One seldom entirely re- j •s from the damage done to one’s j heart Few’ things said in the moonlight are said seriously. A boy, a girl, a moonlight night with its poetic ac companiment of silence and solitude; and Cupid chuckles with Impish glee He knows a spell has been thrown over the man which will cause him to say things he does not mean. He knows a’so that the moonlight will make of the most doubting girl the most credulous. It is a rare setting for his annual play crop, and he raises his bow and takes careful aim at the heart worn so conspicuously, and so unguarded, on the girl’s sleeve. A play crop for Cupid, but seldom a play crop for those who are his vic tims. The man. after the manner of hi? sex. recalls other moonlight nights CHICHESTER S PILLS THE DIAMOND HR A V n with other pretty girls, on which w’ere said and done the same things. Repe tition of the story of love never In creases Its saersdness, and he has learned not to take himself too se riously. He enjoys making love. He makes it, and he forgets It. She Is Blind. The girl, after the manner of her unfortunate sex, w-ants to love and to be loved, and is so blinded by this longing to behold her lover that there is none but welcome lights in her eyes, not one little searchlight to seek out signs of Insincerity. She hoars and believes, and returns from her vacation with her heart singing. She counts the days till that when he said he would come, and never learns till she has counted them off, over and over again, with her tears, that that w’hich to her wras seriousness was to him nothing mor« thar. a season’s nonsense. He never comes, he never writes, and when she has waited till she can w^alt no long er she writes little tear-stained letters to me. “What shall I do?" she cries. “1 love him, and his silence is breaking my heart." There is nothing she can do save ■wait patiently and quietly for the healing hand of time. Her heart has beer, battered, and the next season she doesn’t wear it so conspicuously unguarded on her sleeve. ixp uner Knjr or j«mr ▼ Askforl iri.rirr.H-TFBH IHaVoND HRANI> PILL*, fort* year*knownasBest.Safest. 4t wav* Reliable I * SOLD BV DRUGGISTS EVERVkHf IK i * KODAKS*— • ^ Eastman* First Class Finishing and En larging. A complete stock llrua, plates, papers, chemicals, etc. Special Mall Order Department for out-of-town customers. Send for Catalogue and Price List. A. K. HiWKSS C\ Kodak 0t 9 art*tn> 14 Whitehall St. ATLANTA. GA. When You Perspire Use HID Keeps Your Skiu Pure and Sweet 25c All Jacobs’Stores Eat This Food During Summer Be careful what you eat during hot weather. What you need is food that nourishes but does not heat the body. Faust Spaghetti fits right into that class. It is a high gluten food—a bone, muscle and flesh former—but contains practi cally no fat, therefore cannot heat the body. SPAGHETTI makes a savory, appetizing dish. It can be served in a great many ways that appeal to the palate. It is easily prepared—it makes a nutritious, non-heating meal during the summer. Write for free recipe book, “Spaghetti and Its Uses.” Faust Spaghetti put up in air-tight, moisture-proof packages. At your grocer's—Sc and 10c packages MAULL BROS., St. Louis, Mo. A \ An Opportunity ’ToMake Money inventor., men of idem ud invent,re nbtlil?, .herald write to- dn 7 for cur It,! nf tovenoon, nnmhtd, end pnx« .Snred bf Wndmg manufacturers. c r* ecur r l « ~ r *•« "toa -Wkv %w Ikvnaton , l i ^ ow L Ycw P * ,ra ' “ d Yen. Mour." end nth., valu.bl. booklet, aent free to u, addrw. RANDOLPH A CO. Patent Attorae.n, 618 “F” Street, N. wiinmsTojr. n. c.