Corvallis gazette., January 26, 1904, Image 1

SEMI-WEEKLY.
COBVAIililS, BENTON COUNTY, OREGON, TUESDAY, JANUARY 26, 1904.
VOL. IV. NO. 40.
x
econd Cousin arah
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"ANNE JUDGE, SPiNSTER," "LITTLE MATE KIRBY."
ETC.. . ETC.
CHAPTER III. (Continued.)
"A queer young woman," muttered
Reuben, as he walked to the front door
and let himself out of the house. He
-drove into the city of Worcester with
bis face graver and more thoughtful than
he had driven away from it that morn
ing although he had foreseen much of
the result of his journey, and had pre
pared for it He should remember com
ing to Worcester again to the last day of
his life. It was a new beginning; even
in the rain last night he had stepped from
the commonplace to a something like ro
mance, but he had forgotten the first in
cident of his arrival until he was in Mud
dleton's coffee room, and the waiter was
lnninif svj-i a Vi wli I 1 l 1 i-f 1 i i w 1 l
ii ii iiiiil n i limn I iiu ill 1 1. ljulu lu ii ilk
him. -
"Beg pardon, but he's been the young
man who helped to carry the luggage last
night for you."
"Has she?" said Reuben.
"Yes, sir. And he said that he thought
half a crown a precious little, consider
ing how he had spoiled his things with
your trunk. The infernal trunk, he call
ed it, along with otner names."
"She said that?"
"He tried it on very hard for another
shilling, but I told that I had my orders
from you direct, and could not afford to
advance, and that it was like his impu
dence to come at all. I said that, sir,"
added the waiter, deferentially, "because
he got awful saucy, and we had to put
him out of the house. His langwidge, sir,
was bad."
"What kind of a man was he?" asked
Reuben Culwick. "A womanish kind of
face with big eyes black eyes?"
"Oh, no, sir not a bit womanish. He
' was as full of pock-marks as a cribbnge
board, and his eyes were particularly
small, sir."
"Very good or, rather, very bad,"
nid Reuben Culwick; "half a crown
poorer, and the man has got the money
instead of the woman."
"Indeed, sir yes, sir," and the waiter
departed. Outside the door he tapped
his forehead significantly, and jerked his
thumb over his shoulder in the direction
of the room he had quitted this for the
instruction or amusement of another
waiter coming downstairs.
"Mad as a March hare, Bob," he (.aid,
eententiously.
"Who?" said Bob.
"Forty-eight."
"That's young Culwick, ain't it?"
"Yes."
"Oh! he always was a rum 'un."
CHAPTER IV.
Reuben Culwick had an early dinner
at Muddleton's. After dinner he spent
some time poring over a time table, and
finally rang the bell.
"I shall want my luggage taken to the
station this afternoon," he said to the
waiter who had doubted his sanity. "I
V IQU V. fl CI. 11 LUC liitl UaiU lUi UUilUVJIl!
After he had defrayed the expenses of
his board and lodging at Muddleton's he
sat with his hands in his pockets, con
sidering many things of grave perpl'jx
ity. The waiter left him when busi
ness took him into the coffee room again,
number forty-eight was laughing to him
self, just as lunatics of a cheerful frame
of mind, or of no mind at, all, are in the
habit of doing.
"Why shouldn't I?" Reuben Culwick
aid to himself; "I shall not have another
chance she's one of the family I may
never see Worcester again."
He beckoned the waiter to him.
"The St. Oswald Almshouses are at
the top of Foregate street, are they not?"
"Yes, sir in the Tithing."
"Ah! the Tithing. I have been so long
away that I forget names and places
everything but injuries," he muttered.
He did not go direct to the Tithing, but
wandered round the cathedral and stroll
ed to the bridge, over which he looked
at the Severn, and where he hesitated
strangely.
"What is the use? I shall only hear
the recital of her grievances, real and
imaginary disturb her and myself feel
myself in the way, and leave her none the
happier. What's the use of my going,
after all? I am as helpless, poor and
blind as she is."
He did not see the vise of it in the
sluggish waters that flowed on beneath
the arch of the bridge, and at which he
gazed so steadfastly he had even turn
ed away as from an unthankful task, of
which the river warned him, when a sec
ond impulse set him with' his face from
the railway, and took him with rapid
strides in the direction upon which he
had first resolved. The church clocks
were striking three when he paused at
the gateway which opened upon the in
ner quadrangle of St. Oswald. The doors j
f some of the almshouses were open, and i
at one of them was a faint sign of life
in the form of a young woman, poorly
but neatly clad in a black and white
striped cotton dress, who was sitting
with her elbows planted on her knet-s.
her hands supporting her temples, jind
her face bent close over a book that
lay upon her lap. As Reuben advanced,
he saw that the watcher on the threshold
had tired of her volume, and closed her
t?yes.
"Can you tell me where , "
Reuben "Culwick paused in his in
quiry, for the white, pinched face, and
the big black eyes were the face i;rd
eyes of the strange girl who had vol.m
teered to carry his luggage last night,
and collapsed by the way. He cauld
not be mistaken; he had looked too anx
iously at her as she lay in her swoon to
be deceived, despite her feminine guise
at this crisis, and the taller woman that
she looked in it.
The big black eyes blinked like a cat's
in the sun, and the lashes quivered in
unison, but then he had awakened her
from slumber, and tnere was no sign of
recognition on her countenance. There
was a certain amount of contraction of
the eyebrows, that might have indicated
a half scowl at the traveler for waking
her thus unceremoniously.
"Do you know me?" Reuben said,
changing his tone and question.
"No," was the slow reply; "ITe never
seen you before."
"Not at Worcester station, at ten
o'clock last night, when yon helped ma
with a heavy portmanteau that I was
elfish enough to let you carry for me 7"
be continued.
"I help you with a portmanteau?" said
the girL scoffingly, "at Worcester sta
tion! Yes, that' 8 very likely."
aIt was you," said Reuben, sternly,
as he continued to stare at her, and as the
girl's cool denial of the fact began to ag
gravate him; "why do you tell me that it
was not?"
The young woman did not answer read
ily. She rose to her feet-j-a tall, angular
girl, smitten sorely by poverty and lean
ed against the door post, peering at her
questioner, with her brow still contract
ed. "Why should I help your she said at
last; "can't yon help yourself?"
"You fainted away; you were weak,
and gave up. Why deny this?"
"I don't know what you are talking
about," was the sullen answer.
The girl was turning away, as if with
the intention of passing into the house,
when' Reuben remembered the object of
his quest.
"Will you tell me, please, in which of
these small establishments resides Sarah
Eastbell?" he asked.
The girl paused, and then swnng her
self rapidly round and faced him.
"What next?" she cried angrily, "and
what's next after that?" she added; "I'm
Sarah Eastbell, and if you have any
thing to say against me say it. I'm not
ashamed of my name; I never was I
never did anything wrong in my life
now. then, what is it that you want?".
"You are Sarah Eastbell!" said Reu
ben, with a new interest asserting itself;
"then you are no, you can't be," added
our hero, exhibiting again that incoher
ence which had already bewildered the
waiter at Muddleton's.
"Will you tell me what you want
here?" asked Miss Eastbell, peremptor
ily. "I want to see an older lady than your
self, of the same name, and residing, I
believe, in one of these almshouses.''
"Oh, indeed what for?" was the cau
tious inquiry.
"A friendly call that's all," answered
Reuben. : .
"My grandmother is not well enough to
see company."
"She will see me," replied Reuben Cul
wick. The statement concerning Mrs. East
bell's idiosyncrasies was destined never
to be completed, for a short, sharp
"Sarah!" in an excrutiatingly high key,
that was like the twang of a wire, and
left a humming sound in Reuben's ears,
came from an inner room on the left
hand side of the doorway.
"Coming!" said the tall girl, and she
disappeared at once, and left Mr. Cul
wick on the threshold, half resolved to
follow her, and before Reuben was pre
pared for her reappearance she was
standing in the doorway again.
"You can come in," said the girl sul
lenly. She led the way to a small room, scru
pulously clean, with a bed in the center
of the room, and an old woman in the
center of the bed. There was nothing
to be seen of Mrs. Eastbell but her face,
and a grim, yellow, parchment face it
was, cut up by a hundred wrinkles.
"Well, sir," said the head above the
sheets, "will you please to state what
business you have with old Sarah East
bell, who has been past business for the
last ten years?"
It was a crisp and not wholly shrill
voice, now that it had dropped an octave
or two. The visitor walked to the bed
side, sat down in a rush-bottomed chair
that was there, and looked hard at her.
"When I saw you last you were a
bustling little woman, carrying your years
well," said Reuben Culwick tenderly; I
am sorry to find on old friend brought
down as low as this."
"It can't be Reuben, can it?" she
asked eagerly.
"Yes it can."
"Now to think of that, after these
years, and here!" said Mrs. Eastbell.
"That's kind of you, Reu: I'm very
glad," and the old lady fought hard with
the sheets, and got a thin, yellow hand
above the bedclothes, and extended it in
the direction of her nephew, laughing in
an odd chuckling way that portended fu
ture hysterics, if she were not careful.
Reuben shook the hand in his, and the
girl stood by the mantelpiece, watching
the greeting furtively.
"What made you think of me?" said
the old woman, after a moment's pause.
"I came to Worcester last night; I
heard this morning for the first time that
you were here."
"Who told you?"
"My father."
"You are friends, then? He has for
given you?" she said. ,
"No."
"All! he will presently," said Mrs.
Eastbell, with an easy confidence; "there
are many good points about my brother
Simon,' and it is only a quostion of time.
All thiugs come round in time, Reu even
good luck. That's what I often tell our
Sally."
Sally winced suddenly at this introduc
tion of her name into the discourse, and
Reuben looked across his prostrate rela
tive toward the young attendant, who
drew a pattern on the floor with the point
of her boot, and did not return his
glances.
"Some day Simon will walk in here
just as you have done and say how sor
ry he is for all the past," said the old
woman; "sometimes I lie awake fancy
ing I can hear his footsteps coming across
the paved yard toward me."
"I would not build upon his offering
you any help," said Reuben Culwick.
"I don't want any help. Eight shil
lings a week keeps more life in me than
I know what to do with. I'm very hap
py, though it's an awful place for 'flies.
Sally does a little work when she can
get it, and is a dear, kind nurse, who
never tires of me. She'll read the Bible
half the day to me, when I'm too ill to
run about much a good girl, Sally !"
"I am very glad to hear it," answered
Reuben.
He would not hare dispelled the old
woman's faith in her granddaughter by a
word by any question hinging on last
night's mystery or to-day's prevarication.
This was a woman who had faith in ev
erybody, and extracted happiness . even
from an almshouse in a shady corner of
Worcester City.
".When I am cone, I should like some
body to get Sally a good place yon don't
know any one who wants an honest,
hard-working, truthful girl?" '
"Not at present," said Reuben, glanc
ing across at Sarah Eastbell again, who
was still tracing hieroglyphics on the
floor. She looked np this time as he re
plied to her grandmother, and shrugged
her shoulders either at the old woman's
criticism or at the wild idea of her being
indebted to him for her future position
in life.
"Will she be wholly alone in the world
some day?" asked Reuben Culwick, in
quisitively. "She has not a friend she will make
plenty, of course, but she has them to
make."
"My cousin Mark was her father, then.
Is he " ,
"Yes he's dead. So's his wife. They
were a worthy couple, but they were
very unlucky, and so better out of the
world than in it," said the grandmother,
"when they died last year I offered Sally
part of my home, and my sister tried to
do something for Tom, but he went to
sea."
"Does Sarah sleep here live with you
altogether?" .
"Yes," answered the old woman; "it's
very selfish of me to keep her to myself,
but, please the Lord, it will not last a
great while longer. She's young she's
industrious, and will be always able to
get her living, anywhere; and if you hear
of anything that will suit her, you will
bear her in mind, Reuben?"
"I shall not forget her," said Reuben,
dryly.
"She shall come and tell yon when I'm
gone, if you let me know where you
live," added Mrs. Eastbell, in a brisk,
business-like manner; "it is as well to
arrange these little matters."
"I live at Hope Lodge, Hope street
Camberwell."
. "That's right, Reu always live in
Hope, my lad."
It was a feeble joke, which nobody ap
preciated but this light-hearted old blind
woman, and she appreciated it for the
three of them, and lay chuckling over it
until it nearly choked her.
"I am going now," said Reuben Cul
wick, stooping over her; "good-by, aunt."
"Good-by, lad; thank you for a visit
which will cheer me up for days; and
think of something for my Sally, if you
can."
How strongly impressed that sullen
girl by the fireplace was on the old wom
an's mind he did not entirely compre
hend until this last moment of their meet
ing. "Grandmother!" said Sarah the young
er, deprecatingly; but Mrs. Eastbell went
on, the thin bony hand clinging to her
nephew's tightly.
"She's everything to me, but I wouldn't
mind parting with her at once to-morrow,
if you should hear of a decent situa
tion for her. Anybody can mind me, and
I don't want to stop the way to her ad
vancement. She's clever at her needle;
she reads well; she's quick at figures; in
any tradesman's shop, now, she's be very
handy and she's only seventeen. So
young, Reu, to be alone in the world
after I am gone!"
"Yes," said Reuben, "so young!"
So young, and so willful and deceptive,
he thought also, after he had parted
with his aunt and said "Good-day" to
Sarah Eastbell; and walked into the
little square court yard, where the ram
had begun to patter briskly, as though
there had been no wet weathe for weeks,
and it was coming down to make up for
lost time.
(To be continued.)
WOLVES EAT A RAILROAD.
The Hungry Beasts Devoured the
Rawhide Track.
About 1872 one of the first railroads
of the Northwest was built In the Ter
ritory of Washington, from Walla
Walla to Wallula, along the banks of
the Walla Walla River, and following
the general line of what Is now the
Oregon Railway and Navigation Com
pany's road between those points, says
C. F. Oliver, in Recreation.
The road was a primitive affair, and
was built, owned and operated by Dr.
Baker, of Walla Walla. It had no
Pullman cars, chair cars or buffet cars,
and the day coaches were mostly plat
form or flat cars. Instead of having a
right of way the road had permission
to go through the fields of the farmers,
consequently the road was not a rapid
transit one, as the train hands had to
get off and lay down the rail fences
and put them lip again, after ftie train
had passed through, says the Anaconda
(Mont) Standard.
The roadbed was constructed by lay
ing cross ties six or eight feet apart,
and on those laying wooden stringers
for rails. The heavy traffic Over the
road caused the rails to wear in spots
so that train wrecks and smashups
were of daily occurrence. These were
not serious, for when the train 'crew
saw a wreck coming their way they
would hop off and let it wreck.
The annoyances, however, soon be
came detrimental to the interests of
shippers, so the owner had to devise
some means of overcoming the .diffi
culty. Rails of , standard railroad iron
were out of the question, they had to
be shipped "the Horn around," and
freighted by wagon quite a distance,
and strap iron could not be had. and
the doctor, with Yankee shrewdness,
finally hit upon the happy idea of sub
stituting rawhide for strap iron. Cat
tle were plentiful and rawhide cheap,
so the doctor soon had his tracklayers
at work, putting the rawhide on the
wooden stringers. The rawhide soon
became dry and as hard as iron and
answered the purpose admirably dur
ing the dry weather.
The winter succeeding the laying of
the rawhide track was a severe one for
that part of the country, The snow lay
on the ground for several weeks. The
wolves were driven from the moun
tains by the deep snow and skirmish
ed for a living as best they could in
the valleys. When the snow began to
melt it softened the rawhide and the
hungry wolves soon found the tracks.
When spring came and the snow had
melted the wolves had eaten up the
railroad track from Walla Walla to
Wallula. -. ,
Flowery speeches do not always Indi
cate budding genius. .
MIH1 M U 1 1 IM I 1 l'lvii 1 I 11 M"H"M"t
tl
Troubles of Little Boys.
Before they had arithmetic,
Or telescopes, or chalk,
Or blackboards, maps and copy books
When they could only talk;
Before Columbus came to show
The world geography,
What did they teach the little boys
Who went to school like me?
There wasn't any grammar then
They couldn t read or spell.
For books were not invented yet
I think 'twas just as well.
There were not any rows of dates.
Or laws, or wars, or kings.
Or generals, or victories,
Or any of those things.
There couldn't have been much to learn;
There wasn't much to know;
'Twas nice to be a boy
Ten thousand years ago.
For history had not begun,
The world was very new,
And in the schools I don't see what
The children had to do.
Now, alxays there is more to learn
How history does grow!
And every day they find new things
They think we ought to know.
And if it must go on like this,
I'm glad I live to-day,
For boys ten thousand years from now
Will not have time to play.
Answers.
Payings of Children.
"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed small
Bobby after seeing a dachshund for
the first time. "I saw such a funny
dog this morning. He was two dogs
long and only half a dog high."
"Who can tell me what a meter is?"
asked the teacher of the juvenile class.
"I can," promptly replied the urchin
at the pedal extremity. "It's a thing
what you chop meat with."
Teacher What's a fort. Tommy?
Tommy A place for soldiers. Teacher
That's right. Now, Johnny, can you
tell me what a fortress is? Johnny
A place for soldiers' wives.
"What did you take your little sis
ter's orange for?" asked a mother of
her strenuous young hopeful. "I guess
it must be 'cause1 I'm one of them klep
termonkeyacts," replied the small
philosopher.
"Bessie," said a mother to her little
daughter as the latter finished saying
her prayer, "you didn't tell God how
naughty you had been to-day, did
you?" "No, mamma," replied Bessie.
"I don't believe in telling our family
affairs to outsiders."
The Boy That Was Grafted.
Philip saw the empty wood-box, but
he did not want to fill it. When he
went to get a drink of water the water
pail was empty, too; but he said never
mind, he guessed he was not so very
thirsty. It was a bother filling water
pails. And when grandmother took
down her empty cinnamon can, she
distinctly said, "O dear me!" but Phil
ip did not want to hear her. It was
half a mile to the Four Corners store.
Philip was cross "sour," grand
mother called it, with a little sigh.
"I'm afraid our Philip is getting to be
a sour boy.'Amasa," she said. Amasa
was grandfather, and to tell the truth,
grandfather was afraid so, too.
"Well, I can't help it! I didn't want
to stay to this house and have the
whoopin'-cough, did I? I wanted to
go out West with my father," Philip
argued, as if that made it all right to
be a sour boy.
Grandfather was grafting the natural-fruit
trees over in the east orchard,
and Philip went over to watch him.,
"What do you do it for, grandpa?"
he asked.
"To make them over into good, sweet
trees. They are sour and crabbed ones
now, and don't do anybody any good.
Might as well not be here at all, tak
ing up useful room. But I'm going
to saw off this sour chap's arms and
graft on some new and useful ones.
And first thing you know we'll have
a good, sweet tree here!"
Philip was thinking about it when
he went up into the haymow to eat
good, sweet apples. He took a little
puckery sour one along to try. Ugh!
It was not good a bit! He made a
wry face. Then by and by something
strange and and awful happened. As
Philip lay there in the sweet, dim
place, just beginning on his fourth
apple, he saw a man, a little like
grandfather, but it was not, coming
toward him over the-hay. He had
sharp things just like grandfather's in
his hand, and he was talking to him
self. Philip heard every word he said,
and it set him thinking.-
"He must be made over into a good,
sweet boy," the man said, nodding his
head. "He's a sour little boy now,
and doesn't do anybody any good.
Might as well not be here at alL But
I'm going to saw off his arms and
graft on some nice new ones that will
fill wood boxes and water pails with
out being asked. And some new legs
to run errands. First thing you know
we'll have a good, sweet boy here!"
He was coming very near Indeed
now. The sharp things looked very
sharp a little ray of sunlight set them
to glittering in his hands. Philip set
bis little white teeth hard and held out
his arm- If it must be done but in
spite of himself he could not keep
back a little terrifled cry. ;
Th next thing he knew the little
Little Stories and
Incidents that Will
Interest and Enter-1
tain Young Readers
old man faded away Into nothing, and
there he was sitting up in the hay.
looking at his arms and legs in a
dazed way! Were they new ones?
Was he a good,. sweet boy now?
Grandmother looked up from her
cooking to see a boy with laughing
eyes and dear, sweet face come danc
ing in. '
"I'll fill the wood box, grandma,, an
the water can an' the cinnamon pail!"
he cried, getting things rather mixed
in his hurry. "You just see me fill
"em! I want to now, 'cause I've been
grafted!" Youth's Companion.
The Careful Cat.
"I can't wash the things till to
morrow, but I'll iron them to-day, and
then that'll be done. I do like getting
forward with my work.""
WATCH CHILDREN'S FRIENDS.
Fathers and Mothers Shonld Look
. Into Boys' Associations.
It Is natural and desirable that, to
a reasonable extent, children should
be allowed and encouraged to choose
their own little friends. However, the
mother should consider it a part of
her maternal duty to inquire into their
associations, both in school and out.
and to discourage such as do not ap
pear entirely desirable.
Children do not fortunately in one
sense contract lasting friendships, as
a rule, and the more violent the at
tachment in its beginning, the sooner
will come its ending; hence, it is not
often necessary for the mother or fa
ther to Interpose and break off the
acquaintance in the abrupt fashion
that always arouses resentment and
often provokes disobedience.
When It can be avoided and it al
most invariably can, if proper precau
tions be taken this is not a wise rule
to follow; for in most cases the chil
dren thus thrust apart conceive and
nourish a feeling of anger against the
intervening power, while their affec
tion for each other is Intensified sim
ply through being .forbidden.
The better plan is to follow up the
children's little acquaintances as they
are formed, and to gently nip In the
bud those that were best not formed
at all, taking care not to do this in a
way that seems arbitrary or unjust.
Some children appear to have an un
fortunate proclivity for forming un
desirable friendships often because
of a too generous nature, which at
tracts good and bad influences alike
and is incapable of perceiving the es
sential differences between them; and
such children, of course, require more
constant and careful watching and
training than the more trusy ones who
are less impressionable.
It is not good for any child to grow
up without friends of 'his own choos
ing, since these are more likely to be
after his own heart than any which
can be chosen for him.
Fathers, as well as mothers, should
look into their growing boys' associa
tions; for no boy can be trusted en
tirely to follow his own inclinations in
a matter which so closely concerns
his personal welfare, while he will,
if approached in the right way, feel
flattered rather than annoyed by the
interest his parents evince in his Ut
ile affairs.
Lighthouse in a Desert.
A lightho use has been established in
the great Arizona desert. Unlike the
lighthouses set for the benefit of mari
ners it is not a signal of danger, but of
safety.
Two years ago a couple of desert
prospectors died of thirst within a
short distance of the place where the
lighthouse has been established. Had
the light then been there they would
not have perished, for the light marks
a well of water, the only water within
thirty miles of the spot.
One life has already .been saved by
the establishment of the lighthouse,
for an old German gave up the struggle
with heat, sand and thirst and lay
down to die. This was just at dusk.
When it bad become a little darker he
chanced to open his eyes and saw a
light. It gave hint courage. He arose,
staggered on until he came to the light
and found water.
The lighthouse is simply a tall con
ton wood pole with a lantern on the top.
It is tended by Joseph Drew, who
riwollfi in the little oasis and ministers
to the wants of travelers who pass
that way. The light is visible a long
distance across the plain in every di
rection in the night time.
Many a man Is forced to play the
game of life who doesn't hold a single
trump.' - "' ' - ' .
.'!. 11111
What Woman Owes to Man. '
Mrs. Craigie, known to the literary,
world as John Oliver Hobbes, may
make herself disliked by the advanced
women if she is not careful about her
public utterances. At a recent dinner
given by the Lord Mayor of London
to the Society of Journalists she re
plied to the toast of "The Ladies." In
the course of her reply she said many
charming things about the accomplish
ments and the achievements of wom
an, and then dulled the edge of her
praise by declaring that woman owes
all she knows of the arts, and nearly
everything else, outside of domesticity,
to men, citing Angelica Kaufmann,
George Sand, George Eliot, Charlotte
Bronte and others as examples. She
even went so far as to assert that
women would not go into the intellec
tual professions and public life but
for the support and praise of men.
Warming up with her subject, Mrs.
Craigie asserted that "the reign of
great queens have also been the epoch
of great statesmen. The famous la
dies of great historical crises owe their
celebrity to the classic descriptions
written of them by men. Great ac
tresses, great players on musical in
struments, great singers, great scholars
and great writers were all, without ex
ception, first trained and taught by
men." And then, "worst of all, in her
peroration she said as to woman's po
sition in the world: "We do not under
stand half of it or nearly half of it.
We think of other things. But we do
as a rule as we are told, and when we
are commended for doing it pretty well
we are just as happy as though we
were masters of the situation. We
know we are not, which is clever of us,
and we do not wish to be, which is
cleverer still."
It would take a bold man to utter
such sentiments as these, and he
would be hauled over the coals more
effectively than was Bartle Massey by
Mrs. Poyser. Fortunately, it was not
a man in this case. It remains to be
seen how the emancipated women, the
advanced women, the club women, and
martial spinsters, will accept this fem
inine definition of the feminine rela
tion toward the masculine tyrant. Of
course, there are women who will
agree with Mrs. Craigie, but they are
the women in humble life, the old-fashioned
women, the domestic women, the
time spirited women, who usually do
as they are told and are glad to have
some one tell them what to do. They
are the vines clinging to the oaks. But
on the ether hand, there are many
who are not dingers and who are rev
eling in the joys of freedom, the pleas
ures of the clubrooms, and have a door
key of their own. They are not the
kind that rest patiently under the ac
cusation of doing as men tell them.
Chicago Tribune.
Nearly Drowned Their Teacher.
They said Miss Erline Sinclair was
a brave girl when, at the age of 19,
she accepted the position of teacher in
the "Unlucky Thir
teen School" in
Cass township, Sul
livan County, Ind.,
for it is one of the
toughest In. the
county. She got
along very well,
however, until the
question arose as
to what Christmas
treat she proposed
to provide for the
pupils. It has been
MISS BIXCXAIB.
the custom for the teachers to provide
such a treat. Miss Sinclair promised
to observe the custom, but declined to
explain what the treat was to be.
When she refused to satisfy the curios
ity of the pupils the larger girls, rang
ing from 14 to 16 years of age, over
powered her, tied her feet to a trough
and carried her to a pond in a neigh
boring field. There the boys cut a
hole in the ice and the girls put the
teacher in the hole. The water came
only to her waist and the plucky teach
er refused to yield. Then they carried
her farther out on the ice, cut another
hole and again plunged her into the
ice-cold water. ' This time the water
came to her neck. There they left her.
The trough tied to her feet prevented
her getting out, but finally when she
had almost perished her screams
brought aid. She afterward suffered
greatly from pneumonia and shock. '
The Secret.
The more conveniences we have
around us, the more tact shown in our
contact with others, the better our sur
roundings, the better do we enjoy our
selves and get along in the world.
Such conditions do not come without
effort, nor do they come to the indiffer
ent and weak hearted. To get along,
to make a success of the place in which
one is situated, is to be thoughtful,
tactful and unselfish. Why does some
one seem to be liked by all, to have
so much Influence, to be a general fa
vorite? What has she done? Really
nothing but smile. Beaming goojj hu
mor all the time. Not silly, but help
ful; a little thing here and a kind
word or look there. This is all of her
secret It is only the one who thinks
of the trifling act that is prepared to
see and be ready for the great act of
love or help when the time for It
cornea
Did you ever stop to think what a
great difference a word or two at the
breakfast table makes, whether it is a
snarl or whether it is word of compli
ment for the nice breakfast prepared;
and if there is not a successful effort
at the meal getting, how much more
then is the kind word needed. Let the
days begin with sunshine in the soul,
and let a good part of it out to reflect
upon those about you.
These are days that leave their
marks on one's character. Exchange.
Co-operative Housekeeping;.
The women of Ontario, Cal., have for
some time past been conducting an ex
periment hi co-operative housekeeping
and have met with such success that
they have formed a co-operative family
club.
About a dozen families of the repre
sentative citizens of the place have
united, rented a two-story private resi
dence and established a joint house
keeping arrangement. Four employes,
including a stewardess, do the work of
the establishment, supplying meals to
the forty-three persons who make up
the dozen families. Their united wages
amount to about $150 a month, as
against the $30 and $35 a month which
good cooks and general houseworkers
in the place demand, and which each
family has heretofore been obliged to
pay when it was possible to secure
them.
Each family has its own table in tha
co-operative house, with individual
equipment of linen, silver and decora,
tion. Every month the expenses are
carefully audited by the club's commit"
tees and the amount assessed pro rata
among the club members, children pro
portionately according to their ages.
Eleven cents per meal per person la
the average cost, the best of food being
provided. The women of the club take
turns in making out the menu, and in
this way the tastes of each family ore
xne unaertaKing is very similar i
others that have been tried In other
places.
Concerning; Women.
Miss Maggie J. Walz, of Calumet,
Mich., Is the only Finnish newspaper
publisher in America. She Is sole own
er, editor and publisher of the Nalsten
Lehi, or the Ladles' Journal The mag
azine Is the official organ of the Finn
ish ladles' societies of America, and is
read by the Finnish women through
out the world.
The American woman in Berlin pays
about $1.50 a month for a street car
ticket This bears her photograph and
must be shown on demand. The bearer
can board a car as often as sue pleases
and at any point in the city where the
cars pass. The ticket is good for the
month. If she does not take $1.50
worth of rides it is her own lookout,
and if she takes more it is all one to
the railroad company.
There Is a fruit grower In Southern
California, a Mrs. H. W. R. Strong,
who owns 150 acres of walnut trees,
besides growing many other kinds of
fruit and nuts as well. She recently
read a paper before the State Board
of Trade on the value of pampas grass
as a crop, and also on the cultivation
of the pomegranate In Southern Cali
fornia, which showed a comprehensive
grasp of the details of the work. She
herself makes a considerable amount of
money from these crops yearly.
A Lovable Old Woman.
You sometimes see a woman whoso
old age is as exquisite as was the per
fect bloom of her youth. You wonder
how this has come about; you wonder
how it is her life has been a long ana
happy one. Here are some of the4 rea
sons: She kept her nerves well in hand
and inflicted them on no one.
She mastered fhe art of saying pleas
ant things.
She did not expect too much from
her friends. ,
She made whatever work came to
her congenial.
She retained her illusions and aia
not believe all the world wicked and
unkind.
She relieved the miserable and sym
pathized with the sorrowful.
She never forgot that kind words
and a smile cost nothing, but are price
less treasures to the discouraged.
She did unto others as she would be
done by, and now that old age has
come to her and there is a halo of
white hair about her head, she is loved
and considered. This is the secret of:
a long life and a happy one. Rich
mond Palladium.
Some Facta Abont Widows.
The State of New York has 320,000
widows and the city 105,000. There
were by the last federal census 2,720,
000 widows in the whole. United
States, of whom, it is worthy to re
mark, 88,000 were in Indiana and only
8,000 in Utah.
There were 128,000 in Massachu
setts, less than the total number in the
two States of Alabama and Mississip
pi, though the . view pretty generally
prevails that the number of widows is
disproportionately large throughout
New England.
There are nearly 2,000 in Hawaii and
1,700 in Alaska, a proportionately larg-
Ler number than in the city of Chicago.
1