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would fly to the side of the cage and
chirp at us as though he were asking
if we couldn't help and then he would
go back again beside her, and you
would hear the low notes in his
throat, but she was too ill to care
and before the following morning she
"I could tell you all about his piti
ful grief, but, though he was only a
bird, I never like to think of that,,
for he neither ate nor drank nor sang
nor paid heed to anything until his
little heart burst and we buried him
beside the little lady, but the point
I want to make, and which perhaps
is very apparent to you, is how well
the little lady understood the art of
winning and holding affection."
And my English lady leaned back
in her chair and awaited my expres
sion of approval. But somehow I
couldn't give it.
For, panoramically, I seemed to
see the lives of the women of the
two generations-the generation of
my English lady, when girls did not'
work in stores and in offices, when
they had leisure for reading, for mu
sic, for all of the finer and sweeter
things of life, and when they had the
love of so many relatives and friends.
And the girl of today, hurrying
along the street in the morning,
pushed and jostled as she tries to
enter a car, with not a pleasant word
when she enters the store or the. of
fice, a day of toil that blends with
it no -sunshine, a tasteless meal in
the evening, and the solitude of a
rooming house where people live to
gether and yet have not one thing
And, as the picture faded away, I
wondered if it is such a marvelous
thing that girls are reaching out a
little too eagerly for companionship,
for love, and for the protection they
imagine marriage will bring, and if
the little lady sparrow would have
been bo independent had she been
left to forage for her food and to
shiver in the cold streets instead of
being a pampered pet.
THE BANKER i
By Berton Braley.
The Banker sits in his office chair,
immersed in a terrible cloud of care,
and he looks about with a glance,
intent on getting not less than eight
per cent. The woes of the nation
are on his back. He's always Baying
that trade is slack and murmuring 1
low, in gloomy tones, "Well, times
are hard. I must call my loans."
In fear and trembling the borrow
er stands and pleads for money with
outstretched hands. The Banker
mutters, "Well, cash is tight and I
don't find any relief in sight, so I
really don't see exactly how I can let i
you have any money now. Of course, '
it is only fair to state that a slight I
advance in the interest rate would !
be the sort of a clrcumstan.ce which I
might induce us to take a chance!"
The poor old Banker, his lot is sad.
He's always worried and seldom glad.
To him the outlook is always punk
and he lives in a state of chronic
bunk, counting his balances o'er and
o'er lending at eight per cent, pay
ing four. Yet I doubt if lfD fret an,
awful lot if I had the place the Bank
AN EASY WAY TO CAN FRUIT
By Caroline Coe.
An old English women watched
me can some cherries one day and,
as I took the hot cans from the pan
of boiling water, she Baid:
"Let me show you a new way.
Have the cans dry and perfectly clean
and clear. Wring a heavy towel out
of ice water.
"Wrap every part of the can ,
sides and bottom. Set this on a '
china plate, put a silver knife inside
the can. When you first begin to
fill the can with fruit pour it in slow
ly up to about one-quarter of the
height of can. Fill can, put on top
and seal tight Have two towels in
process, so each may become per
fectly cold." I have used this method
for years and find I break no more
cans than in the old way.