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The Lc A Stirring Stc Mexican Re A story of border Mexico, vivid, intense, such as has never before been written, Is this one of Ameri ? ? ? UIa f Ka lanH f\f manana. Texan, mining engineer, Spanish senor and senorita, peon, Indian, crowd its chapter* with clear-cut word pictures of busi ness, adventure and love, against a somber background of wretched armies marching and counter, marching across a land racked by revolution and without a savjor. CHAPTER I. The slow-rolling winter's sun rose coldly, far to the 6outh, riding up from behind the saw-toothed Sierras of Mexico to throw a silvery halo on Gadsden, the border city. A hundred miles of desert lay in its path?a waste of broken ridges, dry arroyos, and sandy plains?and then suddenly, as if by magic,' the city rose gleaming in the sun. It was a big city, for the West, and swarming with traffic and men. Its broad main street, lined with brick buildings and throbbing with automo biles, ran from the railroad straight to the south until, at a line, it stopped short and was lost in the desert That line which marked the sudden end of growth and progress was the border of the United States; the desert was Mexico. And the difference was not in the land, bnt In the government As the morning air grew warm and the hoar frost dripped down from the roofB the idlers of the town crept forth, leaving chill lodgings and stale saloons for the street corners and the sun. Against the dead wallof a big store th? Mexicans gathered in shivering groups, their blankets wrapped around their necks and their brown ankles bare to the wind. On another corner a bunch of cowboys stood clannlshly aloof, eying the passing crowd for oth ers of their kind. In this dun stream which flowed under the morning sun there were min ing men, with high-laced boots and bulging pockets; graybeards, with the gossip of the town in their cheeks; hoboes, still wearing their eastern caps and still rustling for a quarter to eat on; somber-eyed refugees and sol diers of fortune from Mexico?but Idlers all, and each seeking his class and kind. If any women passed that way they -valVed fnnt lnnlrln? neither tn thfl right nor to the left; for they, too, be ing so few, missed their class and kind. Gadsden had become a city of men. huge-limbed and powerful and with a questing look in their eyes; a city of adventurers gathered from the ends of th?? world. A common calamity had driven them from their mines and ranches and glutted the town with men, for the war was on in Mexico and from the farthermost corners of Sonora they still came, hot from some new scene of murder and pillage, to auu IV LU^> 5?.uvtui uiwvvuvvmw As the day wore on the crowd on the bank corner, where the refugees made their stand, changed its com plexion, grew big, and stretched far up the street. Men stood in shifting groups, talking, arguing, gazing mood ily at those who passed. Here were hawk-eyed Texas cattle men, thinking of their scattered herds , at Mababi or El Tigre; mining men, with idle prospects and deserted mines as far 6outh as the Rio Yaqui; mill men, ranchers and men of trades; all driven in from below the line and all chafing at the leash. While a hundred petty chiefs stood out against Madero and lived by ransom and loot, they znuBt cool their heels in Gadsden and wait for the end to come. Into this seething mass of the dis possessed, many of whom had lost a fortune by the war, there came two more, with their faces still drawn and red from hard riding through the cold. They stepped forth from the marble entrance of the big hotel and swung off down the street to see the town. They walked slowly, gazing into the strange faces in the vague hope of finding some friend; and Gadsden, not to be outdone, looked them over curi ously and wondered whence they had come. The bunch of cowboys, still loitering on the corner, glanced scornfully at the smaller man, who sported a pair of puttees?and then at the big man's feet. Finding them encased in proa pec tor's shoes they stared dumbly at his wind-burned face acd muttered among themselves. He was tall, and broad across the shoulders, with far-seeing blue eyes and a mop of light hair; and be walked on his toes, stiff-legged, swaying from his hips like a man on horseback. The rumble of comment rose up again as he racked past and then a cowboy voice observed: . "IH bet ye he's a cow-punch!" 1 The big man looked back at them mockingly out of the corner of hiB eye and went on without a word. It is the boast of cowboys that they can tell another puncher at a glance, but they are not alone in this?there are other crafts that leave their mark and other men as shrewd. A group of mining men took one look ar the smaller man, noting the candle-rroase on his corduroys and the intelligence In his eyes;1 and to them the big man was no more than a laborer?or a shift-boss at most?and the little man was one of their kind. Every line in his mobile face spoke of Intellect and decision, and as they walked It was he who did the talking while the big man only nodded and smiled. They took a turn or two op the ,v- < ,;v'' '' a md of Bi >ry of the volution (Copyright, 1914, by street, now drifting into some clamor ous saloon, now standing at gaze on the sidewalk; and as the drinks began to work, the little man became more and more animated, the big man more and more amiable in his assent and silence. X UCil LUC/ paooou UXIO uun? W* v-? gees they stopped and listened, com menting on the various opinions by an exchange of knowing, smiles. An old prospector, white-haired and tanned to a tropic brown, finally turned upon a presumptuous optimist and the little man nodded approvingly as he heard him express his views. "You can Bay what you please," the prospector ended, "but I'm going to keep out of that country. I've knowed them Mexicans for thirty years now and I'm telling you they're gitting treacherous. It don't do no good to have your gun with you?they'll shoot you from behind a rock?and if they can't git you that way, they'll knife you in your sleep. "I've noticed a big change in them paisanos since this war come on. Be fore Madero made his break they used to be scared of Americans?thought if they killed one of ue the rest would cross the border and eat 'em up. What few times tbey did tacjue a wnue man he generally give a good account of himself, too, and, I've traveled them trails for years without hardly know ing what it was to be afraid of any body; but I tell you it's entirely dif ferent over there now." "Sure! That's right!" spoke up the little man, with spirit "You're talk ing more sense than any man on the street I guess I ought to know?I've been down there and through it all? and it's got so now that you can't trust any of 'em. My pardner and I came clear from the Sierra Madres, riding nighte, and we come pretty near know ing?hey, Bud?" ''That's right," observed Bud, the big man, with a reminiscent grin, "I begin to think them fellers would get us, for a while!" "Mining men?" inquired the old prospector politely. "Wprking on a lease," said the little man briefly. "Owner got scared out an/i lat no In on sharpH But no more for mub?thiB will hold me for quite a while, I can tell you!" "Here, too," agreed the big man, turning to go. "Arizona is gcfod enough for me?come on, PhU!" "Where to?" The little man drew back half resentfully, and then he changed his mind. "All right," he said, falling into step, "a gin fizz for mine!" "Not on an empty stomach," ad monished his pardner; "you might get lit up and tell somebody all you know. How about something to eat?" "Good! But where 're you going?" The big man was leading off down a side street, and once more they came to a halt. "Jim's place?it's a lunch-counter," he explained laconically. "The hotel's all right, and maybe that was a break fast we got, but I get hungry waiting that way. Gimme a lunch-counter, wnere I can wrop my legs arouna a stool and watch the cook turn 'em over. Come on?I been there before." An expression of pitying tolerance came over the little man's face as he listened to this rhapsody on the quick lunch, but he drew away reluctantly. "Aw, come on, Bud," he pleaded. "Have a little class! What'B the use of winning a stake if you've got to eat at a dog-Joint? And besides?say, that was a peach of a girl that waited on us this morning! Did you notice her Hiair? She was a pippin!" The big man waggled his hand re signedly and started on hiB way. "All right, pardner," he observed; "if that's the deal she's probably look ing for you. I'll meet you in the room." "Aw, come on!" urged the other, but his heart was not in it, and he turned gaily away up the main street. Left to himself, the big man went on to his lunch-counter, where he ordered oysters, "A dozen In the milk." Then he ordered a beefsteak, to make up for several he had missed, and asked the cook to fry it rare. He was just negotiating for a can of pears that had caught his eye when an old man came in and took the stool beside him, pick <?n fV* a TYiftnn nt V? f wa m VI lr\ f? Vi o n H ilJLg up U1C UiCUU TV ALIA llCLUUllUg uauu. "Give me a cup of coffee," he said to the waiter, "and"?he gazed at the bill of fare carefully?"and a roast-beef sandwich. No, just the coffee!" he corrected, and at that Bud gave him a look. Ho was a small man, shabbily dressed and with scraggy whiskerB, and his nose was very red. "Here," called Bud, coming to an in stant conclusion, "give 'im his sand wich; I'll pay for It!" "All right," anwered the waiter, who was no other than Sunny Jim, the pro prietor, and, whisking up a sandwich from the sideboard, he set it before the old man, who glanced at him in silence. For a fraction of a second he regarded the sandwich apathetically; then, with the aid of his coffee, he made away with it and slipped down off his stool. "Say," observed the proprietor, as Bud was paying hiB bill, "do you know who that old-timer was?" "What old-timer?" inquired Bud, who had forgotten his brusk benefac tion. "Why, that old feller that you treat ed to the sandwich." uu?mm; some old arunK arounu town?" hazarded Bud. "Well, he's that, too," conceded Sunny Jim, with a smile. "But lemme tell you, pardner, If you had half the rocks that old boy's got you wouldn't need to punch any more cows. That's Henry Kruger, the man that just sold the Cross-Cut mine for fifty thousand cash, and he's got more besides." "Huh!" grunted Bud, "he sure don't look it! Say, why didn't you put me roken Pr< =By DANE COOL] Author of "THE FIGHTING FOOL," "HIDDEl "THE TEXICAN," Etc Illustrations by DON J. Frank A. Munsey.) wise? Now I've got to hunt him up ] and apologize." l "Oh, that's all right," assured the i proprietor; "he won't take any offense, i That's just like old Henry?he's kinder j queer that way." "Well, I'll go and see him, anyway," ] said Bud. "He might think I waB i butting in." And then, going about his duty with j nMlnannhiraJ calm, he ambled off. Stiff-1 ! legged, down the street CHAPTER II. ' It was not difficult to find Henry Kruger In Gadsden. The barkeepers, j those efficient purveyors of Informa- ; tlon and drinks, knew him as tbey knew their thumbs, knd a casual round of the saloons soon located him in the ; back room of the Waldorf. ( "Say," began Bud, walking bluffly } up to him, "the proprietor of that res- , taurant back "there tells me I made a . mistake when I insisted on paying for your meal. I jest wanted to let you know?" j "Oh, that's all right, young man," returned Old Henry, looking up with j a humorous smile; "we all of us make , our mistakes. I knowed you didn't , ??D n I I VI WW ITMir\? WW! ITIIVMSnVW* 1 mean no offense and so I never took 1 none. Fact is, I liked you all the bet- i ter for It This country Is getting Bet tied up with a class of people that : never give a nickel to nobody. You ? paid for that meal like It was nothing, > and never so much as looked at me. < Sit down, sit down?I want to talk to you!" . < Thpy sat down by the stove and fell 1 Into a friendly conversation in which 1 nothing more was said of the late in advertence, but when Bud rose to go i the old man bpckoned him back. 1 "Hold on," he protested; "don't go ' off mad. I want to have a talk with < you on business. You seem to be a < pretty good young fellow?maybe we can make some dicker. What are you looking for in these parts?" i "Well," responded Bud, "some kind * of a leasing prdposition, I reckon. Me < and my pardner Jest come in from 1 Mexico, over near the Chihuahua line, < and we don't hardly know what we < do want yet." < T'wa nnf^Aa/1 fKof \ yours," remarked Henry Kruger dryly. ' "He's a great talker. I was listening 1 to you boys out on the street there, having nothing else to do much, and < being kinder on the lookout for a man, t anyway, and It struck me I liked your 1 line of talk best." "You're easy satisfied, then," ob- 1 served Bui, with a grin. "I never said i a word hardly." i "That's it," returned Kruger slgnifl- 3 cantly; "this job I've got calls for a 1 man like that." "Well. Phil's all right," spoke up ' Bud, with sudden warmth. "We been 1 GOAT AS A MILK PRODUCER Germans Appreciate Animal's Value, and It Is Increasing In Popularity In That Country. The raising of goats In Germany has become increasingly popular during the last 20 years. It Is claimed by goat breeders that four goats are as productive in milk as a medium-sized cow, and that the milk possesses, be sides, a greater nutritive value. In hospitals, children's homes, and houses for the treatment of sickness, goat's j milk Is often preferred, largely on ac- j count of its purity and its freedom j from tubercular infection. Goats pos- A sess today as many advantages as a , household animal as they did in an- ( cient times in Asia Minor and Persia. 1 Two goats could furnish a small Ger- ( man household with milk, and the t cost of maintenance is small. Triale ^ have been made in the vicinity of large j cities with goat dairies, but in almoBt \ every case they had to be discontin- i ued on account of losses. Such large i dairies have not been successful be- 1 ca'use large amounts of fodder had ( , '. 'v' ..'S > ^ : v-'.. A5*; . >1. v.. / . . omises DGE N WATERS," LAVIN pardners for two years now and he never give nothing away yet! He talks, but he don't forget himself. And the way he can palaver them Mexicans Is a wonder." "Very likely, very likely," agreed Kruger, and then he sat a while In silence. "We got a few thousand dollars with us, too," volunteered Bud at, last "I'm a good worker, if that's what you want ?and Phil, he's a mining engineer." "Um-m," grunted Kruger, tugging at bis beard, but he did not come out with his proposal. "I tell you," he said at last "I'm not doing much talking about this proposition of mine. It's a big thing, and somebody might beat me to it You know what I am, I guess. I've pulled off some of the biggest deals in this country for a poor man, and I don't make many mistakes?not about mineral, anyway. And when I tell you that this le rich?you're talking with a man that knows." He fixed his shrewd, blue eyes on the ' young man's) open countenance and waited for him to speak. "That's right," he continued, as Bud finally nodded non-committally; "she's 3ure rich. I've had an eye on this proposition for years?Just waiting (or the right time to come. And now it's come! Ail I need is the man. It ain't a dangerous undertaking?least wise I don't think It Is?but I got to tiave somebody I can trust I'm willing to pay you good wages, or I'll let you In on the deal?but you'll have to go down into Mexico." "Nothin' doing!" responded Bud with instant decision. "If it's in Art* zo'na I'll talk to you, but no more Mex ico for me. I've got something pretty good down there myself, as far as that goes." "What's the matter?" inquired Kro ger, set back by the abrupt refusal; "scared?" "Yes, I'm scared," admitted Bud, ind he challenged the old man with tils eyes. "Must have had a little trouble, then?", "Well, you might call it that," agreed Bud. "We been on the dodge for a month. A bunch of revoltosos tried to ?et our treasure, and when we skipped aut on 'em they tried to get ua." "Well," continued Kruger, "this proposition of mine is different You was over In the Sierra Madres, where the natives are bad. These Sonora Mexicans ain't' like them Chihuahua tellers?they're Americanized. I'll tell rou, if It wasn't that the people would know me I'd go down after this mine myself. The country's perfectly quiet rhere's lots of Americans down there ret, and they don't even know there Is i revolution. It ain't far from the rail road, you see, and that makes a lot of HffopennB " He lowered his voice to a confi dential whisper as he revealed the ap proximate locality of his bonanza, but Bud remained unimpressed. "Yea," he said, "we was near a rail oad?the Northwestern?and seemed ike them red-flaggers did nothing else but burn bridges, and d'*ch supply drains. When they finally hipped 'em the whole bunch took to the hills, rhat's where we got it again." "Well," argued Kruger, "this rall *oad of ours is all right, and they run I train over 11 every uay. xiiw con centrator at Fortuna"?he lowered his /olce again?"hasn't been shut down a lay, and you'll be within fifteen miles )f that town. No," he whispered; "I :ould get a hundred Americans to go n on this tomorrow, as far's the revo utlon's concerned. It ain't dangerous, jut I want somebody I can trust" "Nope," pronounced Bud, rising pon lerously to his feet; "If it wai this side the line I'd stay with you till the lair slipped, on anything, but?" "Well, let's talk It over again some :lme," urged Kruger, following him ilong out. "It ain't often I get took vith a young feller the way I was with rou, and I believe we can make it yet. iVhere are you staying.In town?" "Up at the Cochise," said Bud. 'Come on with me?I told my pardner !'d meet him there." ;o be purchased for the herd and be :ause of the lack of sufficient mead )w land. Finally, public opinion In titles must be educated to use and ippreclate the milk of the goat in or ler to create a retail demand for it :t 1b no doubt less palatable than low's milk, and even in southern Eu rope, where goats are much more jommon than In Germany, it is used jhlefly for the manufacture of cheese. British Royal Academy. The latest addition to membership n the British Royal academy Is Reg nald T. Blomfield, architect. The new :t. A. is the son of the late rector of Aldington, Kent, and is fifty-seven ears of age. In 1911 he was presi lent of the Royal Institute of British Architects. His principal works are lomestic architecture and garden de ligns. He is the author of several vorks on architecture. G. A. Storey, V. R. A., has been appointed to the jrofessorship of perspective at the tcaderoy, which has been revived ifter having been allowed to lapse rnlf a century ago. Turner was elect ed to the professorship in 1808. They turned up the broad main street and passed in through the pol ished stone portals of the Cochise, a hotel so spacious in its interior and so richly appointed in its furnishings that a New Yorker, waking up there, might easily imagine himself on Fifth ave nue. It was hardly a place to be looked for In the West, and as Bud led the way across the echoing lobby to a pair of stuffed chairs he had a vague feel ing of being in church. Stained-glass windows above the winding stairways let in a soft light, and on the tower ing pillars of marble were emblaponfd prickly-pears as an emblem of the West. From the darkened balconies above, half-seen women looked down curiously as they entered, and in the broad lobby below were gathered the prosperous citizens of the land. There were cattlemen, still wearing their boots and overalls, the better to attend to their shipping; mining men, just as they had come from the hills; and others more * elegantly dressed? but they all had a nod for Henry Kru ger. He was a man of mark, aa Bad could see Id a minute; but If he had other business with those who hailed him he let it pass and took out a rank brier pipe, which he puffed while Bud smoked a cigarette. They were sitting together in a friendly silence when Phil came out of the dining room, but as he drew near the old mnn nodded to Bud and went over to speak to the clerk. "Who was that old-timer you were talking to?" inquired Phil, as he sank down in the vacant chair. "Looks like the-morning-after with him, don't it?" "TJm," grunted Bud; "reckon it is. Name's Kruger." "What?the mining man?" "That's right" "Well," exclaimed Phil, "what in the world was he talking to you about7" "Oh, some kind of a mining deal,'* grumbled Bud. "Wanted me to go down into Mexico!" "What'd you tell him?" challenged the little man, sitting up suddenly in his chair. "Say, that old boy's got rocks1" "He oan keep 'em for all of me," ob served Bud comfortably. "You know what I think about Mexico." "Sure; but what was his proposi tion? What did he want you to do?" "Search me! He was mighty mys terious about it Said be wanted a man he could trust" "Well, holy Moses, Bud I" cried Phil, "wake upl Didn't you get his proposi tion?" "No, he wasn't talking about ft Said it was a good thing and he'd pay me well, or let me In on the deal; but when he hollered Mexico I quit I've got a plenty." "Yes, but?" the little man choked and could say no mora "Well, you're one Jim dandy business man, Bud I K o Knnaf mif n f loo# " VrtHM Aiwaoi uo MUlOb uuv av inoi. *v?t ? let?" "Well, what's the matter?" demand ed Hooker defiantly. "Do you want to go back Into Mexico? Nor me, neither! What you kicking about 7" "You might have led blm on and got the Bcheme, anyway. Maybe there's a million In It Come on, let's go over and talk to him. I'd take a chance, It It was good enough." "Aw, don't be a fool, Phil," urged the cowboy plaintively. "We've got no call to hear his soheme unless we want to go In on It. Leave him alone and he'll do something for us on this side. Oh, crlpes, what's the matter with you?" He heaved himself reluctantly up out of his chair and moved over to where Kruger was sitting. "Mr. Kruger," he said, as the old man turned to meet him, "I'll make you acquainted with Mr. De Lancey, my pardner. My name's Hooker." "Glad to know you, Hooker," re sponded Kruger, shaking him by the hand. "How'do, Mr. De Lancey." He gave Phil a rather crusty nod as he spoke, but De Lancey was dragging up another chair and failed to notice. "Mr. Hooker was telling me about some proposition you had, to go down into Mexico," he began, drawing up closer while the old man watched him from under his eyebrows. "That'B one tough country to do business in right now, but at wie same time?" "The country's perfectly quiet," put In Kruger?"perfectly quiet" "Well, maybe so," qualified De Lan cey; "but when it comes to getting In supplies?" "Not a bit of trouble in the world," said the old man crabbedly. "Not a bit" "Well," came back De Lancey, "what's the matter, then? What is the proposition, anyway?" Henry Kruger blinked and eyed him intently. "I've Btated the proposition to Hook er," he said, "and he refused it. That's enough, ain't it?" De Lancey laughed and turned away. "Well, yes, I guess It is." Then, in -i-~ doM to R11H "fio ahead pttODIU5? "C DUIU ? ? ? - and talk to him." He walked away, lighting a cigarette and smiling good-naturedly, and the old-timer turned to Bud. "That's a smart man you've got for a pardner," he remarked. "A smart man. You want to look out," he added, "or he'll get away with you." "Nope," said Bud. "You don't know him like I do. He's straight as a die." "A man can be straight and still get away with you," ob> ?rved the veteran shrewdly. "Yes. iudeed." He paused to let this bit of wisdom sink in, and then he spoke again. "You'd better quit?while you're lucky," he suggested. "You quit and come with me," he urged, "and if we strike it I'll make you a rich man. I don't need your pardner on this deal. I need just one man that can keep his head shut. Listen now; I'll tell you what it is. "I know where thers*s a lost mine down in Mexico. If I'd tell you the name you'd know It in a minute, and it's free gold, too. Now there's a fel low that had that land located for ten years, but he couldn't find the lead. D'ye see? And when this second revo lution came on he let it go?he neg lected to pay his mining taxes and let it go back to the government And now all I want is a quiet man to slip In and denounce that land and open up the lead. Here, look at this!" He went down into his locket and brought out a buckskin sack, from which he handed over a piece of well worn quartz. f fTO HE CONTINUKlXi J Current Modes foi THE taste of Paris designers has been called much in 'question of late. So much, that our faith is no longer pinned to it But in Paris, as elsewhere, there are designers and designers. Certainly that one who originated and developed this gown for a young girl need have no mis givings as to our opinion. There are designers who are origi nal and also spectacular. No one doubts their genius, but it does not always blosaom out into things beau tiful. They launch many things which are interesting, but are not followed, except at a considerable distance. But the pretty gown of silk muslin shown here may be faithfully copied, and the result will revive our admira tion for French refinement The silk underskirt is straight, with its scant fulness gathered in to an underbodice, of the same silk,.at the waist line. The underbodice is cut with very i short kimono sleeves and is full about the waist in the kimono fashion. Two flouncings of the figured silk muslin (for which lace may be substituted) are gathered to the un derskirt The upper flounce droops a few inches at the back. From the waist a short, pannier made of chiffon extends to the swell of the hip. Thta is supported by a Shoes for I IN the matter of footwear there is a demand for fine finish, elaboration in design, and general elegance of ap pearance that Is spreading like news of war or the dancing craze. It keeps the designers and manufacturers of shoes on the anxious seat, ever alert to keep up with it Milady of leisure and milady of busy days are asking for a few little things in this particu lar article of apparel. Her shoes must be shapely, substantial, becoming, well-made, out-of-the-ordinary, ex quisitely finished, elaborated with contrasting materials and ornaments, and, of all things, comfortable. For who could tango In an ill-fitting shoe? Perhaps it is the craze for dancing that has brought about.this fastidious 1 * aha +Y%i r*o? In If a lie HO , 11 DU, IUC1C lO \Ja113 bume m ?wi favor, at least. i No matter how plain the taste of ] any careful dresser, no matter how un obtrusive (not to mention unnotlce- 1 able) her gown, just get a glimpse of her feet, and? the chances are that you will wonder at the amount of stylo and i beauty she has managed to accomplish i in clothing them. Trim, silk-clad ' ankles, faultless shoes with elegant i lines, and, very likely, brilHcnt buckles ' of rhinestone or cut steel or plain i metal are there. i These buckles come twinkling along 1 the streets in the broad daylight, on < their way to the flve-o'clock-tea, or the i Clothes-PIn Bag. I Make an apron of denim or heavy i gingham, turned up at the bottom about eight inches, then sewed at the 1 eides through the center of this turned i up portion to form two large, square < pockets. A belt completes the gar- i ment. 1 Fill the pocket with clothes-pins and i button the apron about your waist < while hanging up clothes and your i pins are always at hand. The apron is useful when taking down clothes. Sew a strong tape inside of the belt 1 - -! with a narrow ruffle of the same ma terial It falls oyer a bias fold of light rose-colored brocade, which Is sewed to the foundation skirt A flounce of lace falls from under . 1 thls fold and over a wide finishing fold '' of the brocade. This last fold ex tends from the right side to the left 'j'l over the drapery and terminates under ? ' , the crushed girdle Just to the left ' ylS of the front The ginlle Is wide and fastens at the back under a flat bow. There Is a flaring lace collar across the back of the neck, which Is sup- ' , '-t ported by fine wires. A double ruffle ' of chiffon is arranged in surplice ef fect about the open neck. It termi nates at the left side under the girdle. _ There are wide finishing ruffles on the yjj short .draped sleeves. The ruffles are > joined to the sleeve with a fine nar row beading. V . T $ This design, appropriate as It Is for the young girl, may be followed In a ' general way for an older person. The underbodice in this case would not be made quite so high and the girdle might be somewhat narrower. Drap ery about the hiDS also could be fuller. But as It is It la a tasteful model for a young woman as well aa for a young girl. , festo'.--. formal call, or the club luncheon, or the concert, and are bits of finery which are discernible long before the wearer's millinery Is anything but a blur. , A good example of a fashionable shoes is shown In the picture. It is classed as a "tie," but finished with buckles, and goes by the pretty, name of the "Mignon" tie. The vamp is of patent leather with figured cloth quarters. .One can buy shoes of this kind with colored quarters, as well as all black, for manufacturers make them up with dark blue, green, purple, gray or brown figured silk cloth with black vamp and heels. From the standpoint of economy, the ull-black shoe is the best choice, since it Is dressy enough for any sort of dressy wear. But for those who do not need to consider the item of price, the colored quarter to match a cos tume is worth considering, even if its wear is limited. Considering all th/.t is embodied in shoes of this character, the prices asked for them are not extravagant. They sell at ten dollars a pair, with the cut rhinestone buckles included. They are lined with satin to match the color of the quarters. The buckles are an item of considerable expense, but their usefulness is not confined to Dne pair of shoes, or even to shoes at ill. JULIA BOTTOMLEY. for a hanger when apron is not la use and it serves for a clothes-pin bag. Matting faded, but still too good to be thrown away, can be made to look almost like new. Crub it and let it 3ry. Then go over it with green dye, using a soft, broad paint brush. A gallon of dye, kind used for cotton goods, may be made of one package, costing 10 cents. Both crex and fiber rugs can be treated in this manner. Austhilia has nearly three hundred thousand acres of untouched forest*, x