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CHRISTMAS TRIALS OF A FAMILY M AN THOUGHT you always I ’ went home to dinner,” said the newcomer, as s^PP out °* h* B ,= s/i coat and handed it to IFWf th. waiter. \/f /'v / The bald-headed gen tleman who was al ready seated laid down the bill of fare and answered, sadly: “I have no home.” “I don’t want any expressions of sympathy,” he added, as the other drew up his chair. ‘‘There isn’t any divorce suit pending and I have met with no reverses of fortune. What I suffer is, I suppose, the common lot of mankind at this festive season of the year. They are making Christmas presents at the house where I used to live.” “I don’t see why that should cause you grief.” “It isn’t to be expected that you would.” observed the bald-headed man. r , ; -1-7. It. m v- m !,: 1 Tml . ; |R!, ' ' 1 tTU'; r ) ■THERE IS A WILD SCREAM.” “You may find out some day, but as a friend and well-wisher I hope that you will ever remain in blissful ignor ance. If i go into a closet to get out my house jacket, there is a wild scream from one of the girls. I turn around, expecting to see some loved form stretched out in the agonies of death, and my wife says: ‘Here, you mustn't go in there.’ “ ‘Why not?’ I ask. “ *Oh. because. Here, tell me what it is you want and 1 will get it. for you. 1 never saw such a man to go poking around, anyway.’ Then she pushes me out of the way and hunts up the coat for me, and I begin dimly to comprehend that there is a Christ mas present cached away there some where. 1 can’t hunt a pipe or get a book out of the bookcase or forage for pie in the pantry or exercise any of the ordinary privileges of a head of a household without getting yelped at and hustled and giggled at. I feel as if I were walking over mines that were liable to be exploded at any moment and blow me to destruction. ‘‘Then when 1 return to the bosom of my family after a hard day’s toil in their interest. I like to be welcomed with some show of affection. As it is, my appearance seems to be the signal for flight. 1 might be a leper, to judge from the way my daughters and the once-loving partner of my joys and sorrows start up and tlee, as it were, Into the wilderness, grabbing things right and left as they go. The assur ance that I will receive an embroid ered silk muffler, a cardboard and rib bon waste paper basket, a sofa cushion for my wearied head and a pair of wool mittens with an Assyrian design In scarlet and yellow hardly compen sates me for the wear and tear on my nerves." “Is it as bad as that?” “It’s a blamed sight worse. The concealment is only a small part of It. There’s the manufacture of the articles to be considered by itself. As I say. 1 haven’t a home. I sleep in a notion factory. In an atmosphere of “A RICH BARBARIC EFFECT.” glue, paste, sachet powder and turpen tine. It’s anew deal on me. They used to buy what they wanted, and all I had to worry over was an accommo dation at the bank. I have asked for the reason of the change and I am rold that any coarse plebeian can make presents that cost money, but a present that has the maker’s individuality, taste and refinement stamped upon it in crewel or gum-arabic medium is fyeyond rubies. Also I am informed that it is cheaper and that it saves the trouble of shopping.” “I should think that there might be omething in that.” “There you betray your ignorance ance more. By the time a woman has matched up 18 or 20 shades of sewing iilk every few days, blown herself for *>eeswax, paint brushes, stamped linen, :repe paper, glass and passepartout mper, embroidery needles, gilding, airch bark, enamel, ribbon and a few hundred other articles of raw material ihe ought to own that there is nothing io the economy argument, either of £me or money; but you everlast ingly bet that she won’t. I concede the individuality and personality Some of the things they are turning out at home—how that word slips out! —couldn’t be equaled for uniquenesi and daring bizzarreness outside of the industrial department at Kankakee asylum. I would hate to dream about some of the things that they paint or the handkerchief boxes and do-fun nies.” “What is the wax for?” “That is to give an oriental, ara besque effect to a tomato can or a dis carded liqueur jug. You take youi tomato can, or whatever it is, and mel) your wax and pour the wax over it, just as a kid would dribble sirup ovei buckwheat cakes, criss-cross and any how, until the thing is covered with crinkly-crankly wrinkles; then you gel a rich barbaric effect by gold-painting it. It is then a thing of beauty, an ar tide of bric-a-brac or a jardiniere. It’s a corker for originality, for yov couldn’t get two alike to save you: neck. Some friend of ours is going tc be gladdened with a pen-wiper artist ically constructed on a basis of clothes pin—l guess it’s a pen-wiper—and mj father is going to get a chamois-leath er dingus trimmed with pink ribtor to wipe his eye-glasses with. I have a mental picture of him in the act o! using it. I don’t suppose you hav< ever considered the artistic possibili ties of the common domestic frying pan?” “Never.” “Well, if yon ever saw one with £ little symphony in sage green anc purple painted on the side that shoult go next to the gas burner you will un doubtedly be impressed, as I was. It is a lesson that teaches a man to look for the beautiful in # tbe most homely and prosaic objects. You are carried away from the suggestion of German fried potatoes and liver and bacon tc the waning twilight when a solemn hush broods over the face of sage green nature. You can almost hear the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill calling to its errant mate and the dull boom of the bittern in the dis tant marsh that the real estate man is booming daytimes for desirable resi dence property. The long purple shadows cast a gentle melancholy over your soul, if you’ve got one; and then it's the handiest thing in the world to hang up on a parlor wall by the hole in the handle.” “A man might ignore the landscape and send the pan out into the kitchen.’ “Yes, he might do that if he had reckless, hare-brained courage in large quantities. There’s always that pos sibility about a frying pan picture, but what can you make out of a gilded horseshoe with taffeta bows unless you get enough of them to use as quoits? What utilitarian value is there in a cuff box with a saucer-eyed ov.i painted on it?” “It occurs to me that a man migh keep his cuffs in it.” “Evidently you never saw one.” said the bald-headed man, conclusively. 4) “THE ARTISTIC POSSIBILITIES OB THE COMMON DOMESTIC FRY ING PAN.” “You might as well suggest that cro cheted slippers might be actually worn Come to think of it, however. I have known a man to wear crocheted slip pers. but ne was a divinity student, so he didn’t count. If I wanted to mortify the flesh I might wear the arerage Christmas gift suspenders and smoke the lovely cigars that a man gets at the festive season, but I get trials enough when I find that the sawdust pincushion filling has got mixed up with my diet. We have got sawdust enough around the place to keep a ton of ice through the summer months. Well, thank heaven, it will soon be over with now, and I shall be able to lay my aching head on a sofa pillow with an appliqued motto of ‘Bon Repos’ on it and think it all over. I can get up and by the trifling exertion of walking across the room can scratch my matches on the hack of an emerycloth prize hog. thus sav ing the wear and tear on my trousers. There is an end to everything, and from the nervous and worried looks of my women I should judge that they will go back to the time-honored fool ishness of buying their gifts next year; then the spring house cleaning will be the worst thing that I shall have to contend with.” • You said that you didn't want any sympathy.” “No; I can suffer and he strong. After all, dining out isn't bad for a change.” WISE GUY. He hadn't any bank account. But he was rather smart; So to the heiress Christmas He gave his hand and heart. —Chicago Daily News. - WHY THE SEXTON RANG FOR CHRISTMAS By A. ST. JOHN ADCOCK HHE bells w’ere not going to be rung that Christ mas. Bargle, the sexton, had said so. “I don’t have no strangers tinklin’ wi' my bells, Mr. Edwards,” he protested. “I’ve rung ’em over 50 year, an’ if I ain’t ekal to it this Christmas —why, let ’em do without for once, that’s all!” “Seems a pity, though, Bargle, don’t you think?” The vicar spoke per suasively. He was young and diffident and new to Peridale, and the sexton was crotchety and opinionated. The last vicar had slipped into an easy habit of deferring to his long expe rience, and this had made him arro gant. “It is a fine old custom, Bar gle—” “There’ll be the chimes at the par ish church over the hill yonder.” Bar gle interrupted, testily; “they sound here in the village quite plain, an’ folks-must make the best o’ that an’ be thankful.” There was a deal of grumbling about It in the village; B-argle knew that, and took a morbid pride in feeling that he was having his own way. People wers hinting that his ailments were imaginary, that his rheumatism was merely another name for his crabbed perversity, and an excuse for his increasing indolence. As he sat smoking and ruminating, his thoughts traveled along that bleak road to the church, and back into blither old Christmases when he had toiled robustly, with his assistant, high up in the crazy tower, and they had kept the three bells swinging and pealing joyously from eight o’clock till midnight, with short rests between whiles, and one long rest when steam ing hot coffee and toast had been car ried up the narrow, steep stairs to them by a homely, cheery little wom an. who was his wife, and a merry eyed, winsome maid, who was their daughter Alice. But that had happened for the last time—how nu.ny Christmases ago? Why, already eight winters had mowed over that mound in the church yard. And this was the fourth year since Alice had deserted him in his loneliness, and he had set himself to forget her. He had not forgotten yet, though; nor forgiven her. In defiance of his imperative be hests, she had married the ne’er-do weel son of a tradesman in the town yonder, and they had gone away to London. She had written to him thrice, but he burned her first letter and re turned the others unopened, and, if he had not forgotten her, her name was never on his lips. At length, a few months ago, the village heard that her husband was dead. She had written to a neighbor saying she and her baby were desti tute, and begging that she would in tercede and ask her father to forgive her and let her come home. But Bargle, mindful of his dignity, hardened himself, and, resenting this intercession as an impertinence, curt ly advised the peacemaker not to med dle in his business again; hot words passed between them, and she flung off in such a whirl of indignation that her reply to Alice apparently scared the girl from attempting any further overtures. Absorbed as he was in these regret ful reveries, a sudden sound broke in upon him, and he started, glancing around dazedly and wondering wheth er he had been asleep. But no! —as he listened, breathless, the sound was repeated; a single, deep clang of the church bell. No wind was stirring, and he had the keys of the belfry; yet—it was no trick of his imagination, for, after a tense interval, another dull clang echoed down the night; and presently another, like the booming of a funeral knell. With a chill creeping up his spine, the gray, gnarled old man recalled a legend that the belfry was haunted by the ghost of a man who had wronged E friend, and, in a fit of remorse, had flung himself from the tower on some forgotten Christmas; Bargle had known folks who spoke to hearing the hell toll mysteriously on Christmas eves before he was born, but he had not half believed them, and had never heard it himself —until now. That was it sounding again! He was no coward nor superstitious, and a swift, irresistible impulse seized and drove him to fathom this strange happening. His very excitement braced him and put new strength into his limbs. He lighted a lantern, and, helping his halting steps with a stout stick, made for the village and waked up the youth who assisted him in his duties. “Dost hear yon bell, Amos?” he called, quaveringly. “Ey, Mr. Bargle,” and Bargle was relieved to have his hearing thus cor roborated. “Who be it oop there, I wonner?” “Put your coat on smartly, lad. I m goiu’ to see.” Silent, and quaking with cold or nervousness, they moved noiselessly over the muffling snow, turned the wall of the churchyard, and, Bargle grimly leading, filed in through the creaking lych gate. The narrow' path between the graves brought them to the porch, and here Bargle, who entered first, stopped, fumbling for his keys, and suddenly held the lantern lower with a husky cry of alarm. In the glimmering light of the lan tern, a woman lay huddled close to the church door, with a child rolled in a shawl, and clasped tightly in her arms. “Alice!"faltered the old man,“Alice!” He flung himself on his knees be- Bide her, crying out, clasping her cold hands, and appealing wildly and help lessly to those who were with him, for she lay as still and unresponsive as If she were dead. They took the child, which woke and whimpered, and dispatched Amoe With it to the nearest cottage. “Tell ’em to light a fire,” said one of the men; “an’ get you on, lad, an’ get the doctor there against we come.” Then the two lifted the woman be tween them, and the old man, trem ulously, distractedly, leading with the lantern, carried her with what speed they could in the direction that Amos had taken. And every minute still the bell re iterated its heavy, monotonous clang, though, for the nonce, they had al most ceased to be aware of it; Bargle had become indifferent to it altogeth er, and only gradually awoke to it again as he sat holding his daughter’s hand, watching the life rekindle in her eyes, and listening to her feeble whis perings. “It is a long way from the station,” she was telling him. satisfied with the forgiveness she could read in his every tone and look: “and when I got as far as the church I was so tired and faint —and I fancied about that time to-night you would be there, in the belfry; so I went to the church, but the door was locked, and —” Bargle turned to a touch on his shoulder. “The vicar is waiting, with several others, in the next room,” said the doctor. “They want the key of the belfry, but I think you had better go with them —you are talking to my pa tient more than is good for her. Come!” Bargle hesitated a moment, then stooped to kiss the pale face on the pillow, and submissively obeyed. Up the steep, narrow stone stairway of the belfry tower, up. and up, and up they clattered, one after the other, till at last they streamed in hcross the hollow-sounding floor of the belfry, and there through the ceiling the three ropes dangled in the shadowy emptiness, moved by no visible agency; and yet, even as the palpitat “WHAT ARE YOU DOING - HERE, YOUNG MASTERS ?” ing little group paused, the iron clang boomed again close above them. “Someone's up in the bell chamber,” said Bargle, dubiously. By right of his office and of his familiarity with the place, Bargle mounted first with his lantern, the others trailing up after him. In a twinkling, he tiad jerked the trap door open, and stepping into the bell chamber, peered eagerly around, and was startled by a vision of two white faces gazing from the shadow of one of the bells. “Why!” he ejaculated, “what are you doing here, young masters?” For he recognized them instantly as the Squire’s two sons, down at Peri dale for a holiday. They came forward shivering, but evidently bent on showing that they were unperturbed. “It’s all right. Bargle,” cried the older of them; “you have been a long time coming.” “But why are you here. James?” In quired the vicar, reprovingly, “O, we nipped out after we'd gone up to bed, sir,” said the boy, “and came to ring the bells.” “But I've got the keys,” muttered Bargle. “We crawled through the belfry window.” “There was no need to come so high as this, though—” “No. It was too early to begin when we got here, so we came up to see what it was like in here; and all in a jiffy the trapdoor slammed down and the candle blew out, and we’d left the matches below. We couldn’t feel where the trap was in the dark, but we found one of the bells —” He fal tered. shuddering reminiscently, but added, forcing a laugh: “It’s your fault really, Bargle. If you hadn’t said you wouldn't ring the bells—no bells at Christmas! —never heard of such a thing!—we shouldn’t have come.” “If you hadn’t come, young mas ters —” Bargle stopped as if his words choked him. He thought of the white face he had left lying on the pillow, and could not believe it was by mere accident or by human hands only that the warning bell had summoned him there in time. “Amos!” he cried, sharply, motion ing to his assistant; “get thee down, lad. It’s more’n time we was makin* a start!” DECORATIONS FOR HOLIDAY All Manner of Pretty Fixtures, from Peanuts in Tissue Paper to Red Cranberries. Peanuts wrapped in yellow, red and white fringed tissue paper and tied on pendant lengths of strings, three or four to each, are splendid decora tions when tied to the limbs of the Christmas tree. Red strings of cranberries, with knots of narrow satin ribbons tied here and there on the strands, are about as pretty as anything that could be bought for either tree, table or room ornamentation. Gilding English walnuts becomes a delightful frolic if several young peo ple are in the secret. Crack open the nuts so there will be two perfect half shells to each. Inside the empty nuts place a mottto or device which will tell the fortune of the one receiving it. Then glue the shells firmly to gether. When dry work a tack in the end where the stem grew, Inserting if slowly that the shell may not break, ind the entire nut, fasten a strinj around the tack and hang the interest i ing nuts on the tree. I A PAUPER PLUTOCRAT i ■■■ -■ ■ ■ I By H. M. WALBROOK SW1 ACK CRAYTON’S posi a f''M S t * cm at m ' that Christmas eve was as follows: He had 15 cents and a stam p in his pocket, and the SK.. ' MSS. of six returned novels on his table; he owed his landlady 11 weeks’ rent for his bed-sitting-room, to say nothing of other charges for incidental meals, etc.; and at the so-called “Chop House” at which he generally break fasted, lunched, dined and supped, he had an account which had already gone as far as it could. Such, we re peat, was his position at 9:50 p. m. on that eventful night. At 9:51 p. m. a sharp rat-tat at the hall door far be low betokened the passing of the last post; and two minutes later Jack stood in the center of his room with his hair on end and a wild look in his eye, holding in one hand a letter from a well-known fi?m of solicitors and in the other a draft for $5,000. His Uncle Alick had at last fulfilled an oft-repeated threat, and left this world for a better and his nephew with a check. He executed a few short steps of a danse eccentrique; fluttering the oblong piece of pink paper wildly over his head: and then, when be had mopped his brow and calmed his soul, he placed the check in his pocket book, buttoned up his jacket, took a seat on the corner of the bed, and pro ceeded to soliloquize. “Five thousand dollars. Very use ful indeed. Now what shall I do? To-morrow is Christmas day. Where shall I dine—Carlton or the Prince’s? Or —better still—shall I take the mid night train to Brighton and spend the holiday there? Hang it, I can’t do that! My dress suit is a rag. 1 know what I’ll do. I’ll just toddle down stairs and tell Mrs. Steinhauser my luck. Bless her, won’t she be delight ed! Then I’ll just borrow a fiver from her and spend to-morrow in town; and the day after I'll trot around to the bank and open an ac count. Whirroo!” And he sent forth a yell that shook the frozen window panes. Then he scampered downstairs. “Mrs. Steinhauser, you have always been the best of landladies, and I can not tell you how much I have felt it. I am afraid I have been a bit of a care; but everything is now all right. No more trouble! No more ‘honorable intentions!’ All that sort of thing is at an end. lam a rich man—a hillion ist —a plutocrat —a bloated Croesus!” And his eyes danced with delight. “I am very gratified to hear it, Mr. Drayton,” said the large lady, taking a neatly-folded paper from a rack at the side of the mantelpiece and hand ing it to him with a smile. It was his bill —total amount $42.25. “A bagatelle!” said Jack, airily. “A foolish trifle! You shall have it on Friday morning. The hanks are closed to-morrow and Thursday, but on Friday, dear Mrs. Steinhauser, you shall have the amount in solid gold and silver of the brightest. Mean while, I am going to ask you a small favor, if I may.” Mrs. Steinhauser looked uneasy. “1 want you to he good enough to lend me $25, just to see me through to-morrow and the next day.” “Sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Steinhauser. her spacious bosom heaving beneath its professional black satin and passe menterie. “Sir! Are you pleased to he humorous?” “Humorous? Of course not. I have $5,000 in my pocket.” “Indeed! Perhaps you wouldn’t mind showing me a hundred or so?” observed Mrs. Steinhauser, with pon derous sarcasm. “I'll show you the lot,” said Jack, and he produced the check and held it proudly forth. “Thank you,” said Mrs. Steinhauser, “you’ll excuse me, but I’ve seen those things before.” And her black eye brows lowered ominously. When she had recovered herself, she continued: “I sincerely hope, Mr. Drayton, that you will settle that account of mine on Friday: for my expenses at this time of the year are very heavy. I am sorry I cannot let you have the $25,” And she turned to her ledger, and Jack turned to the door. “I’ll troi around to the chop house,” he said to himself. “Old Jorkins is a rough diamond, but he'll do it.” And he hurried ou a rather dingy hat, helped himself into a frayed overcoat and sallied forth. Mr. Jorkins was turning out the lights for the night. The premises smelt unpleasingly of vinegar and stale coffee. “Good evening, sir. It’s too late to serve you with anything now. We're shuttin' up,” said Mr. Jorkins, not over amiably. “That’s all right,” said Jack. “I merely dropped in as I was passing, to say that I shall be settling that lit tle bill of yours on Friday. I’d do it for you to-morrow, only the banks will be closed.” Mr. Jorkins beamed. “Thank you, sir. I won’t go for to say as ’ow it won’t be welcome. If you was to see the bills I ’ave to pay at this time of the year —well, you wouldn’t want to go for to keep a bloomin’ chop ’ouse!” And Mr. Jorkins held up both hands in awe as he thought of the immensity of his liabilities. “M’yes,” murmured Jack, who was sorry the conversation had taken this turn. “M’yes. Well. I’ve got rather a big check here. And the fact is I just popped in to see if you could lend me sls or S2O till Friday.” "Lend you sls or $20?” gasped Jor kins. “Only till Friday,” said Jack. “It’ll be all right then.” Mr. Jorkins’ sole reply was to stare like a gargoyle, with eyeballs dis tended and mouth wide open. “Are you ill?” At that question Mr. Jorkins recov ered his self-command. Closing his eyes for a moment, and passing a moist hand across his brow, he at last broke the silence by saying very slow ly and cuttingly: "Really, sir, you surprise me some* what. You run ujf a bill of a matter of $lO and more—a thing entirely against my rules and a special favor to yourself. And then you come here on Christmas eve and talk about a big check, and ask me to lend you sls or S2O! It’s a bit ’ot. sir!—a bit ot!” “But I have $5,000 in my pocket.** “Then pay my bill.” “I can t to-night.” “Not out of $5,000?” “Not till Friday, you wooden-headed idiot!” said Jack, losing his temper. “Thank you, sir,” said Jorkins, bow ing low; and then proceeding with deadly calm; “I’ll wait till Friday at noon, and if you haven’t settled up by then I’ll put you in the court; and you may put that in your pipe and smoke it! Good night.” Again Jack passed into the snow clad street, where a boy who had been playfully lurking behind a lamp post flung a snowball at him with such dex terity that it knocked his hat off. The happy child ran away, and Jack in a fury ran after him. and fell over. “Gad!” he muttered to himself, as he picked himself up and went back for the hat, “it’s a fine thing to have $5,000, but I’m blessed if it seems to make much difference.” The prospects of his Christmas were beginning to be a little gloomy. "Aha! Dibbs, the tobacconist! He’ll do it!” Off he started again, looking dingier than ever, for his hat was dented, and the snow and dust had stained his coat. “Good evening, Dibbs. How’s busi , ness?” “Business would he excellent, sir, if people would pay the bills they owe.” said Mr. Dibbs. curtly, as he replaced in its box a cracked Havana which a customer had just refused. Jack reddened. He had forgotten that he owed Dibbs $4.25, and that he “LEND YOU?” GASPED JORKINS. had consequently avoided the shop for the past month or so. “I shall be wanting some cigars on Friday,” he went on at last, “and you can keep me a couple of boxes of your best Soberinos —those at S2O the hun dred. I’ll call for them on Friday.” “Wouldn’t you prefer to send you* man for them?” sneered .Mr. Dibbs. “I have just received a little legacy of $5,000,” observed Jack, quietly, “Oh! Is that it? I congratulate you, sir.” said Mr. Dibbs, with an eager change of manner. “There is a little bill outstanding, sir, 1 fancy, but, ol course, there ain’t no ’urry about that, P’r’aps you’d prefer to take the cigars with you now, sir?” “Well, perhaps a dozen; the rest you can send around on Friday. Oh, by the way—this $5,000 is in a check which I can’t change till the banka reopen. Would you mind lending me a fiver just to take me over Christ mas?” “Take you over Christmas?” echoed Mr. Dibbs. blankly, and assuming an aspect so very similar to that of Mr. Jorkins in response to the same re quest, that Jack almost laughed. “Take you over Christ mas? Excuse me a-sayin’ of it., but you’ll be taken over to the police station if you come them little check dodges too often. You take my tip and—" But Jack had not waited. Once more he stood in the cold, cold street with $5,000 in his pocket that, for all the use it was to him. he might just as well light his pipe with. However, he had made up his mind to trouble no one else in the matter; so back to his room he trudged, buy ing six stale two-cent buns on the way; and upon these, and tea. he made his breakfast, dinner and tea that Christmas day and the day following. On the Friday he went to the bank, feeling pretty cheap, opened an ac count. and was able to arrange with the manager for sufficient immediate accommodation to settle up with Mrs. Steinhauser. Mr. Jorkins and Mr. Dibbs; a task which he performed with so much good humor that, they, one and all. regretted their suspicions of two days before. Drayton is now a famous man and his novels are read far and wide; but he always says that the quaintest experience of his whole life was his starving his way through a Christmas day with $5,000 in his pocket. CHRISTMAS TREE FEATURE. Dancing Dolls Above Parlor Decor ation Produces Pretty Effect for Holiday. Dancing Christmas fairies always en hance the children's delight in the Christmas tree, and once made can be used year after year, says Woman's Home Companion. Buy up a dozen or more of five and teu-cent dolls, and to add to the variety have among the num ber some Japanese and colored dolls. Dress these to represent fairies in bright hues of spangled gauze, tarlatan or tis sue paper, and liberally sprinkle their hair and garments with diamond-dust powder. Each doll should be provided with a dainty pair of fairy wings made from spangled tissue paper and fastened to the body by means of concealed wires. These wires should be coiled to obtain motion in the wings, and nothing better can be used than the fine spiral coila that come out of worn-out, wire-stitched brooms. The least motion will set this spiral to quivering, causing the wings to move as if in flight. In like manner use the spiral wire to attach the dolls in hovering positions over and around the tree. The effect is magical; every foot step causes jar enough to start the dolla dancing and circling above and around the tree, as if invisible fairtes of the air had come down to join him in the Christmas glee. * Carving the Christmas Turkey To carve the Christmas turkey skill fully and successfully requires a knowledge more than that acquired by general observation. To the amateur carver as he watches the practiced hand it seems the simplest thing in the world, but when he attempts to duplicate the feat he soon discovers that a careful study of the bird s an atomy is necessary. At the Christmas dinner the turkey is of first importance and the proper handling o° the fowl means much toward the success of the viand. The host usually manipulates the carving knife and fork. There seems to be a tradition that on this day the bird In all its brown and savory splen dor should be placed Intact upon the table. A thin, sharp-bladed knife and —' 7 Plunge the fork upright into the renter of the breastbone. The drumstick is re moved by a single stroke of the knife, hit ting the joint exactly. a platter of sufficient size to hold tha fowl and Us disjointed portions are necessary to enable the carver to worh with neatness and dexterity. Whether it is good form to sit or stand while accomplishing the work depends entirely upon the comfort ol the performer. There is also a ques tion as to whether the head of the tur key should be to the carver’s right or left. This is also for the individual to decide, hut generally the head is tu the left, as the wings and legs are more easily disjointed with a stroke from left to right. If tHe company be small and the bird one of good size, carve from one side only. The othei side may be reserved for slicing cold, The first move of the carver is to in sert tlie fork astride the breastbone, at the point, plunging it deep enough A V-shaped cut toward the joint separates the thigh and drumstick. to secure a firm hold. Then remove the drumstick with one stroke of the knife, first cutting through the skin down to the joint, hitting it squarely. It is a little difficult to locate thia joint, but by pressing the leg away from the side of the turkey it is read ily found. It is claimed that the expert carver does not remove the fork from the breast until he has quite finished. Bo that as it may. it is quite necessary to use the fork in separating the thigh from t lie “drumstick,” and too “hip” is a favorite part with many. To accomplish tiiis. make a V-shaped cut toward the joint, holding the thigh against the side of the turkey with the fork. The “drumstick” drops off neat ly into the platter. The next stroke removes the wing. A deep cut through the ball and socket joint severs this with a part of tha breast meat. To strike the joint squarely the first time requires skill, though sometimes it is done very neat- I I ■ A licat stroke through the ball and socket jtiru severs the wing. ly by pure luck, and this calls forth, most favorable comment from the ex pectant hungry assemblage. If the knife doesn’t strike the joint at first, move it back and forth, pressing the wing away from the body, disclosing the ball of the joint, then cut through and the wing is detached. When this process is completed tha disjointed portions are laid to one side of the platter, or put on a separate plate, to allow of free space for slicing the breast meat. The Way It Goes. Mrs. Newlywed—Jack, dear. I want you to promise that you won’t buy anything expensive for Christmas. You know we shall have to have anew range in the kitchen, and there's tha plumber’s bill to pay, and we must economize. Jack —Why. I thought I gave you money for those things the other day. "Oh, yes! But I had to spend most of it on your Christmas presents. Brooklyn Life. “Plum’ Full.” Plenty of Christmas pudding Is Ilk# ly to make one feel pium fall.