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The Hermit of
Rocky Hole ] [ By CLARISSA MACKIE I Mra. Stevens panteu Into the sitting room where her boarder was sewing tn the sunny bay window. Saturday and the school-teacher's holi day. It was Grace Wlnton looked up from her mending and smiled at Mrs. Stevens' eager oountedance. "You look as If you had news to tell," she suggeeted, threading her needle. The other woman toeeed aside her knitted shawl and warmed ber bands at the drum stove where the apple wood smoke curled fragrantly from the cracks. "There's more news than sommon,' she wheeled asthmatically. "You've heard tell about the hermit « t Rooky Hole?" she asked. "I've heard the children tell tales About such a person," admitted Graoe, with Interest, mythical personage—Is there really an hermit in Pendleton?" Mra. Stevens nodded her head em phatically. "I should say there was! Rich, too. and lives In that cave high up on the west mountain. Hole, they call It, because you can't get anywhere near it without being heard; there are so many rooks around they go tumbling down the hillsides at every footstep you take. He's mighty unsociable, too, they aay." I thought be was s a In Rocky "Hermits have that reputation, I be lieve," said Graoe demurely. "Do tell me. Is your news about this hermit?" "Yes. You see, he's been coming here for years. Every spring when the first robin comes that hermit makes his appearance; nobody ever gats very close to see him for he has A big dog to keep folks off. And I don't know how he gets his foodstuff because he don't trade in the village —maybe Uvea on roots and berries And snob truck. .with a long white beard and he walks k kh a stick as If he were lame." "What becomes of him In the win ter?" asked Grace curiously. "Some say he goes to the olty and plays an organ on the street oorner. I've heard those folks make lots of He's an old man * mi » r & M / 7 |l|>* I an' he (J •'Do You Want to Qe on a Ptenlo Wit Xj-efgiet- Me, Lonr money. He owns half the mountain, they say. Well, what I was going to tell yon about is this: Mr. Lane, the storekeeper, says he believes the old man la sick or dying or something." "Why?" "Somebody heard him calling for help yesterday morning, some hunter who was passing along the upper road that's seldom used—It leads almost underneath where the Rooky Hole Is. flo the man hollered up and aaka If Anything Is the matter. Just then the hermit began to throw stones down -on him, round stones, big enough to knock a man senseless. So the hunt er saya, says he, 'Go to the dickens— 1 guess there ain't much the matter with you!' wasn't any smoke coming from the mountain this morning and he reck ons something's the matter." "What Is going to be done shout It? Surely, somebody will go up end see the old man." said Grace pity ingly. The school-teacher was looking off toward the west mountain slopes with misty eyes. She turned her heed to Mrs. Stevens. "Not today, thank yon." «he said gently. "I'm going on a lit tle picnic this afternoon—with one of my scholars." "It's a nice day for a picnic if you're well wrapped up. There's plenty In the pantry to put In your basket and you can help yourself, you know," said the other hospitably. An hour after dinner, Grace Wlnton set forth with a covered basket on her arm. She stopped once or twice and made additions to the generous lunch Mrs. Stevens had provided, s to Mr. Lane says there ly can of soup and a glass of Jelly from the grocery and a bottle of black' berry wine from the little drug store. Then she walked briskly over the bridge, turned Into the road that led past the mill and balled the miller's little lad who waa Hulling in the tum bling stream. "Do y^u want to gr on a picnic with me, Ixm?" she called. "Yea, ma'am," he called delighted ly and after obtaining permission from his mother he Joined hla teacher and together they walked through the woods where the fallen leaves crisped under foot and where the odor of birch and sassafras smelled strong and sweet. "Lon, do you know the way to the hermit's cave?" she asked quietly. Lon stared at her with paling cheeks. "You're not going there. Miss Grace ?" he faltered. "Yes, I am, my dear. If you don't go with me and show the way I most go alone, for an old man Is hurt there and perhaps dying. Before we enjoy our own picnic- we must see him. You can turn back now If you want to." She looked at him, confident of his an swer. Lon straightened his shoulders and his ears reddened with pride and em barrassment as he led the way through a tangled thicket and by devious other ways until they stood In a narrow path, well defined and cov ered with a clear white sand. "That leads to the cavo," whispered Lon cautiously. "Me and some fel lows found It one day—It comes from over the mountain—I guess that's the way he goes to and fro. We was after bird's eggs last summer—there's millions of birds around here—and the old man came and chased us off." "Who Is there?" called a feeble voice from within the cave. "Friends!" replied Grace cheerily. "Are you In trouble?" "Yes—fell and sprained my ankle yeaterday and I've been suffering tor tures since then. I've tried to get help from outside but everyone acts so con foundedly Idiotic every time a stone rattles down the hillside that I'd about given It up. Walt a moment please and I'll come out." "He's got a nice voice," whispered Lon to his teacher as they waited for the hermit's appearance. "Very likely he's the nicest old gentleman you ever met," she smiled back at him. "Here he comes now." With that expression of tenderest pity lighting her face Grace Wlnton saw a man drag himself painfully from the opening of the cave. Her eyes widened as she realized that this was no old man—young, handsome and athletic looking, the picture of health, save for a certain drawn look In his face that Intense suffering might have plaoed there, he half crept, half hobbled to a sitting posi tion In the mouth of the cave and then he fainted dead away. When Grace and Lon had recovered from their astonishment and bent themselves to resuscitate the stranger, the hoy spoke: "This Isn't the hermit. Miss Graoe." "Never mind," she said absently, as she propped his head against her bhoulder and forced some of the blackberry wine between his lips. "He's In need of help anyway. Un bandage his ankle, Lon—carefully my dear—there. It Is black and blue and dreadfully swelled. Can you fetoh water from the stream? Doesn't It run above here?" » I Is Lon deshed sway with a pall and when he returned with the Icy water he fo 1 the young man recovered er uhainsd of his momentary weakness. Sitting with hie Injured foot In the cold water he told the two that his uncle, thehermlt, was none wayhewood Stone, well d other than known ornithologist who had used the cave as a summer point of observation to study his beloved birds. Now that the old waa crippled with rheu matism and confined to his beautiful city home, this nephew, Frank Stone, had come to take his uncle's place and gather the necessary data for the old man's forthcoming hook of bird-lore. "Now we must get a doctor up to you at onoe," said Graoe, preparing to leave after Mr. Stone had wrung the story of their coming from her un willing Ups. "And you will want a man to keep house for you If you In sist on remaining up here—Mra. Stev ens' son might oome and take care oi you." "I believe I'll get the doctor to take me down to the hotel In Pendleton," said Stone thoughtfully. "There ain't no birds down there," ventured Lon diffidently. "Leastways not new ones." It It There la one new to mw a winter red bird," returned Stone without looking at Graoe, as she t»* trn i r 1 sway, her heart fluttering with hla warm thanks of appreciation. "I'm glad I'm not an old hermit," he added to himself as he waited pa tiently for the coming of the doctor. Months afterward, Mrs. Stevens held up ber hands In astonishment "Land alive, Mias Wlnton, now »»-«t you're going to marry Mr. Stone, there won't be no hermit that oan live safe ly on the mountain—ell the girls will be going up there to see If he ain't as rich and good looking aa your htu»> band!" MODES ®r ^ moment r /2V V 1 il r & m a « », w II: % 1 'll ! hue 1 1 I i I ii, ï mL ï// VI ft. Ii m /i \ 1 171 S' P a woman desire to make a coat or cloak of any descrip tion she should not attempt It unless her previous work has led her by suscessful de w jbjj grees up to it I She should havs had enough experience to be able successfully to make dresses of different kinds and materials, which will mean also that she has learned to handle material properly. Then It will not be too difficult and discoura ging work for there can be nothing more trying than to labor over soma piece of work and have It unsatisfac tory when finished. For general, every day wear there Is no more useful garment than a long coat, and never has the long coat played a more Important part In the wardrobe than It does today, w r i tes Anna R. Morehouse, In the Chicago Tribune. fo. [ 6 . An evening cloak eeems a necesalty and If one feels capable to attempt the making of these things, the work Is pretty certain to be a real pleasure, besides being an eocnomy. Broadcloth or velvet are too difficult materials to handle, to chooee at first for the evening cloak, on aeoount of the nap. Silk and wool poplin, heavy aatln, or serge or cheviot will be suit able. For the asperate coat there are the homespuns, which ere popular this tweeds, or serge wor af—cheviots, ids. Ac. y* ste Measures for any garment ere al ways taken over one's dress, and In buying a coat pattern give the bust measure the same as you would for s Tatst patberr Buy Pattern First. It is sensible to buy a pattern be fore the material. Tbe pieces of the pattern oan be held up to one to see If the length to right, and one can figure carefully on the amount needed of the ooat material, the aatln lining and everything which will be necessary In the making. If the material chosen Cor the coat Is woolen. It must be shrunken, and this can be done at the place where the purchase to made, or It oan be done at home. Wring a sheet out of cold water, lay It out fiat on a table, and lay the coat material on It—leaving the material folded down the middle. Roll the sheet and cloth up together, watching esreCully to see that you keep both smooth. Allow this to lay over night, or until the oloth Is thoroughly damp ened, than take out of the sheet and on the wrong side until perfectly sr First Method of Making. Out the ooat tint out of some old nmrntn which has been pressed ■mooth. end baste together ee careful ly ae If you were rawing on the coat kaatattaL In trying on for a fitting. fasten together down the front as ac curately as If the fastenings were on. Another point to remember Is to do, the trying on over as heavy a dress 1 Work ■ as you will likely wear It over, over this trial material until It Is per fect In line, shape and length, then cut apart exactly on the seam lines and press out again. 1 In using this cloth for a pattern to eut the material by, do not forget to allow enough space between the pieces for the necessary seams. Chalk these plalnly, using French chalk In a color i whlch will show distinctly. Where there is no up and down to he looked out for, one can lay the pieces on the material, with the latter folded down the middle, thus cutting two at one time. It the pattern measures too wide on any piece to do this, the doth will have to be opened out, and the two ende folded together, because there should be no piecing If It can be avoid ed. Mark all seams close to the mus lin, with tailors' tacks, pleoes of the pattern, cut the tacks apart, being careful to leave thread In each piece of the cloth, and haste the seams together and try on. There should be no alterations, still, one should take the precaution to try the coat on so as to make sure. The fronta are reinforced with the softest quality of tailor's canvas, and this strip should reach up to the shoulders, and be stitched In with the seam. Of pressing there has been no men tion, although It constitutes one of the moat Important parts of the work. It is difficult to give much Idea of this work In a few words and there Is not space for more, but each part of the work should he pressed as the coat progresses, and no prints of the Iron 1 must be left. Remove the Never hold the Iron long In any one place, and If by chance there Is s gloss anywhere, sponge the place lightly and brush against the nap with a clothes brush. This usually removes It Where the pressing has to be done right side, lay a heavy piece of bleached muslin over the part, then wring a sponge out of cold water and rub one way over the muslin, dampen ing it evenly. Press, but do not Iron frequently lifting the cloth to see that it to being done well. Always press until the material Is absolutely dry. In cutting the lining out, allow down the middle back team, besides the ular seam allowance, one inch on the un reg more. Whea stitching the seam together stitch It one-quarter of an inch from the edge, press It open, and bring the traoed lines msrking the position of the regular seam line over to the stitched seam, making an Inverted plait This 1s nsoessary, ss the lining most be looter than the ooat every* | where. WHO MADE FOOTPRINTS QUESTION THAT HAS SCIENTISTS IN A QUANDARY. Undoubtedly There, In a Solid Rock at Croton, N. Y., But How They Came There Is Something That Puzzles the Wisest. Mysterious footprints in the solid rock on the east and west banks of 1 the Hudson at Croton, N. Y., have puzzled the scientists, who believe' them to have been made by a primeval man before the Stone Age. On the* east shore, along the old Albany post road and at the bottom of a steep hill belonging to the A. P. Gardiner es tate, lies a huge bowlder shadowed by tall trees, the Imprint of a pair of human feet placed side by side, as if a barefooted man had walked down the hill and stood on the spot while the stone waa still soft and yielding from nature's crucible. Every toe Is clearly defined, and judging from the mold he left in the granite the foot of this ancient man was both large and shapely. Be hind the footprints, all the way to the top of the rock, are a series of pecu liar indentations such as the links of a heavy chain would make on soft earth. Exactly opposite, on High Tar moun tain, on the other side of the Hudson, the footprints again appear on the rock, but with the heels turned toward the river, as If the man wa 3 traveling away from It due west, measurement the footprints on both, sides of the river correspond In ev ery particular and were undoubtedly made by the same pair of feet. Its smooth surface bears By actual Many weird and wonderful legends have been read from the footprints In the rock. One of these attributes them to the devil, who was chained up In Connecticut for a number of years, but finally escaped and fled Into New York. Dragging his chain after him, he paused on the boulder at the foot of Hessian Hill to rest before he contin ued his flight to the vast Adirondack wilderness. Hpsslan Hill rock are pointed out as the marks of his chain, and the foot prints on High Tar as further corro borative evidence of the truth of this tale. Another story relates that a cave The Indentations In the man was approached from the rear by a terrible many-legged Ferpent as he stood upon the boulder, and that he was so frightened he leaped clear across the Hudson and landed on the other side. The indentations are sup . . , P 086 " to have been made b > r tbe ser * pen t' s l e 6 8 > 'which were In a row, one behind the other, Indian file. A famous professor on first viewing tb ® footprints advanced the theory that they were made by the "missing link ' befor ® be shed his caudal ap P end *K®. which trailed In the prehls tor,c claîr bebind him while he scanned tbe surrounding landscape for some tbln S K° od for breakfast. This ac counted for the indentations and scor «d one for the Darwinian theory, The devil legend seems to have hit the public fancy, though, for the big boul der at Hessian Hill Is known as the Devil's Rock, and Croton people point to the strange fact that nothing will grow In the unholy footprints, while the surface of the rock elsewhere Is covered with gray-green lichens and thick moss. The Mohegans, who built their signal fires on the top of Hessian Hill before the first Dutch trader set tled there to give rum and firearms for furs, regarded the giant boulder with deep veneration, and believed the footprints to have been made by the Great Spirit when he created tho world. Likely to Keep Him Busy. Mrs. Bacon—I never saw a puzzle He's really Mr. Bacon—I wish you'd my brother couldn't do. a wonder, take this timetable down to him and see If he can make anything out of it —Yonkers Statesman. Uncle Joe's Divination. One summer, in the back woods of Missouri, where I had accompanied Uncle Joe Cannon on a tour of the state stumping, a funny incident curred at the close of a speech which the former speaker had delivered to a crowd of rustics, one of whom ap proached with extended hand, saying, with warmth: "Hulloo, Mr. Cannyun! don't 'member me." "Of course I remember you!" said the other, accepting the proffered hand of the farmer, well. Indeed. And the old white mule—how's ho pulling along?" "By crackey!" laughed the farmer. "To think you'd 'member old Petal, Oh, he's still eatln' thankee." oc Reckon ye "I remember you very How's the good wife? his head off. Later In the evening I spoke to Can non &nd ft * ked him how he chanced u P° n the mule episode, " To confess the truth," smiled tho old man » "sach a thing never entered mind. 1 didn't know the man from Adam; but when I saw a long whit* | hair on his coat I took a chance '' Judge.