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T 171 t B 'til " V'AS .ti Lristtais n.--ir. n;r. A !. i n r. three r i I'icti- car. Had vac'.. Io s t..-u To mark ll.c. holid.t. Mu r -.las a stalei n-.i-.Ion With lurc-v r.nd s;.re ah ;r; MayV was a dinn ond n- cklure. And ra.ae nai i;--lana's l-i . "Hacd'n suitor ita a tank-r. White Iiairc-I and -:oa! and u'l; .And May'sa ".road jiattician '.Vtlh wcJUj f Iai.d and 1J. Kut sntse tj. ja-l a toih-r i-ostrtl rath han-l-l-- ia-t; lie had btit lhl t.oSir- A tier aodloi m.7 h:ar"- Tland Icadn. ilthln h-r rai.ni3. An empty ot sti.r. Ami May rw-ii jewel-, on t A hiart that throbs with bo; ltul In ray heart f m icr a vr xfcjjr her joy. u- lars; jhi-Ushins all tnv l.tir-lrns Ami trihtens sll my cajs. "are ceras and state ly aiaasii'n Aro Ira: tht price of c.il.l; tlut loieiii syc od cirru Acd never !co:lt r sold. It is the soul's (jlad sunshine; It ts the heart's sivtfi rest; And, rich tr poor, m I-iia;; We are texevtr West. Then oh. l-e plait this raoreliiK K such a pilt Is yours, yvrjrold-tK.ught jojs arc chanceful, ltul honest lor-- endure-. Thwish tow ly any yr.ur lot c. In royal slat-- apart Cod crowns you wbi n He :vc.- yo'l The lore of on Inr heart. Adelaide I. Ki-yn. liK in t"prin;'tlcM .Mass.! 1S ruhliean. KW mer live anions more d r c ary s u r ronndinps than t ac toppers who po every fall into the preat norlhetn pine f:nests. In one of Aleck l'orman's camps, in northern Minnesota, aecordinply were located in the w inter of IS some forty of the ronph plants who make up these little communities. They had settled for the season in the usual fashion and were 'ookinp forward with the iaolc of interest natural under the circum htanccs, to a lonely Christinas, when the monotony of camp life vas broken. It is seldom broken except in one way, and this was in accordance with llie rule. An accident happened. In some mysterious way John Davidson, the oldest and most experienced man in the "panp,"' manaped to slip and fall nartly under a fallinp trunk and was picked up senseless. Tin! foreman, Qiarlie Andrews, was somewhat skilled in trcatinp ordinary I -tiises and frac tures, and he examined Davidson care fully, cxpectinp to find several of his bones broken, but none of them were, and the men thought their comrade would soon recover. One eveninp when Andrews had fin ished as careful an examination f the unfortunate man as he knew how to make, and had been able to pet sonic few replies to his Uestions. he said to the others: "I'm afraid it'.s no use. I dunuo what I kin do fur him. He's hurt inside somewhercs en' he seems to Ik? failin' rapid. 1 reckon he's poin" tcr cash in." There was silence in the little proup for a few moments, and then .be 1V1 ton spoke tip. .loo was one of the younpest men in camp, beinp only twenty-one. but he was almost :. piant Kvcrybody in camp knew that Joe was very much in love with Davidsoifb pretty daughter. May. and also that ho had a very slender chance of winning her, for "he was a rather reckless yonnpster and the elder man was sus picious of him. "Don't you reckon he'd ought to be taken to Minneapolis".'" said Jk. "Yes.'' said Andrews, "but I don't lflieve he can pel there in time. There's three foot " snow on the trail now, and there ain't a team in camp that wouldn't break down on the road."" "Well." said Joe. very slowly, "if toii fellers "11 make me a lipht sled to-, night, I'll pull him down. It's only a little over fifty miles, an" I reckon I kin make it in two days." "I dunno," said Andrews., doubtfully. "I reckon it's "likely you c'd git through if anybody could, but ycr mighty like ly tor break- doun. an' if ycr do it's all day with yer."." "1 know it." replied Joe. coolly, "but I'll risk it. If I git him home he may have a chance, an if I don t h won't be n worse off "n he is now." "Yes, but you will." said one of the other men. Til take my chances."' said Joe apain, and they all saw ho was in earnest. One of the men. John Williams, of fered to po. too. but Joe declined. "If 1 kin pit through at all." he said. "1 kin do it alone, an" there's no use i more than one takin" the risk. I'll tnrn in now an' git a good sleep an' take an early start." t Joe started at daybreak and John Williams insisted on going a pat t of the way with him to lighten the work in some degree. As they started every man in the camp gripivd the hand f the stalwart yimngst.r in what each one thought was a last farewell. Alniut noon Williams returned to camp alone ami almost broken down with fatigue. "I dragged the sleigh nigh live miles." he said, "an" I knew I eouhin"t git back at all if I didn't turn then Sol turned. I tried to git Joe ter come back. too. f'r I don't lo licve he'll ever git through alive, though he was fresh enough when 1 left him. 1'iit Joe's good grit. He ony clinched his teeth "n said he was poin' ter make the best stagger ho could to wards gittin" thar. Kf anybody kin. he kin, but I reckon we've seen the last o both of "em."' toe's story. "You know the old man was wander in" a bit licforc we started." Joe used to say. "an' the greatest fc.tr 1 had about the trip was that lie d go clean crazy out thar in th" wood, fur it seemed to me "a if I'd go crazy, too. cf be did. E 'twas. 1 sometimes, think 1 kinder lost my wits fur u spoil. Twas powerful hard work plowing along over the snow, "specially where they was drifts, "it 1 reckon I must er lost mor 'a five or six mile goin' round th-j biggefct on 'iii. Luckily, though, there M'ss.n'1 miiTSv on "cm an' the most o' the 'A'ter Wi.liams left mc. I begun to feel, right away. one thing I'd dreaded mighty bad. n" that was the awful loneliness o tli w.rhIs. I in- Winn was a sighin through tin big tree-, like it il ways docs when tlit-y ts any wmn at an it voiinili'il vilsiti'l " li.otirnful tliat it put all sort-. " Ilisli notions into my lica.l. IVaivU liKf mo er. trees was "-.rrv for inc. an' that bciu to male tin- f'd vorry f'r mysi-lf, an" somctimr's 1M almost bn-ak ilown an' crv. 1 was always kiml o lianJ.v alxiiit roekonin" tlistaiKnM in llie imK an 1 foutiil I was niakin" jttst abo'tt two milo an hour. I eoul.l ha' pu-lieil on sonif faster, but 1 knowed it I lil 1 i"nv tire !iiyelf more, an I didn't iast to do that. I had plenty o time to tijj- ror on the journey, an' tiie nij;liest l could ot to it was that if I could hold tint 1 miirht "it o:i!ewh--rp near town the M'cond nilit. I knowed 1 roultm i "it out o" the wood- in one day s pom . an" they was no use trvin" to travel at nipht amonp the trees. Si, the d:iy.s bein" -short. I reekoned on about twen ty mile ths tirst day: then leep till daybreak", an then the best I could do towards the oilier thirty miles. I Unotvod I'd be in the op.-n when the M.'rond nipht came on. an if I had luck 1 mi"Ut strike a trail, an" meble pit help soinewhar. It was clo-e lip'cr- in . tlKiiigli.au i mane up in.y mum one sleep "ltd be all I"d git. an" the sec ond day I'd have to go till I dropped, if ittook'nic way inter the night. I could steer by the stars 1 knew, if I once got away from the trees. "Long towanls night I'm darned if the old man didn't git plumb crazy. He hollered an" yelled an' struggled so to get oil" n the sled "t I was afraid he"d break' the fasl"nin's, but Andrews had tied him pretty close, an he didn't have sense enough to try to untie the knots. I Had to tie his arms, though, an" 1 tell ye 'twas some thin awful. Thar I was. miles an" miles away fin anylHi.lv but a crazy man. riskin"my life to save his. an" skcered to death for fear I'd Ik- as crazy as lu was in a few minutes, a tyin" him up to keep him fin gettin' away. 1 got him fast, though, an gate him a dose ' laudanum that Andrews had give me for him. an" after a little he calmed down an" wont to sleep. "I went along till 'twas too dark to see tin- way any further, an' I knowed I'd got to camp out. They was a good many wolves 'round, too, "n" I heerd 'em "ittin c'oster and closter. I warn't afcerd of "em s long's 1 was awake, fur I knowed how p.-sky cow ardly the critters arc, till they ketch a feller down, but 1 wasskecrd for fear they'd jump on us a'ter we'd gone to sleep. Si I built up a rousin' good tiro. That took time, but I made it o brush an" chopped up a young tree 't 1 1 found, for logs, an inaloiit two hours I was ready to turn in. Then I stripped an rubbed myself "as well 's I could with whisky and dressed an" wrapped up well, n lay down. "Well, 1 slept tolable sound till nigh daybreak, though I had to git up a couple o times 'n" feed the linv Them blame wolves wastooc'ose tob.- cmf' tablo. 1 c'd see em in the dark, sniell in' and yelpin' 'round, but they was more afeerd o' t!t3 lire 'n' 1 was o" them. "Soon as 'twas light I got up "n het some coffee an" took a bite, 'n' started. I was goin" by the compass, o' course, but I couldn't go in the dark, for not seein" the way. Ye may think I talk too much "bout the way 1 felt, an mcblie another man wouldn't ha' been skecrd like I was. but I was almost frightened to death for those two days. I knowed, though, "t the on'y thing to do was to push ahead, "n 1 did. The ole man had woke up. an" it seemed to me like he was a little more sensible "n he was the day before, blithe lay uiet. 'n I didn't d.re to nay nothin" to him for fear 't he'd start" in yellin" again. He didn't though, n" then I got skeerd again fur fear ho was dead. The fust thing "t give mo any cour age whatsomevcr. was about dnrk when I struck a trail "t I knew must lead to Minneapolis. I reckoned 1 had nigh twelve mile more to go. but the poin" was a heap easier, na" 1 had some hope o" meetin" somebody or comin to a house where I could pit a horse. "As it turned tint 1 was plumb wrong all round. I was on the r:pht trail, to le sure, but I was more'n sixteen mile away f'm town. I reckon I'd traveled over forty milo. but I'd lost monfn I thought then, by not poin" dead, straight. Then, "stead o hav'.n" less to fear, I'd a heap more. I traveled along pretty well for an hour or two a'ter dark, "n" then I got so dog tired I tool; a big snifter " whisky. 1 hadn't took any afore, fur I was afocrd o" the stulT. never bein used to it. an" know in' t'would help me awhile an" then leave me worse oil. l'.ut I reckoned 1 was so near gone, an' so close to where I'd git he!. 'twas time to take it. Thar 1 was wrong again. The dinned lhiuor spurred me up for meblte an hour, an" then I kind o lost track o the time an' tl'dn't seem to know much about any thing, an' biineby I keched myself thinkiu it didn't make much differ- once itiyhow. I'd got ter die s-ime time, an I might as won no down and 1k ijnlelt about it, an" as fur the ole man. thar wasn't much show fur him anyhow. "I dunno how it was't I ketehed my self up again: but I knowed enough to know 'twas cold an' mo bein' so tired that done it, "if I says to myself: Moo. you've got to git thar fust, "n then'.s time enough to die. I studied on it fur ! a minute or two. and come to the con clusion "t I'd got to hurt myself some how, so's the pain would keep me awake. :n" I caught my little linger nail in my teeth "ti" bit it olT. Well. I had plenty o" pain then, and 1 jumped ahead like a tired ox when you gad him deep. "That lasted me for mebbe half an hour, but 1 couldn't tell nothin' aliout "rw.s powkkht. iixnn the time. I'd lost track o" that entirely. Then the cold began to numb me again. "Twas a frightful cold night, an I dun no bow- "twas the ole man ken' f m freezing to death. "Finally. I staggered 'n' fell, "n" just as I did V thought to myself 't I wouldn't bother to git up fur 'twan't wuth w bile, the ole man spoke up. I don't think be d said anything afore, all day long. 'Joe,' he says, spcakin' sharp an loud, but not hollcrm', Joe. hear the Chi-isttnas chimes:' "First I thought he was ravin" again, but it started me up an" I listened, an ure euougit the tliureb belh wa a ringiu". Ibiys. I never knowed nfoi'Q w but cV'irch V-dis iiui!;i . T:i"k ;iNil i Pi noliK. pood tidings of great joy,' thar never was tidings of joy came to me like them 1 ell brought. It was Cbristma eve, an' 1 hadn't never thought of it all day. Thar I was. within li.-ann o t!ie Im-IK. an" givin' out, an' I made up my mind I'd make another stagger, "n' 1 struggled up again. "Twan't no use. though. I'd got plumb to the end fi the run. 1 plowed along : bit. but as I knowed a'ter ivards I must ha" pone clean off my head, fur 1 loft the trail an' wandered off somewhere, the Lord on'y knows where, but He must ha" been lookin' out far in fur I kinder wandered "round, like, till I come back ter tin trail agin, an' as luck would have it I come back ter the top of a bluff, an stumblin" ahead, know-in nothin", I went plumb fiver, draggi.i' the sled along w ith mo. "Wall, we tumbled square inter the roadway. Kf it hadn't Ik-cii for the snow we'd both ha" l-cn killed, likely. fur we fell nigh lifty ftot. As twas I couldn't git up, fur I was dead lioal. an" the ole man couldn't "caue I hadn t untied him. I was skeeru to do it. IIul he wasn't hurt an' he lay on one side. eVjieotin" to lay ther an die. when ht heerd sleigh-beils. Warned if a fellet didn't come drivin" along with a fust rate horse. Seems he lived out on tin perara an' was poin home fin towu. A I'l. t i t. i: ami: iiinvixn At.oxo. lint ho was a good-hearted feller, an' when ho found out what the situation 1 was ho turned right away an' took us into town fly in. The ole man had tense enough left to tell him about it , an" to tell who wc was. ; "The feller drove right to the ole man's house. n we found thev was , bavin a little rhristmas party there. f an nat'ral enough they was talkin' i alHiut the ole man when we come to the door. I was- that tired I never j woke tip till the next afternoon, an I there I was in bed in the ole man's , house, with the doctor lookin' at me. 1 "He laughed when I looked "roun an" asked where I wass an' he says: 'I . thought you"d be all right, soon as j you'd had your sleep ouL' An" I says: Yes. I'm all right: but how s. the ole man.' Then he looked mighty grave, an' he says: "I can't tell yet. He's been hurt mighty bad. but I reckon maybe with good nussin he'll come 'round mebbe. Ho would ha Uoii. though, if he hadn't ls-en brought home.' Then hc shook hands wit2i me an' said all sorts o" foolish things "bout me b'-in a hero, "stead what 1 am. a big man with tolable strong lej-s an" arms. I'.ut Lord bless you: what he s-.nl w.is not'uin to the v.av Z'.u- worn -n took on. when I dre.si.ed an went downstairs. They hUTgcd me. an" kissed me till 1 was fairly "shamed o' myself, an' the ole woiiKin says: 'Joe l'elton. you brought mc niy husband for a Christmas gift, and I'll give you a wife furyourn. Then 1 knowed it were all settled, 'cause I knowed the ole man wouldn't never go back on what she said. An' he didn't, neither, when ho got stronger, as he did a'ter a bit. He won't never i: strong like be was, but lie's tolable well now, an' likely to live a good manyyears. 'Well, them women made me talk ! all the afternoon 'bout the walk down 1 fin camp, an" when they wanted to know how I'd hurl my linger, an' I told "cm. I'm blamed if they didn't cry till 1 felt like a fool."Te.as Siftings. CHRISTMAS DOTS. The best clause in a man" life Santa Clans. Detroit Free I'ress. Christmas-tied The miser's wallet-strings.- Philadelphia I'ress, I will honor Christmas in my heart ami try to kcopitall the year. Charles Dickens. Chicago girls never expect to get their stocking full on Christmas. Dansville ISreexe. It is along aluiit Christmas time that country peopje do murder most fowl.- N. . Picayune. Christmas is :t tune in which the memory of every remediable sorrow, wrong and trouble in the world around us should Ik- active within us. Charles Dickens. A man should always rcmomlier that be is unusually lucky when ho does not have to pay for a'.I the presents his wife makes him on Christmas Judge. "Well. ISobbie. said his father the day after Christmas, "aren't you sorry Christmas comes only once a year?" "Oh. I d'know. If Dr. Squills has got to come the day after Christmas every time. I in rather glad of it Harper's I'azar. It is a trying moment to a married man when debating with himself whether il is best to buy his wife a Christmas present or to use the money in settling the big bill which ho owes at the little saloon around the corner. Philadelphia News. "Santa Clans is really a very large merchant."' remarked Simeral. "How do you make that out?" asked Snooper. Ilehasa large stoekin trade. "Judge, I heard the h-lls on C.in-tm.is day Their oU t.unitlar carols play. And wild and swvet The words repeat Of peace on earth. Root will to m-n! Longfellow. MY CHRISTMAS PRESENT. Y u're thinking. m.iybe. what you'll giva To mc It way of sweet reminder Yoii'ic not foivolten W at I llie The s-ason"- kiml and you an- kinder. Well. -hristmas has no prettier trait Than this of cift and ioi cupressin"; We i-ruinti e as we rav the frt-ight. liut hearts prow bts hy puoeconipiessin;. Hut wh.-n yon ponder in your mind What sh ill it lw A lk of verse?? A ae of razors satin-lm-sl? One of tlose dainty little purse. All knit in silk by your dear hands A book m.irk with the motto -.Mizpah!" Let these en forth to other lands Hut not mmi no. let me whisper: You've promisfd soi day to h- mine. To te my wif my preat home ruler; I'vo waitiil months -how many nine from balmy spnn; to days much cooler So now. my hue. I as1.; in rhjm. I "ray name the day-the season's plcasant Thus may jiour present I the time. And let the time, too. b the j-rescnt. rmsbursh l)i.-patch. siv the l.'conomy. A ten-year old boy was attentively regarding a Christmas tree which a woman had brought and left outside a store for a moment, when a man rc marked: "See anything queer about it. mj boy?" "Takes a woman for economy, re plied the boy with a smile. "I was just couul'ni!-. There are twelve good limbs on that tree to lick the children with after it has been usol for Christ n',ft" Pvtr.-.t J'jtv I'U'sn i of. y. ( ---"v i tY- HF.N w crSL't the nc year's rrcs-ci:r-- A our Kin? fir d -Ti to come; V.'hco u- wulk ttiibin hn palai- -. And it .-'Tins as swrt as home. What would ue a-I; of Tua- to hit-si u V, Wnat from his hands uould we receive! I',ut riiuraiji! 'or the tasks le'ore us, And noncr tc do as ne believe! Let Ids royal crare command u In the name of truth to tlhl ; Let his haancr. ItoatiEjro'cru-', Lvcr l-ad us to the risht Strik: down th? sins that sniite u. Il.inish tLe liandits in our way: Like P-d cross knights he hold to vanquish The niur.slcrs making man their liroy. In thc.'C l.ys cl toil and striving. Tin r-s ho much h r hand to d. And tor lips that have a message I the nerd that they lw true; The ancient nord of love is inisjhtv, l'slhuvp -.rrr to saf i sure: And wen- our stuls aflame and ealoai, The day c: victory we'd sccuci. Lrt us strive to make men letter, Ih.ins s-nclhln? for the rare, WIpin, :ut some pildis! error. Ilrinrin3 hack some s-ntli- r.-e: I5v honest word and d"cd ilefcmlins What earnest hearts desire to do: lly hope and help tbi-ir plans perfecting, And tiy the old enrich tin- hew: Let us ask of Time correction Of the past we u-csl but ill; Let tis ak to do eurduty. With a hravrr. truer will: Then walking in the n-w year's rortal, Tbrillmj vlxii soldier ! of fame. We'll give our :od our cra'sdest .service la lioiy worship of His iuu.e' Wlilum Itrnnti'Ti, in c;ood lIii:M ki-pinj. Wi: ail weni C r a n i! nt to m a North's for our Xcw Year's din nor. Mie oineu with us on Christ mas and we al ways spoilt Now When 1 say all of us Yoar's with her. I mean pa and ma and Helen ami Alice and myself illoberti. theo.ily "imiv in the family, and I can tell you being the only boy, with two older .sisters order in!' von round, and nagging and mak- ing fun of von, isn't a delightful lisi- j tion. j I'a is grandma's only euild.nno that s J th- reason there's so few of ns when we eomo togelli-r at a laniiiy uumcr. To be sure we have other i datives, but they live way up north, and I haven't seen half of them and couldn't even tell you half their names. Crandma lives on a farm about two miles from the town of Shelton, and though she's a very old lady she's as spry anil active as if she was young, and manages the farm by herself just as well as grandpa did when he was living. We live so far from 1'ine Crovc that's the name of the farm -that wo always get there a day or two before Now Year's. I must say for grandma there isnt any stinting at he table, or winking and frowning at you not to take two helps of this or that, and when she catches ma or the girls doing it at me. she calls out: "I'or goodness" sake, let I Sob oat as much as he wants to'. Where's the sense of stinting a boy of thirteen in his eating'.' I like to see young people "it s- uoxi: eat as if they enjoyed their meals, an 1 not mincing and dallying over their plates. Let the boy alone. Maria."' (Srandma has a cook an Irishwoman named Molly McShano, just as jolly anil good-natured as herself. ' She's lived ten years at Pine tSrovo. and she's as glad to see us all as gran.lma is. She's no lieattty, Molly isn't, for she's short and sqitat, and has no more fig ure than a cotton bale, and her face is broad and red, and her nose looks as if it had Wen mashed Hat. She isn't young, either, but for all that she's got a beau named Terence O'ISrien. A worthless young fellow he is. grandma says, who wants to get at Molly's bag of savings, and if ho can cajole her out of them without marry ing her, he'll do it: but if ho can't, he'll make her Mrs. Oltrion. and pet away with the monev. Put Mol'y keeps a tipht prip on her bag. She and Ter ence count the money over every two or three months, but she holds on to every nickel, ami he can't get one of "em out of her. Pa tried to persuade her to put her money in a savings bank-, but she hoot ed at liim. "No. sor, I'll be nivcr that silly to put me money where I cannot see it when 1 want, 'tanks break, and if I had all the goold and silver and jools av the wnrld. no banks would see 'cm. ami swaller 'cm up. Sometimes I dhram av me money, and then it does me all the pood in the wurld to open me ehist and see mo bap alt safe." "Take care, Molly!" pa said, lanph ing. "Since Terry knows so well where you keep your treasure, some bright morning you will wake up and lind Kith bag and sweetheart gone." Molly got red. and cried out: "An do ye main to say. sor. that Terence O'ISrien. what comes av the good ould shtock why. the OTSrienscame av the kings av Miinsthi r that he would de mane himself to b? a dirthy thafc? Ah, nivcr:" "Very well." pa said, still laughing. "If I were yon. Molly, I'd change my hiding-place now and then. It won't do any harm." She didn't answer, but went aliout looking troubled until grandma hail to scold her for lieing si. absent-minded that shy put sugar instead of salt in the soup, and burned the chid'ons to a Crisp- fm 1 r.-v" i f mm ' it i WZil : it's i.osr.: What in the matter with you. Molly?" says grandma. It's lh? evil one that s got into mo. I think, ma'atn." Molly said. "I'm just dazed, and I feel as if some great trouble was comin." That was at night, and the next morning there was the greatest Hulla baloo vou ever heard. Molly's bag of ! money was gone from her chest, and she was in hysterics. The strangest I thing of all was, she always wore the , key of the chest on a string around i her neck, and it never came off day or : night. The key was in its place, and , the chest locked as usual, but when ! she onened it the money bag was "one. Who was here last night, Molly'.'" asked pa. "It was Terry:" she screamed. "It's him, the thafc. that's got my money: We counted it, and he says as how there was enough to pet married on afther New Year. Have him arrested. Misther North, for the howly Vargin's sake." "ISut how did he get the keys?" pa asked. "How can I know?" she groaned. "1 had awful dhramcs all night av walk in" and climbin", and I was that sore this mornin. He's got my money seme way;"' and then she began to howl again. I'a went to town, but sure enough Mr. ti'ISiien wasn't to be found, anil the man where he worked said he had pone oir on the north-bound train, but said he would be back in a day or two. "An where did the dirthv thafc get the money for his ticket." cries Molly, "whin nivcr a red chit did he have in his pocket'.''' I'a told her he had put the police on his track-, and that quieted her so she managed to cook the dinner, but she cried quarts between times. That was the day before New Year, and after dinner grandma took us into the pantry to see t!u. things. Oh. I couldn't begin to tell you what loads of pies and cakes and fruits and candies there were, but we hardly saw anything for looking and wondering at a monstrous turkey that hung from a big hook in the ceiling. It was :: mammoth, and grandma said that oM as she was she hail never seen any thing like it. It was of a big breed, to begin with, and had been fattening in a coop for a year. "For two'months," grandma said, 'the turkey has been fed on pecans and walnuts, anil just look at the fat: If it isn't delicious, then I'm no judge of a line turkey." l-'ven Molly got up her spirits over that turkey, and told us how she was going to stuff it with truflles. and such a gravy: After that she had another crying spell, and took herself off to lied. The next morning, after breakfast, she took the keys out of her pocket and started for the pantry. 1 went along, but she was ahead. She opened the door and gave a little start and cried out: "Where's the turkey?" Sure enough, there was the hook, but no turi.ey. .Molly looiceu on me shelves, behind the barrels, and in every nook ami corner, as if the mice could have moved that monster. Then she says to mo, looking as white as a sheet: "ISob. run to the misthress and be askin" her if sh - moved the turkey?" j j in l lie turkey! cries grandma, junip uii. "What does that girl mean Has she lost her si uses? Where should the turkey be but in the pantry when she hung it?" "It isn't there, grandma." I said, and then everybody, ran to the pantry. Molly was sitting in a chair, looking scared to death, and gasping for breath. "It's gone: it's gone:" she hollered, jumping up and clapping her hands. "It'.s pone like my money: The door was locked, and the key in my pocket. The window- is barred, look! They haven't been touched: Howly saints but it is bewitched the hous.1 is"'" Well, it was just as she said. Kvery tbing was in its place, the ducks and geese and mutton, and not a single pie or cake had been touched. Tho thief, whoever it was, only hankered for the big turkey. "ISut w ho could have taken it?" says grandma, looking hard at Molly. "I don't suspect you. Molly, for you've boon with me for t -n years, and I've never missed a pin. ISut did you have visitors last night, and did you give them a peep at the turkey?" ".Me have visitors." Molly cried. "and me pore heart broke entirely at losiif me money, and Terry's rascality. No. ma'am. I cried, till the slapo came, and then 1 dhramed av the turkey. Yes I did. and it was alive and llyin and 1 runuiii afther it." "Well, it's no use moaning." grand ma said. She's a sensible old lady, and she never cries over spilt milk. "We'll go without any dinner if you don't go to work. Molly. I'm sorry about the turkey, but I reckon wc must make a shift without it. Where's the sago and onions for the goose stuiiin"?" "Here's the onions ma'am, but 1 dean forgot the sage yistorday when Jim wen' to town for the things ISut I rcmomlier I have a bag of sage in my chist. 1 keeps for gargles. 111 run and get it." We beard her lumbering up the stairs and around, and then she gave a screech which sent us up there in a hurry. There she was lying Hat on her back, pounding her heels on the lloor and howling and laughing like one of the laughing hyenas you see in shows. "It's the turkey: the turkey:" she howled, "in my chist, wropped in my silk shawl the grandmother lift me." There it was, sun1 enough, wrapped neatly in a white silk shawl Molly's only piece of tincry. Kveryone looked at each other, and grandma lifted Molly's head and SHI. IIKKW som:-.thi. ot r. slapped her back, ami made her drink some water. When she came to her self she was white and trembling like a leaf. You couldn't pay her to touch that turkey, for she said the witches had lieen moving it. and ma and grand ma had to stuff it and put it to roast. Pa said that ho was sure that Molly had put the turkey in the chest, may lie when she was ash-en. At any rate we made a splendid dinner, though Molly said she was expecting us to drop" down dead, or run raving mad after eating it That's the way sbe said bewitched things served the folks in the "ouui countiiry. i We sat around th. tiro lato that' night, talking oyer things. Just us we were going to bed Jim, the, hired man i-aino to tin -lour don't i A '( I' JJt JLv.: md sauliSMl 3 know what-the malt-, r with Mollie. She's w aU.-ir," ;s!oiit the yard barefoot, and ju-t a nightgown on and it's freez ing hard. I spoke to her. and she never turned her head, but just kept on." "Just as I thought," pa said, jumping j uo. "the woman is a somnamiiuiist, a sleen - walkrr. You must not make a noise, or wake her suddenly." We came upon her at the Iiar-s Stie pulled out one as well as I could do. and got through tlio hole, and tlien moved swiftly toward the henhouse, which was in the back lot. We fob lowed ther and she was tumiiimg in the moss and straw of an empty nest SSie drew- something out. and the moon was as bright as day. so we could see it was a w hite bag. Her money. l"m sure." whispered pa She took the bag to another nest. ! and covered it there carefully, and then . marched out of the henhouse, not see ing us. though we were almost touch ing her. She went straight to her room and pa said we must leave the money in the nest and we could tell her and let her get it her -elf. You ought to have seen her the next morning when we tool: her to the hen- bouse and showed her her tieasure. She hugged the bag and kissed it anil cried over it. as if it were a lost child: and then she hollered alKiut her in justice to her darlint. Terry K'ISr'.on. and how- she would send for him and marry him that very day. ISut I am glad to say that "Milhcr O'lSi-ien" didn't havi- the spending of Mcdlie's earnings. lie had loen con cerned in a burglary and the police were after him. and thai is the reason ho had left town in such a htiry. lie never came back and Molly still lives with grandma. Marie IS. Wil liams, in Youth's Companion. AUNT JANE'S STORY. A New Yo.tr' H.iv Tint Mrant a Great Ileal to Tim I'olk. "A gid many years have passed since Tom Shaw brought his wife home to the house on the hill; ami there is no doubt they Lave Ixilh grown a good ileal older ami wiser since then. To be sure, as folks lind it now-a-days. time does lly fast. I remember now the picture in my little primer books of obi rather Time with a sickle in his hand: he seemed to lie mowing at a right smart pace, but la: he looks mighty wealc in me legs, ami i nun i have an idea that he could get on very fast at the best. On the very next page there's a picture of a very little tree with a bushy top. and a man as big as itself sitting on it. and under the tree there's a bit of rhyme that says: - -zicch-us he Hid cllrr.h the tre His l.oid to -ee.-Now I know that if Zaeeheus had climbed int.i that tree he never would have seen anything, for it would have broken down, and that would have been the end of it. And so neither to'i wi sr ovr.i that nicttire nor the other good for anything to mo " A tint Jane's vnic." was 'lushed, and she knit two or three roun Is upon the gray suck that she was making for our Poor society mil then her hands fell in licr lar her chin dropped a little. mid the old lady was asleep. Abby and I looked intently at her; hair, that had once Invn as yellow as our own, was of snowy whiteness, and it lay on each side of a forehead that was full of seams and wrinkle.; the eyes tiiat were tight shut were as blue as our baby's, and the mouth that eras a little open was almost as small as his. lint her cheeks wore one mass of puckers, and even under the edge of her white hair we could see them deep and drawn. "Sat-. Lila." Abby said to me in a whisper, "how dreadful it must Ik' to bo eighty years old: only think. Lila, that is H'jht times as ohi as 1 am. "What of it? ' I asked. "Mie iloesii t mind it. and she isn't eight times older than I am." "Hni. Al! but two years." Abby an swered. "ISut I'd have you to know." I said, frankly, "that two years is a long time." "No. it is not. my darlings." was 1 Aunt Jane's unexpected interruption. J as the b'.ttj eves lionih'd opn. "It is onlyaycry milo time-ou.i u.-u knew of one year that meant a great ib al to two folks. ... " J Oil lis aooilL ll. amine, "e inm exclaimed. "Yes. I will, l.efs see. I must have drontied off to sleep while I was telling you alxiiit 1 out and Het Shaw. Weil, don't let mo go again: just give me a shake if vmi see my eyes shut. Me hitable Larkins was as pretty as a I JUCUUV; IUT Il.Iir Wil .! j-iij .1- .-mil ; "old, am! her ores wrrr a nrnvi ri v a ripe hael nut. Her step was so springy that she hardly seemed to touch tl-.c ground as she walked, and Tom Shaw loved her better than any thing in the world. "He br.ilt the house up yonder: and they do say that ho sang and whistled so many gay tunes as he nailed on the cl: pbnards that bo ought to have -had a J happy w ife to put inside of it. When it was alt finished and furnished, he brought his bride home: and after that, fo!ks used to walk past the house many ami many a time, to hear the two sing ing together. Ili-l they never quarrel. Aunt ' Juno?" Abby asked. My sister's idea of a good time was to have a bit of quarre! soni.-tiiiio- with someb'xly. ' You wait, my darlinp. until I toll yon. It was just after the new year had commenced that they came up on the hill. All summer they seemed as happy as bints, and of an evening they worked in their garden, and for miles around no one had prettier roses, big ger hollyhocks, or yellower tansy than Tom and Het liaw. ISut with the fall the flowers faded, and the happy couple !ogan to grow solemn: they did not sing so much, and the lamps did not shine so brightly out into the world at night, and. wheiyone of the neighliors happened in. Hot had a very suspicious moisture aliout the eyes." ISut she never gave any reason for 't. and she was of that sort that no- IhmIv dared to ask. much as they would li.ne liked to. Anyhow, licr elieens grew pale, and there were no more songs to be heanl And so it came along to the last day of the year. Tom had been out to the woodhouse to got some kindlings for the tire in tha morning, and when lit had thrown them behind tho stove, le- wont into the s-tting-ronm. and there win. Het upoflht'r knees by tho -nfa, sobbing its j( lit-r lic;ir Willi!'! b-itk. to nr.it. w ould be 'I hat sight was too much for Tom, lle went o.-er toher. lifted herfrom the floor, and sat her upon his kne;. And then he said: 'My little girl, what is it? I cannot stand this any longer; you must tell me what the matter is. 'And she throw both arms about his neck, and between her sols she whis pered into his ear all her troubles: and fjiiick as a tlash they were as loving as they had been all summer: and the tirst thing they did was to sing the long metro doxology." "What had been tha matter. Aunt Jane?" asked Abby, in an interested voice. And Aunt Jane said: "That is the very strangest part of it: from that j day to this not one of the neighbors I could find out. Of course, there bad loen some sort of a quarrel, but wc know they had made it up, for Joe limes was going up the lull, anil lie stopped a minute to hear them sing. and under the crack of the curtain be saw them kneeling by the sofa, and Tom had his ana around Hefs waist and he was praying out aloitd. And Het after tol 1 the neighliors that the next day (that was New- Year-day), was the happiest day of her life." "How- long ago was this. Aunt June?" I inquired. And to my astonishment her reply was: "Let's see: ten twenty forty yes, it must bo nigh on to sixty years, and there's been no happier home in all the country than theirs. How time does lly: It all turned out well in their case, but don't quarrel, my darlings: you mightn't come out as well. Sixty years: How time does lly, to lie sure:" "ISut auntie," I commenced, and Abby gave my arm a jerk as she said: "Hush. Lila: she's gone to sleep, and that's all Uie knows about it, any way." We looked at her white hair that shone like silver in the sunlight, and thought what a wonderful thing it was to know stories that happened tixtif vears ago: and we wondered if our faros would be all scams and puckers if we should live to be as old as Aunt Jane. And as we crept softly out of the room wo heard her murmuring, as in a dream: "Sixty years: how time does tly'."' Isabel Olcott. in Christian at Work. AN OLD PROTEST. .V few Kcllertlon Milted to the Nwr Year. When the calendar tells us that the year is very old and near his end, it seems like a mistake; we only half le lieve it. The mind does not take kind ly to the thought of old age. The old man with hour glass and scythe is al ways an unwelcome guest. I cannot think of myself as an old man. I can easily identify myself with the crude and opinionated person who bore my name a decade or two ago. but by no effort of imagination can I iden tify myself with the tottering gray beard who may some day answer to the same name. A hazy but impen etrable barrier lies forever across a man's untro.!den path. His mind seems to lw almost impervious to the idea that he is growing old. The venerable autocrat tells how 'the octogenarian peers among the aster isks of the triennial catalogue of the university for the names of graduates who have been seventy years out of college and remain still unstarred." There is a touch of pathos in the way in which h" represents each advancing decade a shield, a breakwater, for those who come after them. The man of seventy takes refuge liehind the thin ranks of the octogenarians. ISut is there not in this universal shrinking from old age some prophecy as well as some pathos? The familiar spectacle of men and women attempting to appear younger than the family ISible indicates; is it only material for the hand of the satirist or the smile of the cynic? a hint for an essay oa the folly of man? May it not also be an unconscious aflirmation of the imperishable facul ties of life, the eternal vigor of the soul? The protest which mankind makes against old age is not. I take it. merely an indication that he is afraid of death, or too fond of the temporal things of the world, but an evidence repeated again and again of the immortality of the soul: of the essential and ever ex panding power of spirit, which refuses to submit to the decline and weakness which happen to be incidental to a body which he shall some day dispense with. "I don't feel old; why should I walk as if 1 were i Jd?" says the man of seventy. It is an attempt to hold bis body up to the demands of his son!. It is a pro test which stands for a truth: a kind of righteous rebellion which promises victory and liberty sometim;. Old age is but an episode in the life of the soul. The choicest, strongest faculties of our lives stubbornly resist the encroach ments of age and remtiin vital forever. -Cndimrr.'-d by a;; unso'.h-d by damp and dust." To the rarest men and women, in their declining years, old age seems more like the daw n than the twilight of life. Victor Hugo in the fullness of his vears saul: I :ie nearer i approacu me ; cn1. tili. ,,Iainer i bear around me the ;tnnorta, sympIloIlios 0r the world's I which unite me. When I go down to ; the grave I can say. like so many oth ! it: l have finished my day's work." but I cannot say: ! have finished my life. My day's work will liegin again ! next morning. The tomb is not a blind ! alley: it is a thorough fan-. It closes -;ti, fin. lwili-rbt to oiu-n with the ! --.. larence T. lSrow n. in Chicago Advance. THE PASSING YEAR. Itv the climmer jf sreen and mlden. Th" h-ap and the sparklo f.f spray, Il the heart of the rose unfolden To the breath of the summer -Uv, Itv the shout and soli; of th? reapers llmdin the lipci.-d sheaf. ISy the M-jom on the fragrant cluster. Hy tfce fall of the loosened leaf, liv tin- fi-athery whirl of tfce wint-r. And the de p Mravt-s hollow- sound, lly tin- moan of the wind in t!v- forest Ju n the r.iht was rathcrina; roan-l, Hy th--! of the honey of likes. Hy tne fields al! brown and -err Through the march of thechansln seasons. We ti.easun-1 th; palnify"ar. Hv !h- braxe things thought or spoken. lly the true d- mIi simply done. Hy th? m--an thine crmfce.1 and cinqner'A Ami the bloodies battles won Hy the days when the load was heavy. Yet th- heart crew strong to bear; Hv tne days wh-n the heart was crarea. Iickin; th- t ri-nxth of prayer; 11; th hour that crept Mow-footed Ami the hour that flew oa inx. The time when the harp was si!-nt. The time when wc swppt the striD; Hy the dearth, the do an.I the talr. The fullnes?. i-ward and cheer -Hi the t-ook of the ansef reconL '.Vc nieaiured the passing year. r insreiat'.onalit. clio Irepro.icl.fiilly' "I didn't gc. a rhristmas present. He (gallantly) "Probably Santa flai" - unable to sec anything as diminutive as your stocking." And he basked in the radi ance of her smile during the remainder of the evening. X. Y. Herald. '(irae'ious!" said paterfamilias, as the bills for the Christmas presents purchased by his wife and daughters came in, "unless I can pawn some of the gifts they have received we'll have to live on silt pork for a month!" P-oston Time-. -The drug tradis does not fed tho holiday bor.m until the week nflcr. Pittsburgh I'.sTite!i. HOME HINTS AND HELPS. New Orleans Molasses Candy: Take) one cup of New Orleans molasses one cup of sugar, a niece of butter the sizo of an egg (sweet, not salt), and a table spoonful of vinegar. Itoil these to gether, but do not stir until the mass hardens when dropped into cold water. When done stir in a teaspoonfnl of soda, and beat well. Pour into buttered pans and when cool cut into slices. If flavoring u desired it should lie added just before pouring out to cool. La dies Home Journal. To Cure a ISeef Tongne: There is no lietter method of curing lioef tongue than the following: Make a brine by adding to three gallons of water four and a half pounds of 'alt. three-quar ters of a pound of dark-brown sugar, and throe ounces of saltpeter. Let all boil together, and skim: then remove) the brine from the tire, add one-foitrtli of a teaspoonful of cayenne, and when quite cold put in the tongues. They will lie fit to use in u week, and will Ins found of a color and flavor to satisfy the most experienced and fastidious ISood Housekeeping. Marble Veal: Itoil. skin and cut a pickled tongue ns thin as possible and Wat it in a mortar with a pound of fresh butter and a little pounded mace, until it is like paste: stew four pounds of lean veal and pound it in the same way; then put some of the veal into a, large potting pot, and lay some toiiguei in lumps over the veal in different parts: then nearly till with veal; press it down hard and p.ur incited butter over it. When served cut it aeros- in thin slices: put them on a dish and gar nish with curled parsley. Keep it in a, cold place, tied over with a paper. lSoston Herald. Cardinal Jelly: Soak one ounce of gelatine in three-fourths of a pint of water for one hour; then add one-fourth of a pound of white sugar, the juice of two lemons and the whites of two eggs whisked in a little cold water: let sottlo a few minutes, men pour tlirougu a, flannel jelly-bag into which a small stick of cinnamon has lieen broken. Strain through this two or three times to get the flavor of the cinnamon. When it is quite dear add nearly half a. tumbler of red currant jelly. Pour into a mold to set. When required turn on a glass or silver dish and garnish with white flowers. 1 1 ousekeoper. An excellent cough candy is made of slippery elm. flaxseed and sugar. Soak a gill of whole flaxseed In half a. pint of boiling water. In another dish put a cup of broken bits of slippery elm, and cover this also with boiling water. Sot these stand for two hours, then strain them through a muslin cloth iuto a saucepan containing a pound and a half of granulated sugar. Extract all the liquor you can, stir tho sugar until it is melted and then lmil it until it turns to candy. Pour it out at once when it reaches this point on to greased papers. This is the old-fash- toned rule. The candy is more pal atable if the juice of two lemons is added to it after it has cooked for ten minutes. X. Y. Tribune. rigiiri-tl siihi. ISlack silks patterned in bright littlo set pompadour sprigs coiitinn-' to hold a prominent place in popular favor. The light weight silks of this sort that were the vogue during the summer have given place to those that aro heavier, and the colors which make up the figures are brighter and more nu merous Kven more convenient becaitsi serviceable for various occasions is a dress of this kind than the standard black silk of time-honored fame. It is also effectivei trimmed in black lace, which is one of the most popular garni tures of the present season. A neat dinner costume is of this black figured silk. The skirt is made over a plan silk foundation and Is laid in flat plaits meeting in front and is fan-plaited in the back. The pointed bodice is hooked under the plaits in front and cut out at the noclo Inside the Y-shaped opening are two folds of cream crepe lisse. and the double Medici collar is iined with the same material. The soft plaits which form the front of the liodice are eorered with lace and an epaulette ol lace finishes the shoulder of each sleeve. At the foot of the skirt is a flounce of lace corresponding to that used ou the IkkIico. Chicago Post. Clitckrli fir. Chicken pie made by this recipe is excellent cold: Save the neck, the tips of the wings the gizzard and the liver of the chicken, and the j'eet. Pour iMiiling water over the feef. leave them a moment, then pull off the outer skin and naiN. After these aro removed, put the feet with the other parts. They are quite important, as they contain the gelatine which forms the gravy around the chicken when tho pie is wild into a delicious jelly. Stew- tho skinned foot, wing-tips, neck and gib lets, which have Ih-oii well cleaned, in just enough water to cover them: add a slice of onion, one of the carrot, and let the water simmer gradually till it is reduced one-half: add a few drops of leinon-jiitcr or a te-ispoonfnl of taragon vinegar, and some jellied stock, if nec essary. Pour this gravy around and over the chicken in the pie and cover it with a paste, and bake it until the crust is a line brown. It is lietter to strain the gravy before pouring it over the chicken. Some people add little egg balls or slices of the yolks of hard iHiiled eggs and rings made of tho whites. Good Housekeeping. Auy o!or That Suit. This silk may lie in any color which liest suits the room where it is arranged, the ruffle looking letter on the lower edge than a fringe, for instance, and the silk beinga delioatecolorsoasnot to be too pronounced in contrast to the mulled curtains below. In a room where cretonne in delicate coloring is tscd. and yet white curtains are pre ferred, this would be a good way tu introduce a little of it at tho windows, thus bringing them into harmony with the rest of the room. In this case, however, a cotton fringe of plain cream color or of varied colors to correspond with the cretonne would lie the best fin ish, cretonne leiiig too clumsy to ruUIe. Similar scarf drapery over the lied, forming a canopy, or simply :i ring in the ceiling or bar from the side wall would lie pretty also where the sproad is of the cretonne. Al! of this carried out in silkaline would boibiiiiti ly attractive, also, at a little cost. l.hicago News. elirt (ilrtlle.. Oinlles for cloth and silk gowns are made of bias velvet in a Miiijlc piece aliout eight inches wide. The are narrowly turned over hemmed with blind stitches, rows of shirring draw the Iges nnd I'll ren front down to a width of o.ilr live inches, find two supple whalebones are set in casings lietivcen these shirriugs. Tho fastening is made iu the back by four hook and eyes hidden under two tilth; meeting frills each an inch wide, of the velvet doubled at the ends of tho girdle. Shirring and whalebones sim ilar to those in front are down the back each side of the frills. Such girdles and belts of all kinds aie so much in favor that they are often seen on basques and coats, as well as to com plete round Ixidiees Harper's ISazar. Jack "I'm in au awful diteinma." Dick 'Kngagod to two gSi-N. I miji jwtf."' ""; i vac" -l're."Hlyu Life. 1'