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Tyh. S, ou",n. Tl"ima aw; but my! he's owful green! bo very many thinks. He sum , a n,vor mliken a row, Ana " Li Kf"8" ,,,H miw wua In a ynnl till now! He never gathered iimixi inn ,.,,rH. ami u a ti,c n,i lime h threw up a "tick to kno.k ,iw ; un, ,,. rf the .,, My! I would huta to be that out una not know muru thun Dim: FiTiJ" '"j!ome i,hor; nl,l t rroek "nil no he never boh A-A'hlrz. ami ho haunt not 11 suit of reel ohl itlie:.. I he jtiml y.iu have to have to nh; and he aayn ho ciiii'i bo He wont chew slippery Hhini umk or beeswax; hen uln.id (if II been viae ho told us that lie don't know how Hi. iiihuV; And he won t dig up iiiikIo worms because thev wIkhI- m 1 never aaw the pla.o he Uvea, but my! It" mux be Slow! He don't know what a aprlim-hoard ii. and hasn't i!"t a hat And If It a ralnlnif In the wwis he hurries up to Kel l ack home because he'a bo afraid he ll .-t hla straw hut wet. One day we killed a garter anake they don't have tli-m In town hfu'.o-'i0 ":8,,a" w"n,t "le u'"" ''"" " "" Town! A ihint. J?r if !"". '.'' ni'''r. m" l,"n here th.- nv.ro lie thlnki of ull the things Ile a learned he didn't know beforel 5il";if.?iU?Rrn"S .hei,hB" to,llve ""nowhere, hut It must bo An awful thing to Ivu ho long nnd m-ver rllinb a trie, Or Dl UK wutermelon when you i . V,"u p" yu can or dive Into the creek or ait upon , p, nniii up unu nuin.'ii until von feel It vet J!"," 11 '"i'r1". to "? '" "o n"V,r learned t awlm' My! I would hate to be that old and not know mote than him! J. W. Foley. MARSTON'S By Margaret Shiela was perplexed. Sho rested her elbows on the table among the loose sheets of manuscript, and her chin In hor bands and, staring out at the gray sky, tiled to think how u young man should propose. Suddenly she bad an Idea. Being by nature as Irish as her name and eyes, she was Impulsive, and choosing a clean sheet of pa;er, Bhe dashed off the following letter: "Dear Marston How does a young nan propose at all? In a letter, mind! No getting off with glances and half words. 1 want a letter from an ordin ary nice young Englishman, my hero, to my heroine, asking her to marry him. My Imagination evidently falls to supply a correct letter, for the edi tor of "The Crescent' (oh, Marston, think of ine appearing in "The Cres cent') well, he writes that he likes l short story of mine very much, and he thinks the plot original, but that I fall In depleting the hero's love for the heroine, more especially in the let ter he writes to ber to ask her to marry him. "Now, I have an inspiration, Mars ton, could you write a proposal for me? Just aa you think you would write to any one you wanted to marry. You see, you're a man, and would know what to say, at any rate, belter yn I should; so you will help me, won't you? Yours, "SHEILA DESMOND." She posted it then and there. The next afternoon when she re turned to the rooms she shared with a fellow-writer she found bis answer waiting for her. She pounced on It delightfully. It ran thus: "My Dear Sheila After all I'm go ing to writa it, I've tried so often to ay it, and I never can screw up my courage. I want to ask you If you'd be my wife, I know you've never thought of me like that, and you're heaps loo good for me, but I love you o I'd have to make you happy. I'd jive my whole life to that. Won't you try and care for me a little, dear? You're Just the world to me every thing's meanlnsless without you. "Forgive me if I've startled you. dear. I'm but a clumsy brute anyway, "MARSTON HUGHES." Marlon, her friend, looked up from ber letters first. "Well." she said, "will it do?" Sheila's head was still down, bent over the sheet of smudged note-paper. "Yea," she said, slowly, "it will do, I must write and thank him this even ing." That evening Sheila dashed oft a note: "Dear Marston Thanks for letter. I'm quits sorry for you you do It so ell! Hut It will do beautifully for the hero In my story. 1 could never nave written one like it myself. I lid not know you had so much elo quence. I'm sure it's be compensa tion for your trouble when you see Jour letter in 'Molly, the Maid,' In The Crescent!' Yours sincerely; "SHIELA DESMOND." Sheila flung down her pen with on inpatient sigh. "Can't you get on?" Marion asked, ttmpathetiitflly, "No, Marian; will you come and viie when I'm In the workhouse?' "Yea, dear, and bring you a bun In a Paper bag." "Aren't you mixing me up with the "Fa at the zoo?" JIarlan, eyed her thoughtfully, 't's a pity you don't try to get on 'th that other story 'Molly, the Jlau7 " she said. "You know the edi tor of 'The Crescent" will forget you. " over three week since be sent Jour story back for you to alter." "I think I'll go out." said Bhiela. in wnaenaently. Marian's eyebrows rose a little. She Jiwced out at the thin drizzle of rain lng from heavy gray skies. Beautiful day for a walk," she said. ohella went forth into tit drlizle, C0U8IN. think it's ripe, or wear ilp and do not n-el to rare: the bank and net PROPOSAL. Westrup. a slim gray figure, and proceeded to try und walk herself Into a sullablo Inline of mind. She shared Central Park with a workman for awhile, '.hen even he went away, and appar ently Bhe had the park to herself. Then she saw a tall figure approach ing. Ab he drew near he raised his hat. "Oh, so you are hack, Marston!" she cried, gayly. "Will you hold my um brella while I shake hands with you?" "I wouldn't think of troubling you." There was a little pnuse of horror. TJ,.. rnM ii. . , ... .w im.r, ijiiih nj a ruECUtia irom me damp air, was raised to his, like a eniius who nau ueen chidden for an unknown fault, lint Sheila wbb not a child, so she smiled a Btiff little smile and "It Is a nuisance," she agreed, in differently. "Inn't it a horrible day?" "Yes." There was a pause. "Have you been in town long?" sho asked. "About three weeks." "Then you have had your fill of this damp, close weather," she said, and, nodding her pretty head, she walked on. Marston Hughes stood and watched the slim figure disappear Into the gray mist, That night in bed Sheila burled her head deep Into hor pillow auu "Oh," she cried, "If I were In love a hun dred limes over I would never give up my old friends! Never, never!" "I wonder why Marston Hughes nev er comes here now?" Marlon said, thoughtfully. Marlon was trying at times. But the whole race opposite her smiled bravely on. "Oh. he's a bad bhoy, entirely, and 'tis the truth I'm telling you. For hasn't he gone and forgotten his ould friends, while he's aflher courtln' the muld he lores?" Once sho met him In the street. It was a miserable fog-py evening, and she was coming home from an unsuc cessful visit to an editorial sanctum. "You've no business to be out In this fog alone!" he said, brusquely. "I'm am on my way home," she said coldly. He said nothing. She remembered that he was always more prone to act than to talk. Anyway the next mo ment she found herself in a cab, with, him beside her. When he spoke hi voice was harsh. "What have you been doing to your self?" he said. "N-nothing." "I suppose you are over-working and under-eating. It's absurd. You're "My things haven't had much luck lately," she said. "All editors are fools," the energy of his tones brought an odd sense of comfort to her. "Sometimes it's the contributors," she said, with a little laugh. "Not in your case," with firm con viction. "I'd bow, only it's bo dark." She talked on gayly, nnd then sud denly they were almost there. She gave a little breathless gasp: "Mars ton, why haven't you been to see me?" Why didn't he answer? Oh, why had she said it? Yet it didn't seem much to do for old friendship's sake. "I couldn't," he said quietly. The unhealthy cIobo weather had changed; there was frost In the morn ings now. "It Is bitterly cold out. Mind you put your thick things on," said Marl on one morning as she hurried away. Soon after Sheila slipped into her thick coat obediently. Marston had once approved of It; he had said the manliness of it on her was delightful. She put her hand absently Into one of the pockets, and drew out an envel ope. ) Looking down at it the dream iness In her eyB Blowly gave place tj a bewildered wonder. It was ad dressed in her own writing to Marstoa Hughes! Slowly, with cold fingers that trem bled and fumbled aggravutlngly, she opened the envelope, und took out the Kheet of paper Inside. "Dear Marston," Bhe rod. "how does a young man propose ut all?" Suddenly she r;ave a little strangled sort of cry a sob and laugh mingled In It. She But down suddenly on the nearest chair; she trembled so that the sheet of note-paper shook in her hand. Then with a runh the Joy and color came back to her face; she rose unsteadily, and, going across to her writing-table, she unlocked a drawer and, taking from it a piece of notepa per scrawled over with thick smudgy writing, went back to her cbalr and read It through. "It's mine," she whispered; "mine all mine," she gave a little happy soft laugh and, leaning back rested her chopk. against the paper. Then she dashed off an Incoherent note: "I want to see you at once. Oh, I am so sorry. Please come, Murston do come at once. "SHEILA." He came about half-past three. "You wanted to see me?" he said. The cold courtesy of hla tone brac ed her. When she answered ber voice was as steady as his. "I want to explain something," she BMll. "Yes?" There was a pause. "I you see the editor of 'The Crescent' he he I mean I sent a short story to him and he liked it, but he ho said" She stopped and drew a deep breath. "He said my hero's love-nialdng was not real and and specially the the letter he wrote; proposing " Across the silence this time his words cut sharply. "I hope I helped you there." Suddenly hrr fortitude gave way. A despairing little cry broke from her. "Oli, Marslon, you're making it bo hard for me." He was beside her in a moment. He took her hands In bis. "I'm sorry," he Bald, remorsefully; "come and sit down." Ho settled her gently Into a chair, put a cushion behind her head, then spoke softly: "Now tell me, Sheila." "I wrote to you I asked you to writer see, here Is the tetter.'' He took It and read it through, then glanced back to the date. "Go on," he said. "Why didn't you post this. Why?" His face was as white as hers now. "I thought I had. I took it to the post It was In my pocket I re member now that there was a circular too I was In a hurry I went to the wrong pocket I didn't notice In tho dusk " "Sheila," he came close, his voice was hoarse, "you thought my letter was in answer to yours?" "Yes." "Then, Sheila, you didn't know mine was real?" She shook her head. He took herd hands. "Then will you answer It now?" And so she answered it for the sec ond time, The Potent Pork Barrel, The President is attacking nn an cient and honorable Institution when he declares for a revision of the method of appropriating for rivers and harbors, more popularly known aa the pork barrel process. Those famil iar with congressional proceedings know well the process by which the biennial allotments of public funds for the waterways of the country are voted. It Is the old "log rolling'' device of co-operation. The representative of tho district through which rolla that noble stream Squash creek gives his vote for the projects to deepen Snake river, Podunk harbor, Goose bay and the mighty Slwash, while the representatives of the districts in which thoso classic waters have been bestowed by an Ill-wise providence lend him their help In turn and help one .another In a true spirit of broth erly love. Indeed, the filling and head ing of the perk barrel calls for the exercise of the moat benevolent spirit ever manifested in public affairs. Washington Star. Could Expose Them. Senator Tillman at a recent banquet told an amusing story. "The pastor of a Tallapoosa church,' he began, "said rather pointedly from the pulpit one Sunday morning." " 'Ah sutnly am rej'lced to seo Dniddah Calhoun White In chu'eh once mo'. Ah's glad Bruddah Cal houn has saw do error of his ways at lawst, fo' dere Is mo' joy obah one sin n.ili dat repenteth dan obah de ninety in' nine' "But at this point Brother Calhoun White Interrupted angrily: " 'Oh,' said be from his seat, 'de ninety an' nine needn't crow. Ab could tell some things erbout de nine ty an' nine ef Ah wanted ter!" Wash ington Star. During his nine years of experi menting Blerlot spent 1100,000 on hli aeroplane investigation. TITTUP MF.N The Pass 'Round Boy. Th' Thru 'Itouud boy has comi) ni X' door 1I"'h bi-.-n tliire two-three IIihi-b buhfore. Hi" pn that Uvea l hi re nlu't Ms pa. Hut hla ma she's lua reliy ma. Hla roily pa, he don't live ln-re. An' wviy h i fixed, wy, it looks queer, Iiiilunuse, w'y, where'a hla nlly l'u iho inu there ain't Ills n-lly ma. An' ao he'a Rot two liomea, you ae, An not .liiht one. like you or mo, He hufto mav one place a while An' chanitu then In a. paaa 'round style. Ho any it oncrt hla relly pa An him llvni with hla rellv nin. Hut they uniniini. il, nn' 'at now He'a Just a I'ara Iti.unJ lloy Bomohow. He anya he wish lie waa Ilk" me An' tlilniiB n ii),,, i,y uBe' to be, An' they llveil liki- iie-y lld bulifore, fcio lie won't pas 'munii any more. Th' I'nua 'Round Ilnv. hla name Is Jim An' I think Juat a 1 .1 o' him Hut I'm purf tn i, r iih ! n you 'At I don't hallo putt 'tiiiiiKl, loo! Harper's Weekly. A Ride In A Csleche. When I was In ('lunula 1 rode In a cnleche. Quebec anil Murray Hay are the only places when; they uro used. A cnleche Is a high curt with a buggy. It Is usually painted wlilie, trimmed wllh green or red. The body is t on leathern springs between two luuo wheels. When you go over a rough road it is like bilng on hoard ship. There Is a top for rulny weal her. The driver sits on the iliif lilmard. A folded blanket Is his cushion, When you get out you slep on the wheel, turn around und climb down hack ward. Tho driver places a snip of carpet on tho wheel to keep your skirts clean. We drove nil over the city of Quebec and enjoyed it very much. Dorothy R. Stelle, in tho New York Tribune. Br'er Rabbit's Tail. Have you ever noticed unythlng tin usual about bunny's tall? Next limo your mother Is going to have rabbit for dinner If you will look you will discover on the end of bunny's very abbreviated tail a small tuft of white fur. This while fur grows there, they say, so that when Mamma and Papa Rabbit are being pursued by hunters and are forced to run all tho little bunnies can follow their elders by watching the little white spots. Most wild rabbits are a peculiar brown color of the ground, and It is difficult to see them as they are being chased. And so that is the reason that small bunny, if he can't keep close to moth er's Bide, keeps his eye on mother's tail. Argus. I na ncKt ut uen. I should like to tell you about tho hoi-Be we own. His name Is Ben nnd he can do many tricks. If you get on hla back and lift tho reins and say "Up." he will g up on his hind legs. He can kneel and Bhake hands and he rttn dIca lir.An nni-frint tlmA I n n tu'A. I will tell you what ho did ono day. Papa had taken the other horse down town. Ben had not betji out. for exer cise for quite a while, so he thought he would go out himself. He opened his stall duor and then chewed the wood bolt off of another door nnd went outdoors. When ho got out he had a nice little gnlop, but wo got him in again. There are other things I could tell, hut I have written enough. Katharine Heath, in the New York Tribune. Winter Botany. Tho rare stalks of some of our common wild plants In their winter garb ami changed conditions tire cur iously mi fa ml liar. Some tall and gaunt stems hold aloft a few queerly ehaped, dried and empty pods, while sonic, like the evening primrose, have their long steniB covered with pods. Far more tantnlizlng Is an unknown dried pod than nn unknown flower, for our botanical key will Bpefldlly un lock the secret of the flower's name, but before the sphinx-like pod one is helpless for the time nt any rate. Even the flowers one knows well pro duce pods of other forms of teed holders of such unexpected shapes as to appear more a roguish dlxguls than a regular fruiting. Who would think, for example, that such a profu sion of tiny waxen blossoms a those that so charmingly top the common milkweed would leave to represent them merely a single, great, rough pod sometimes two, rarely three Instead of a whole cluster of tiny pods or even berries? St. Nicholas. A Girl's Threat. (Vanny and Roe lived all alone in a Utile house on a country road. Granny loved the tot, and well she might, for Rose tried In every way to help and please the old lady. "Why shouldn't I?" she often said. "Don't you spend your whole time working and caring for me?" One day Granny waa sent for by a neighbor a mile down tho road to see a sick baby, so Granny had to leave Rose alone. "I'll take care of the horte," said tho child. "But I may be late In returning." ' "Oh, trust me, Granny. You'll b how I'll take enre of things in your absence. I'll even cook teg for us." So Granny went, and Rose went About her work singing nnd happy. Finally, when she bad dusted and mended nnd cooked, she look kitty Into the sluing roni to rend aloud. Homely was sho seated than she heard n stealthy footstep In the kitch en, and, peeping through the door, she saw a big man ut the drawer where Granny kept the silver. Rose held her breath. Screaming would do no good, for the nearest neighbor lived far beyond her voice. Oh, she was so frightened, but she did not lose her presence of mind, for in a twinkling she mado up her mind to make the thief believe she owned a big dog. Bravely she opened the kitchen door, and In a loud, steady voice she said, "I will give you one minute, sir, to leave the house. Go before I cnll tho big dog. Here Rover," she culled loudly "come catch him!" The thief, though a coward at heart, saw determination In the young face before him, and with a curse he Jump ed out of ihe window nnd ran away. "My pet," cried Granny that even ing, folding the child to her breast, "were you not dreadfully afraid? You are a true heroine, dear, but I'll never leave you alone again, never!" "Oh, Granny, It was funny to see him run. Ho really thought I had a dog!" "Hut," sobbed Granny, "snppo.se he hadn't?" Philadelphia Ledger, Why John Lost His Place The story Is told of a bright young clerk, who, recetly, was dismissed from a large retail establishment. "After this week, John, we sliull no longer need your services," said the manager, "Hut but why, sir?" snld John, amazed. "You nre not reducing the force, and my work lias been satlsfac tory, hasn't ll '" "I have no fault to find with your work," said the nuiwe;er, seriously, "but there Is a very ii'noprtant fault for which I am compelled to dismiss you." "What Is It, sir?" said John. "You do not keep your opinions to yourself," said the manager and then he went on to Inform John as to what bis opinions had done for him. John was quick In his Judgment of men and things rather prided him self upon it. Before being In the store a week, he had formed an opinion of about everybody In it down to the least of Ihe errand boys. Then he had stated these opinions to one, nnd the other, and as u result everyone dis liked him cordially. Some had re fused to work wllh him on account of what he said about them, nnd this had brought tho matter to the mana ger's notice. It also had been re ported to him how John had express ed opinions freely as to the manage ment of tho business, the mistakes, that, in his Judgment, were being made, anil the improvements that ought to be carried out. John had aired these opinions outside the store, nnd they had been henrd, and repeat ed, by someone in a rival concern. "We can not keep you here, John, for these reasons," concluded tho man. nger. "But you are a clever fellow, and I am sure this lovson will bo enough. In your next place, have aa many opinions br you choose, but don't men) ion them to anybody, and you'll succeed nil rluht. You're not the first one we've had to Rend away for the same reason. Some of them never learned better, but believe you will." 1 John did. But his story Is only an olher Incident proving the old truth, that the tnngno is an unruly monitor. The boy who hopes to succeed In life, the plrl who wants to grow up be loved nnd admired, must learn to con trol a cnreless critical tongue. "She writes a correct letter, Is systematic and hard-working," snld one woman of large wealth, speaking of n girl who had been her private secretnty for a month on trial, "but she takes her luncheon at a restaurant where site was overheard to mention a' very Important privilege matter of mine, with critical common! s. I prefer the dullest plrl who ran hold her tongue, to the cleverest one who cannot, nnd 7 shrill not keep her." The flr.-t thing to do with one's ton (rue is to control It. Many hnvs nnd rrlrls make It the last thing Instead. Then, when they fall to be successes, they wonder why. PerhapB these two true stories mny set them to thinking, and show them tho personal answer. Sabbath-School Visitor. Worse Than a Hired Man. "Yaas," drawled the postmaster of Bacon Ridge, "that's old Zeb White, the laziest man In the State." "In what way is he so lazy, asked the coffee salesman. "Why, every Sunday h- takes the two chickens they are going to have for dinner and ties them as near to the pike as possible. "H'm! What Is that for?" "So the racing automobiles will whls their feathers off and ho won't have the trouble of plcklns them." Hous ton Post.