Decatur Democrat, Volume 40, Number 3, Decatur, Adams County, 3 April 1896 — Page 8

©he democrat DECATUR, IND. a. BLACKBURN, > ■ - Pmmisnßn. dt. Jameson has put a lien on Immortality. He has been "done in wax” for a museum. While New York is debating whether or not Bon Franklin was a gentleman Chicago is preparing to. eroot a statrfe of him to cost §25,000. We are sorry to learn that Aubrey Beardsley is dying of consumption, but even in this sad hour nature preserves her balance; Johanna. Barnum’s chimpanzee, has drawn a picture of herself. Has it come to you how good a.thing It is to do good things for your own sake? If you say something bright to a dense man you are doubly entertained—by your witticism and by his density. New York City is doing everything possible to encourage the one and a half pound baby born there the ether day to remain on the island and grow. In the Greater New York movement every little helps. Mr. Gladstone may have some special reason for proposing to return to Parliament, but it cannot be to obtain a hearing. The old statesman has only to take the floor anywhere and the world comes to order. When spring opens all of New York's asphalt streets are to be patrolled by policemen mounted on bicycles. It will behoove crooks in that city to have their pockets full of carpet tacks with a view to covering forced retreats. The Niagara Commission in New York has decided to oppose all further attempts to harness the great cataract. As eight franchises have been granted on the American side and one on the Canadian, it is evidently time to draw the line. The average student is about the jame sort of hoodlum wherever you find him. whether at Barcelona or CoValencia. or Princeton. Clime and latitude seem to exert very little influence on the complexion and constituion of the college ruffian. A Louisville paper insists that if that French scientist is right who claims that “the Garden of Eden was located in America.” he must have had “in mind the Blue Grass country. The location of the Garden of Eden in Kentucky would also account for that case of the “snakes” which Eve experienced. Mr. Gladstone remarks that his pleasure in intellectual work is as keen as when he was a young man, but admits that, physically, he cannot quite bear the same burdens. One of the blessings the grand old man has conferred on his race is to add to the years of youth and postpone old age. The Financial Forecast of New York says that the “Standard Oil Company will distribute profits this year to the amazing total of $25,000,000.” This is a gigantic sum to be made in profits by stock is owned by only a few men—only four, we believe. This corporation started into business a little more than twenty years ago with §1,000,000 capital, and now distributes §25,000.000 as the profits of one year. Can such * immense profits be made without putting a burdensome tax on the people? The law respecting folding-beds, as recently handed down by a Maine court, is caveat dormitor—let the sleeper be on his guard. In the case in question, the folding bed folded and caught a man. The seller of the bed was sued for twenty-five thousand dollars damages, but the decision was in every particular favorable to the defendant. If tfye folding-bed has come to stay there is demand for an anti-folder that can be applied to any folding-bed in the interest of longevity. When Mrs. Ballington Booth, then the young daughter of an English clergyman, first saw a squad of the Salvation Army, she was almost shocked by its grotcsqueiiess. A similar effect was produced upon the religious part of the public when the Salvation Army first made its appearand^in the United States. A remarkable Testimonal of the change in public sentiment regarding this organization was afforded by the mass-meeting recently held in New York City to express regret over the recall of Mr. and Mfs. Booth from this country and to ask that it be reconsidered. tl is said that modern steamships e never race with one another, but every voyage is a continuous race against time; that purely business considerations, and not a spirit of rivalry in speed, are the incentive for putting each ship to her swiftest pare throughout every voyage; and that the fastest modern steamships meet with fewer accidents than occurred to the slower ships of a few years ago. This is in substance the steamship companies' stater ment. But would not the sreat and swift “liners” be safer still if not pushed quite so hard, and should not the safety of human life be the determining consideration? It is not remarkable that the German Emperor is constantly in a towering rage over the great number of anonymous letters which he receives, but it is remarkable that, h^-does not employ aj private secretary with sense enough to chuck such letters into the waste basket, instead of allowing them

to worry his royal master. But the most remarkable thing of all in this connection was the Emperor’s order that no anonymous letters were to bo opened. Were Sir Boyle Roach himself Kaiser he could not have done better. It is fortunate that the Irish hero of blundering is no longer living, and that he cannot know how much superior is the Teutonic Bock to the Milesian Bull. Senator Perkins of California pro poses to hunt for whales with “kodaks.” He has cdlleeted some prosaic people out West into a new company that Intends to take the romance out of the sea. They are to dot the Arctic regions with affidavit skippers and snapshot sailors. Harpoons are merely minor details intended to prod the recalcitrant whale if he refuses to look pleasant. This direction is given: Whenever a whale • is sighted oi struck a picture must be made of the same and the negative preserved for the inspection of the officers of the company. One can fancy the scene: “There she blows!" "Where away?” “Three points to the lee bow!” “Man the main kodak—press the starboard button—lower away!" There must follow a revised edltioi of the tales of the sea to fit the environment of this end-of-the-century whaler. The jolly tar must hereafter have at least a tintype education, and the crowning slang of the fo’c’s'le will be “Shiver my films." When the “old salt” returns from a cruise he will merely say, mildly: “Yes. we took a tine whale; but it was not a good picture I fear the harpoons tickled him.” An interesting and novel questiop came up in the San Francisco Superior Court before Judge Slack. A washerwoman. one Elizabeth Cavanagh, won a lottery prize of fifteen thousand dollars, which she immediately invested in real estate, .recording it in her own name. At this her husband. Maurice Cavanagh, took umbrage, fearing that ho and their four children might be} left unprovided for. He has brought suit to have Mrs. Cavanagh’s real estate declared community property. Under the civil code of California, “all' property owned by the husband (or wife) before marriage and that acquired afterward by gift, bequest, devise, or descent, with the rents, issues, and profits thereof, is his lor her) separate property.” The code further says: “All other property acquired after marriage by either the husband or the wife, or bp.th, is community property.” From this it is evident that the point will be a difficult one to decide. Mrs. Cavanagh’s attorneys will take the ground that the lottery'prize was “a gift,” hence not community property. But lotteries are illegal under the law of the State. Was not the acquisition of the fifteen thousand dollars by Mrs, Cavanagh contra bonos mores? Can the court take cognizance of the method of its acquisition when it is without the law? Here be fine points for the lawyers. But whatever may be the result of this case,-it has brought to light another corroboration of the gamblers’ belief in “washerwoman’s luck.” The mystic figures “4-11-44,” which have been used in jokes without number, and whose origin so few understand, were once played by a washerwoman in a New York “policy shop,” winning her a fabulous sum—for a washerwoman. In “policy-shop” circles they were thereafter known as “the washerwoman’s gig.” and were played persistently for years, but they never won again. The quarrel in the Cavanagh family shows that there are • lucky washerwomen in San Francisco ■as well as in New York. Co-Operative Idea Among Farmers. A still more striking evidence of the dominance of the associative idea among the settlers of irrigated lands U seen in the plan of a colony which settled In Southern Idaho as recently as 1894. These colonists had observed that the mining-camps of that region were littered with tin cans, the labels of which bore evidence of the prosperity of distant industries. They also learned that the condensed milk used in that locality came from New Jersey, the creamery butter from Minnesota, the starch from Maine, and the bacOn principally from Chicago. As the raw materials of those products are all easily grown In Idaho, the colj, onists determined to provide the slim pie industrial plants required to man-i ufacture the raw material into market Table form: They added to the price of their land ten dollars per acre,' and thereby raised a ••apital-o£-$50,000, which was somewhat increased by the sale of business property in the village. This capital provided a creamery, cannery, fruit-evaporator, starchfactory, pork-packing establishment, and cold-storage plant. Taken in connection with their diversified farms, these little industries constituted, in an industrial sense, a symmetrical community.—Century. His Hai-d Luck, 1 “Talk about there being no such thing as luck,” said Bilkins, deprecatingly: “why, everything's luck—life, riches, health and even the choice of parents depends on the merest chance. And I have been the unluckiest dog in Christendom.” » “Unlucky?" said Wilkins, sympathetically. “Why, T don't know. Now you’ve health, a wife-—” “There’s an-example, niy wife. Yon remember the day we walked dowr town together? You picked up o'.<i Rockleigh’s pocketbook. Your ac quaintanee in this way with him was wholly an accident. Now you are his partner in a money coining business. I picked up a girl’s handkerchief. Now I am her husband. I tell you. old man. I’m a Jonah," People dislike to reach the age whet they are old enough to know better.

AN EASTER IDYL The April sky had freakish cloud! To fleck its tender blue. In blurs, in lances all of gold, The April sun came through. Buds burst them out a merry rout, And robins ’gan to sing, As Mistress Jane camo down the lane, A pattern of the spring. Her eyes did match the April blue. Her gown the light cloud’s gray, And valley lilies kissed a throat As fairly white as they. The silver wind blew yet more kind That she did pass along. And riches sweet before her feet The purpling violets flung. Slow loitering at my lady’s side That happy Easter-time, Full softly through the sunlit morn We heard the church-bells chime. Her cheek grew red, as swift I said, While low her sweet eyes fell. “Grant me, I ask. the happy task To ring an Easter belle." MARTHA WILLIAMS, -w. in Harper's Bazaar. MISS MANDY’S EASTER BONNET It was raining hard, and the wind, which was from the East, blew raw and chill. Miss Mandy, who had a cat-like horror of getting wet, stopped an instant to secure a firmer hold of her scant black skirt; then, with a sigh, she trudged bravely forward up the village street. “I 'most wisht I hadn’t said I’d come to-day.” she said, carefully avoiding a little pool of water in her path. “But what's the use o' fussiri’?” she went on, almost as if angry with herself. “I’d got to come to-day. spite of everything, if I want my bonnet by Sunday: and I do want it by then.” with a desperate clutch at her dragging sirts. “I’ve had somethin’ new fur Easter Sunday—new or fixed up. that is—fur years; an’ I don’t see no need to do different now, jest because o' what fools say.” Miss Mandy Jerked her head defiantly. She knew perfectly well that “folks”—identical, by the way. iu spirit, at least, with the constantly quoted, ever powerful, yet intangible “they,” who exercise such strict watch over the doings, or the failures to do, of every one of us —were saying, some in pitying, some in triumphant tones, that “Mandy Wilkins was mighty liable to live beyond her means and git into trouble, if she kep’ on a-spending money so free on her clothes." True it was that Miss Mandy had a great fondness for “nice things,” with, perhaps, a particularly weak spot in her lonely, crusty, old-maid’s heart for a pretty bonnet. True it also was that Miss Mandy was poor; comparatively poor, that is, even for Bloomfield. “But then,” as she very justly said, picking her way across the muddy street, “what business is it o’ other folks how I spend my money; ain’t I independent o' everybody in this town?” So she defied them all; and this walk through the rain to consult Miss Anson, the village milliner, about her new bonnet to be trimmed, with the possible addition of a bunch of violets or a deep red rose, with bits of velvet, lace and ribbon, used for years, and now carefully pinned together in the little parcel in her hand, was her way of showing her indifference to public opinion. As she reached the further side of the street the rain, which had lessened for a few minutes, came down again harder than ever. Miss Mandy’s defiant expression gave place to one of disgust. “I jest hate to be out in the rain,” she said, “an’ git all wet. I declare. I've a great mind- —” She paused, anxious, irresolute. Directly in front of her in the doorway of a little tumble-down cottage, stood a woman with a baby in her arms. As she recognized Miss Mandy a perplexed look came into her eyes; she, too. seemed uncertain what, to do; then suddenly she called out, a little nervous tremble in her voice: “Miss Wilkins,” she said, “won’t you jeomd in an’ wait ’til It’s' quit raining? You'd better: it’s raining awful hard.” Miss Mandy fairly squirmed under her old shawl. _T.lie fact., was Mrs. Hales Were “not on good terms;” when they chanced to meet they were civlK but that was all, although Mrs. Halt's had done all she dared towards effecting a reconciliation. This unpleasant state of affairs had originated in a quarrel years before, between" Mr. Hales and Miss Mandy’s brpther. but it did seem to Mrs. Hales, now that lief husband was dead and Joe no longer lived at Bloomfield. Miss Mandy might relent, and smoke the piste of ]ieace. ~ No so. Miss Mandy’s family pride was strong; so. though she had never known the exact cause of the quarrel, anti had. consequently, no reaT knowledge as to the justice of Joe’s bitter resentment against “them Haleses” — for her anger had in time come to include Mrs. Hales also—she espouse'’ her brother’s cause with such waj-mth • that even the death of his enemy wasnot sufficient to appease her wrath. In spite of murmurings of disapproval from,various sisters in the church, and wistful glances from humble, careworn. shabby Mrs. Hales, Miss Mandy vigorously carried on the siege. But to return to Mrs. Hales in the doorway/ and Miss Mandy under the dripping trefls. Mrs. Hales looked halffiightened at her boldness in thus bearding the enemy; Miss Mandy had

twenty minds In a minute. Should she yield? During Mrs. Hales’ long Illness In the winter. Miss Mundy’s conscience had had many qualms. Should she? No! Lt was asking tbo much. Besides, “folks" would make such a fuss about ft; everybody knew . She suddenly became aware of the pleading look in Mrs. Hales’ eyes; she shook her damp skirt fiercely. No! She would not yield: she would brave the elements, and so preserve her own self-respect. She opened her lips to say coldly, "Thank you. Mis’ Hales, I guess I’ll jest step along,” when her eyes fell on the parcel in her hand. Its cover was quite wet already, the "llxin’s” for her bonnet—her velvet, her lace. The temptation was too strong, the risk too great. Instead of uttering the chilling speech trembling on the tip of her tongue, almost before she knew what she was about, she had said, rather weakly: "Well, I believe I will, Mis’ Hales,” and was walking up the narow path to the door. Toor Miss Mandy! She had barely crossed the threshold of the poor little parlor before her heart misgave her. Why had she done this foolish thing? She had committed herself past retrieve; a new order of things was a foregone conclusion. Then, suddenly, a sense of her own inconsistencies overcame her. her cheeks flushed hotly, and, as was always the case with her when struggling with any unwonted emotion, she looked more grim and forbidding than usual. She muttered something in reply to her delighted hostess’s rather incoherent words of welcome, then, seating herself stiffly near the door, responded as briefly as possible to Mrs. Hales’ animated flow of talk, which, however, was soon interrupted by a wild shriek, the very incarnation of terror, pain and rage. Miss Mandy’s nerves were not of the strongest. She clutched the sides of her chair with both hands, and held on for dear life, while Mrs. Hales, unceremoniously dumping the baby on the floor, rushed to the rescue. A lively skirmish was going on in the kitchen. Jacky had slapped Tommy, who had promptly returned the compliment. after which preliminary passages of arms blows were dealt indiscriminately. varied by an occasional kick, both the contestants s’ereaming meanwhile ; at the top of their voices. Mrs. Hales : immediately swelled the chorus with exclamations of angry remonstrance. ■ while the baby, incensed [last endur- , a nee at being left to the tender mercies , of the severe-looking stranger, after a i brief interval of grieved whimpering, : broke into a series of heartrending wails. Poor Miss Mandy indeed! In the house of her enemy, surrounded by noise and confusion, such as her prim, orderly, old-maid soul particularly loathed (an untidy house and screaming children), what wonder that her nerves twitched, and. as she afterwards said, she “jest felt mighty like lettin’ go an’ screamin’ long o’ the rest of ’em." Meanwhile the battle in the kitchen'j continued to . rage briskly, and tYkj wails in the parlor grew more frequent and no less heartrending. Miss Mandy almost forgot something of her own discomfort as she watched, little Johnny, and hey anger grew apace towards “them little plagues out yonder.” Miss Mandy did not like children; she had frequently been heard to say that “she never felt no great drawin’ towards ’em.” but the baby’s distress aroused a feeling somewhat akiu to pity, even in her stern breast. She really wanted to try and comfort him; but as she stooped down, with no idea in the world what to do,,the frightened eyes and tear-stained cheeks turned towards her were so appalling that she resumed her seat as suddenly as if the widespread mouth of the helpless infant had been the mouth of a cannon. As soon as possible Mrs. Hales flew to the relief of her youngest offspring; but scarcely had she settled herself in the old rocker near Miss Mandy, with the baby in her arms, when sounds of war again issuing from the kitchen, the distracted parent, breathing out threaten ings against tin* little rebels, mingled with apologies to her guest, departed again for the scene of action, this time taking the baby with her. and so leaving Miss Mandy in comparative peace. In peace? Far from it. She sat clutching her umbrella, growing more angry every minute—angry with herself for being there; angry with “them shiftless Haleses fur. havin’ such a pack o’ children anyway:” angry beyond power of expression at the children themselves —the “little tikes!” Her grim exterior was but a faint indication of the volcano of wrath bubbling within, when her indignant reflections were sharply broken in upon by a painful, hollow cough. Miss Mandy faced about, and looked towards the window near which, on his little hard bed, lay Willie Hales, dying, people said, of consumption. She had scarcely noticed the child before, for he had been asleep, but the noise had awakened him, ans she watched him now, almost against her will, a strange, new feeling at her heart. She saw him shrink and shiver as the sounds from the kitchen reached him; she saw him close his eyes and clinch his tiny fists when the sharp cough came; she saw the dark circles under his eyes, the blue veins throbbing in the "White temples, the pitiful little figure outlined by the worn quilt, the most unchlldllke curves of the sensitive, quivering mouth. The sight of the child brought thoughts of other dayg, when be was a baby, and there had been a close

friendship between the two families, and Joe had loved the little fellow dearly, and he liacf been named William Joseph, for his father's friend. How long ago it seemed; and now—Miss Mandy shifted uneasily on her chair. There was a strange feeling in her throat; she swallowed once or twice convulsively, then, with stealthy glance at the child, she raised her hand to her face. To brush away a tear? Hardly; she was looking more severe than ever as, the hand still trembling with anger that clutched the old umbrella, she muttered. grimly, •'Them shlf’less Haleses!” Half an hour later Miss Mandy was walking down the village street towards home. The rain had ceased; the late sunshine streamed brilllantlj' through the , tender green of the trees, and, falling upon the puddles in the road, turned them to tiny sheets of gold and silver; the bits of grass beside the path shone with countless dewy diamonds; the birds called gayly to each other in the tree tops. There was a sense of spring life and freshness and joy in everything. But Miss Mandy walked on, unconscious of it all. One hand held the little parcel, the other the handle of the old umbrella, its point dragging iu the dirt behind. Her skirt dragged, too; it caught the wayside grasses, now and then sweeping the raindrops from their shining blades. Once some one called from across the street, “Good-ev’in’, Miss Wilkins”; but Miss Mandy never turned. Presently she reached her own neat cottage; mechanically she opened the gate and went up the little walk. On the porch she paused and, turning, faced a broad expanse of uninclosed ground opposite, and beyond the beautiful dear-shining western sky. There was a new look on Miss Mandy's sharp face—a gentle, pitying, half-ashamed look; and when she spoke, her voice trembled a little. “Poor child!” she murmured, apparently addressing a largo white cow tethered in the open space. “The little I can do fur you I will do. Jest because I've ben a' ole fool ain’t no reason fur my goin' on that way. Let folks talk, es they’ve nothin’ better to do.” By the time she had finished speaking she was the old. defiant, sharp-voiced Miss Mandy; and | witli one of her characteristic, deter- , mined nods, directed, it would seem, at 1 the mild-faced cow, she went into the house and shut the door. Early the next morning Miss Mandy I went shopping. She walked rapidly, a ; gleam of excitement in her eyes, her | mouth drawn into a thoughtful pucker. She passed Mrs. Hales’ cottage with but one swift glance at the window near which Willie lay. At the milliner's simp she gazed almost angrily. Was she defying Miss Anson and the world In generai, or was she only fortifying her own soul? When she reached the store she asked to see “some comfort caliker,” the purchase of which was easily accomplished; but while Mr. Stubbs was measuring off the goods Miss Mandy stood twisting the fringe of her shawl, growing more nervous every minute She looked at Mr. Stubbs helplessly once or twice, and replied to his observations as to the probabilities of its being an early spring so absently that the worthy shopkeeper regarded her with curious eyes as he folded the calico. Miss Mandy had turned a little away from him now. and. his gaze following hers, his wonder deepened. Then he spoke, his voice a little sharp from surprise: “Want to see some o’ them things?” his bony finger pointing to some toys on the further counter. Miss Mandy started, and her face reddened as she replied stoutly, “Yes, I do." adding, with a forced laugh. “I guess you're surprised at my“lookin’ at such tilings, Mr. Stubbs: but I’m going to. and that’s enough." She crossed the store, Mr. Stubbs following. “Let me see that Noah’s ark,” she demanded, “an’ one o’ them jumpin’ jacks, an’ some pictur’ books; an' what’s them sugar images on that top shelf?” Mr. Stubbs’ curiosity became almost too great to be restrained as he produced the desired articles for Miss Mandy’s inspection; but the grim manner of the purchaser inviting neither question nor comment, with an effort he held his peace. “My, but won’t Mary be surprised when I tell her?” he soliloquized, bending low over his cash drawer, as if afraid that his austere customer might hear his thoughts. When the bundles were tied up Miss Mandy stepped cautiously into the street, and, witli a hasty glance to right and left, sped quickly, byway of an unfrequented back lane, towards homo. Even then she tried to hide the bundles under her shawl. Indeed, her behavior during the whole expedition might have led the casual observer to suppose"her to be engaged in some reprehensible project, of which she fully realized the iniquity, but which, with hardened heart, she was determined to carry through. She was just congratulating herself that no one had seen her, when, as ill luck would have it, as she drew near her own gate, Mrs. Perkins, a spiteful old lady and desperately Jealous of Miss Mandy, crossed the street, coming towards her. Miss Mandy’s hand shook as she unlatched the gate. "I ain’t goin’ to hurry one bit,” she sitid to herself with a fhrtive glance at the aprpoaehing figure. "Well, Miss Wilkins.” called out Mrs. Perkins, panting for breath—Mrs.Perkins was very stout— “got your new Easter bonnet in*that buddle,ls’pose. I heerd yon’s gettin’ one; looks big enough.

anyway. Hope yon'll bare a good day to-morrow to show it off." As she concluded her cutting speech Miss Mandy faced her squarely, and spoke out loud and clear: “Yes, I have got my new Easter bonnet in here, Mis’ Perkins,” she said, "an’ I presume it's big enough. Anyway, I like it better’n any bonnet I ever had before. I’ll be wishin’ you a good-mornln’, Mis' Perkkins"; and she turned away, leaving the old woman devoured with curiosity and rage. How Miss Mandy worked that afternoon! but by 4 o’clock everything wasready, aud in a flutter of delight she settled herself to the pleasant task of making up her bundle. “I declare,” she said, exultantly,, viewing the various articles spread out I before her, "it'll take the big basket, I there’s so much.” Then she began, but she made slow work of it, enjoying it with all the power of a naturally warm heart, long closed against those two mighty influences for happiness to one's self as well as others, love and sympathy for little children. First she took up the small comfort she had unearthed from the old chest upstairs, and covered with the new, bright calico from the store; and as she carefully folded it and laid it in the bottom of the basket, she said, softly: “He’ll lay easier on his hard bed, I guess, with that under him.” A box of delicious ginger cookies made from a recipe of Miss Mandy's great-aunt, a famous cook in her day. and a little cake with currants in it and icing on top. followed the comfort; and them, with a sigh of contentment, she took up the book of fairy tales, the purchase off which had put the finishing touch toMr. Stubbs’ bewilderment, and there was silence until Jack had killed his last giant and Cinderella had been proved beyond question to be the owner of the magic slipper. After the book was disposed of Miss Mandy was free to turn her attention to the toys, and how she did enjoy that! She gazed at them admiringly, she fingered them lovingly—the jumping Jack, the tin soldiers, the Noah’s Ark. At last the temptation was too strong; with a shamefaced glance at the window she opened the ark—“jest to see ’f the beasts is perfect”—and made a fine procession, the march of the animals to their future home being rendered 1 safe iu the presence of the tin soldiers, i gay iu scarlet coats and flashing i swords, whieji was a trifle contrary to j history, perhaps, but really the effect ; was most imposing. Miss Mandy sat lost in enjoyment of this scene for some seconds, then with a suddrti flush she swept the “percession” together, exclaiming, “What a’ ole fool 1 am!” after which the packing proceeded with more speed, but no less pleasure. A glass of jelly, ssnie rosy apples, and two great golden oranges came next,“to keep things stiddy." explained the absorbed packer, fitting the last apple to the place; and then the crowning glory, six brilliantly colored eggs, carefully packed in cotton, and covered with four red-bordered handkerchiefs of diminutive size—“ How s’prised he’ll be to find them eggs under the han’kerchiefs!” said Mandy, with a dry chuckle—and two wonderful sugar figures. dried and hard as brickbats, and weirdly ugly as to feature and coloring, but delightful to behold nevertheless. “There, that’s all. I declare, them things is nice. Now fur the card,” and Miss Mandy cut a square paper, upon which she wrote slowly, in a stiff hand, “An Easter present for Willie Hales, from”—she paused an instant, then wrote rapidly with compressed lips, s “Miss Mandy Wilkins.” An hour later Miss Mandy was standing, well screened by a huge bunch of lilacs, near Mrs. Hales’ front door. On the stop sat the big basket, the square of paper tied to its handle swinging gently in the spring breeze. Miss Mandy prembled as she heard a the door-knob turn. “I declare,” she said, clutching at the fence behind her for support, “I feel jest like a thief." Then she heard Mrs. Hales’ exclamation of surprise, and, peering cautiously from behind her leafy screen she saw her stoop and read the card, then lift the heavy basket with a sudden, happy smile, and go in and shut the door; while the lonely woman, with so few to love, after waiting a moment till that strange blue should disappear, sped homeward through the tender twilight with a radiant face. After supper Miss Mandy got but her old bonnet and pressed its wellworn spring's. “Well. I do declare," she said, afterwards, turning it about admiringly, “I’d no idea this bonnet looked half’s well’s this. It ’ud been jest sinful waste fur me to ha’ got a. new one; besides”—she fell into a reverie, her eyes fixed on a bright Spot in the carpet, her bonnet still in her hand. At last she roused herself. “To-mor-row afternoon I must run in and see Willie,” she exclaimed, brightly, adding, with a twinkle in her sharp eye. “an’ ast him bow he likes my Easter bonnet.” > ''. A Strong Thirteen Story. A real estate agent said: “The strongest thirteen story I know pf Is the one which I have heard told about Arthut McQuade, who was in tipboodle Board of was said that when misfortune overtook him his friends—some of them—attributed it to the fact that lie had purchased a house for §13,000 at No. 313 East Thirteenth street. There are people to-day,” he added, “who will tell you that that was the cause of his trouble.*