Decatur Democrat, Volume 50, Number 28, Decatur, Adams County, 13 September 1906 — Page 6

OUT of THE SHADOW'S | By Fannie Htaslip Lea Copi/rtyM, &». bv Ruby DoupJaa i |. . . . -—ft In the gentle current of Miss Sarah’s life by far the wildest eddies were I*Bolß’B love affairs. Miss Sarah had never had a lover herself—she had always been too busy taking care of Paola, who was the younger sister, a glim, pale creature, with vivid eyes and a bead that habitually drooped a little as though weighted by its own gold hair and a sense of languorous melancholy. Beside Miss Sarah’s old time courtesies Paola was as an orchid to a pansy, but underneath the melancholy was a certain irresponsible deviltry, • certain intangible witchery, that brought the most eligible youths of the neighborhood in suppliance to her feet and filled Miss Sarah with unceasing wonder and amazement. Whenever a new victim appeared upon the scene Miss Sarah thrilled with apprehension. As he was friendly, she approved of him; as he was more conspicuously attentive, she watched for him; then in gentle perplexity that never vanished with added experience she saw him hover, advance, retreat, hover again and plunge. When the little comedy was played out she took up her knitting with a sigh of relief, opened her volume of’ Felicia Hernans at the purple bookmark and prepared to rest before' another siege. Paola herself slipped from one emotional cataclysm to another, as the Blender moon from cloud to cjoud. They veiled her vivid calm for a moment, but she always emerged unfettered on the other side. She had been wearing Francis Lockwood’s roses for a month, when Miss Sarah one night, after three gentle calls unanswered, stepped through the long French window on to the moonlit veranda with a crimson scarf in her hand. The June night called for no such guard against its close, sweet warmth, but on the subject of damp and dew Miss Sarah was inflexible. “Paola,” she said anxiously, then, since there was no Paola in all the I J® fl ; I I Inn M V WwMjtLx f/ I C, -t— r SABAH DREW BACK INTO THE SHADE OF THE GREAT OAK. shadow dappled length of the veranda, raised her voice a little and called again, “Paola, dear!” A mocking bird in the cedar by the gate gurgled a liquid impertinence that ended in a low call to his mate, but the rest was silence. Miss Sarah looked across the lawn, then down at her feet. “Paola must have this scarf,” she said to herself sternly, “and I suppose she is sitting on the bench by the Black Prince—the most imprudent child'” That the Black Prince was a beloved rosebush saved Miss Sarah’s remarks from their apparent impropriety, and, mindful of her steps, she hurried into the path that led to the Black Prince’s domains across the lawn. The moon burned white above her in a cloudless sky, and Miss Sarah re--sponded delicately to the influence of the hour. A faint fragrant dream, with boyish eyes, called to her as she went slowly down the path, and young faces swam mistily in her memory as if they had drifted there with the smell of the box iu the hedge. She thought of the might her mother died, another June; of a flowered gown «he had worn the day she was sixteen, of a poem, something about daffodils, or was it roses? '“The love that came with the daffodils and went away with the roses’— that was it,” said Miss Sarah, with a little sigh of satisfaction, “only the daffodils come back with the spring and every summer there are roses, so I really don’t see the sense of that. Those love songs are nearly always rathei Billy.” She stopped to thrust back the daring sweetness of; a yellow banksia. "The garden is very sweet tonight,” said Miss Sarah to herself, “and God walked in the cool of the garden. I wonder was it like this.” She paused on the edge of the Black Prince kingdom, where it lay. half in shadow, and lifted her eyes to the moon. “Oh, dear!” said Miss Sarah, almost ■loud, “what a beautiful night it is,” whirb was Miss Sarah’s way of saving

that the’world was very good and the was happy. Then she lifted her skirts a little higher and sped into the heart of the rose garden. 'Paola was sitting on the bench by the Black Prince—Miss Sarah saw that at once—and beside her was young Lockwood, as Miss Sarah had also foreseen, and Paola’s head was thrown back, and one of Paola’s slim white arms lay like a shimmer of moonlight along the back of the bench. “Positively Inviting rheumatism,” murmured Miss Sarah miserably. She was within a few feet of them and a call trembled on her lips, when Paola’s own voice stopped her. “Go on,” said Paola in a soft, hurried whisper, and Miss Sarah by some queer instinct drew back into the shade of the great oak behind the bench, fearful lest an incautious movement would betray her, fearful almost of her own breathing, for Miss Sarah was learned In the ways of Paola’s suitors, and it was one of her best learned lessons never to interrupt them. So she drew back and waited, innocent of any desire to eavesdrop. “Go on,” said Paola again, and young Lockwood’s voice came out of the deeper shadow, low and vibrant and rhythmic. Miss Sarah leaned closer instinctively to hear the words; they escaped her at first, then echoed clearer: "Remember how when first we met we stood, Stung with immortal recollections, O fact, immured beside a fiery sea That leaned down at dead midnight to be kissed I O beauty folded up in forests old, Thou wast the lovely quest of Arthur’s knights; Thy armour glimmered in a gloom of green. Did I not sing to thee in Babylon T Or did we set a sail in Carthage bay,?'’ Were thine eyes strange? ’ Did-1-not know thy voice? All ghostly grew the sun. unreal the air Then when we kissed.” The last word quivered sentient on the air, and Miss Sarah trembled wi’th a strange fear of it. Her fingers found the rough bark of the tree and clung; she waited, hungered, for the rest, but young Lockwood’s voice broke from the beat of verse into uneven words: “Paola, my beautiful, it is our story.’* “It is the story of Paola and Francesca,” said the girl dreamily. “Paola and Francesca— Paola and Francis—what does it matter? ‘Were thine eyes strange? Did I not know thy voice?’ ” Miss Sarah, dizzied and enwrapt by she knew nat what roseate mist, saw the white grace of Paola waver and lean to the shadow and heard a few moments of magical silence, the whisper, tender, exultant: "And In the book they read no more that day.” Miss Sarah felt her way back to the path with unnecessary care. If her light footsteps had been the crash of brasses they would not have reached the two by the Black Prince, but Miss Sarah did not know it. She hurried along between the roses, catching her breat|i in little gasps as she went, and the wraiths of lost years swarmed around her, stinging her to wild, indefinite regret. She passed through the moonlight . and dp the steps, through the open window, and caught up her neglected knitting with a pathetic de sire for things tangible and commonplace. She opened the volume of Felicia Hernans at the purple bookmark, but without knowledge of a line. “I never knew what it was like!” sho said pitifully to herself. “I wish I had known.” The magic of the moonlit garden swept over her again, and the music of the lover’s verse murmured in her ears. Miss Sarah trembled with a vague, unhappy longing for the things that she had never known—the things that were the inheritance of Paola, her sister, yet had never been hers. Beyond the window the garden lay vast and wonderful beneath the moon, to her a land where life ran in strange currents between banks of enchanted blossoms. Suddenly and without warning a tear slipped down Miss Sarah’s cheek and splashed upon the purple bookmark. Another followed it and yet another; then Miss Sarah drew herself togethei and shut between the leaves of Felicia / Hernans poems her one belated vision of romance. “And in the book they read no more that day,” she said to herself, with a sad little sigh. The she took up her knitting again to wai, for Paola. A Roland For His Oliver. He was very practical, and in order to have everything fair and square beforehand he said: “You know, darling, I promised my mother that my wife should be a good housekeeper and a domestic woman. Can you make good bread? That is the fundamental principle of all housekeeping.” “Yes; I went into a bakery and learned how to make all kinds of bread.” She added under her breath, “Maybe.” “And can you do your own dressmaking? lam comparatively a poor man, love, and dressmakers’ bills would soon bankrupt me.” “Yfes,” she said frankly, “I can make everything I wear, especially bonnets.” “You are a jewel!”'he cried, with enthusiasm. “Come to my arms”— “Wait a minute; there’s no hurry,” she said coolly. “It’s my turn to ask a few questions. Can you carry up coal and light the fire of a morning?” “Why, my love, the servant would do that.” “Can you make your coat, trousers and other wearing apparel?” “But that isn’t to the purpose.” “Can you build a fiouse, scrub floors, beat carpets, sweep chimneys”; “I am rot a professional.” “Neither am I. it has taken most of my life to acquire the education and accomplishments that attach you. to me. But as soon as I have learned all the professions you speak of I will send my card. Au revolr!” And she swept away.—London Tit-Bits.

DRINK WHEN YOU EAT TAKE AS MUCH WATER AS YOU WANT WITH YOUR MEALS. It la Excellent For the Digestion, It la Claimed, as Neitk.ee Gastric Joice Woe Pe>aia Work Properly Unless Largely Diluted With Water. How much water should we drink and when should we drink it are questions so simple that at first sight their discussion seems superfluous. One would naturally answer, “Drink all the water you wish when you are thirsty,” but authorities say, “Drink more than you wish when you are not thirsty,” for they recommend that a gallon or so be drunk between meals, which ia more w’ater than we need and the very time the system least demands it Usually we experience thirst during or directly after eating. Inasmuch as 87 per cent of the whole body is water, which is. of course, being used up every moment, there is no question that we should drink of thia element copiously, but it is a serious question whether we should refrain from water at meals—the time we particularly desire it There is a class of persons, ever growing more numerous, that believes that whatever is is wrong. For the natural and simple they would substitute the artificial and complicated. To drink water while or directly after eating is a natural instinct. Give a dog his dinner, putting a bowl\of water near it, and observe that he will first eat all he can and then immediately drink. Wild animals look for a stream after feeding. Cage birds will stop pecking at seed to peck at water. Children have a perpetual thirst, and I have seen babies that, unlike young Oliver, have refused to eat more when denied water after every few rnquthfuls. It is especially important that babies be given what water they wish and at the time they wish it, which is usually at table. The thinner food is the more easily and thoroughly is it digested; in fact, it cannot be digested until it has’been made liquid by the gastrip and intestinal juices. Indigestion is’eaused often' by food that has not been sufficiently moistened by the digestive secretions. There are sound physiological reasons for our craving water with meals. Water is the solvent that constitutes 95 per cent of the gastric juice. Now, when one eats a hearty meal and does not drink, the amount of water in the stomach is not sufficient thoroughly to moisten the great quantity of food, and this makes digestion difficult. Qn the other hand, when enough water is ingested with the food the latter is well moistened and broken up, the digestible particles being then readily acted on by the gastric juice and afterward absorbed. Again, when the partially digested food (chyme) passes into the intestines it is most important that it be very moist, particularly as water is constantly absorbed from the chyle' in the large intestine. Bad cases of constipation are caused by dry chyle remaining in the intestines, where it sets up an inflammation. that sometimes proves fatal, dry faeces, of course, resisting peristaltic action. The excrement of persons suffering from constipation is always dry and hard and is a potent cause of appendicitis. The idea that water drinking at meals unduly dilutes the gastric juice id nonsensical, water being not so palatable that one is apt to drink more than his digestive functions »require. As a matter of fact water generally facilitates the digestion of albuminous substances. In this connection Dr. A. Jacobi in his work on “Infant Diet,” page 67, says: “In experiments upon digestion of albumen with gastric juice obtained, from the stomach of animals it was noticed that after a certain time the process began to slacken, but was renewed merely by the addition of ..water. The gastric juice became saturated with the substance 5 it had dissolved and ceased to act upon what remained until it had been diluted. In the living stomach this dilution is of even greater importance, for it permits of the immediate absorption of the substances soluble in water and which do not require the specific action of the gastric juice.” Neither the gastric juice nor pepsin has any true digestive action unless they be largely diluted with water. It goes without saying that it is not the food that is ingested, but that Which is digested, that does good, and this principle holds good with water, which is practically a food. Now, when one resists the perfectly natural desire to drink while eating he may be not thirsty several hours afterward, but he is advised nevertheless to force himself to drink at that time. But if he drinks then, the water, having no food to mix with it, will go through him, as It were—that Is, it will do no good. The Importance of water to the human econojny may be inferred from the various purposes it subserves. First it softens and dissolves solid foods, thus facilitating their mastication and digestion; second, it maintains a due bulk of blood and the structures of the body; third, it keeps substances In solution or suspension while moving In the body; fourth, it supplies elements in the body’s chemical changes; fifth, it makes easy the elimination of waste material; sixth, It discharges ’superfluous heat by transpiration through the skin and by emission through other outlets, and, seventh, it supplies in a convenient form heat to or abstracts heat from the body. Some of these functions are performed by water in Its liquid state and others in a state of vapor. Have you Indigestion? Try water instead of drugs with your food.— G. Elliot Flint in New York World.

Cobra and mongoose A DEADLY HATRED EXISTS BETWEEN THESE CREATURES. Tke Active Little Quadruped is Almoat Alwiyi the Aggressor and la Generally the Victor—Europeans In India Do Not Fear the Cobra. On the very first morning, as the tourist flops down in his long armchair on, say, the elevated veranda of the Esplanade hotel, Bombay, he will find the inevitable juggler appealing to him with uplifted eyes, accompanied by his bag, his basket and the other paraphernalia of his craft, and, though the mango growing trick may be more mysterious, the fight between the cobra and the mongoose will be more interesting. The inborn mutual hatred between these creatures must be supposed to serve some purpose in the wise economy of nature, and yet would look very Strange did we not know that similar aversions exist between other more familiar creatures, and for some reasons not always apparent. Irrespective of the danger of It, why does the mon.goose attack the cobra? A live mongoose is said never to touch a dead cobra in the way of food, and the bristly carcass of a mongoose is probably too tough for. even the capacious digestion of his natural adversary. We can only account for it, therefore, on the same principle that the best bred game dogs will not touch the flesh of the quarry that they are so fond of hunting. The active little mongoose Is almost always the aggressor, for the comparatively awkward cobra, unless he got bim asleep, would probably never think of attacking his more nimble opponent, and it is generally the mongoose that Is victor in these Though the cobra rears his head, expands his hood umbrella-like to the utmost and, hisses viciously, his dabs at the enemy seem misdirected and aimless, for the wily mongoose suddenly becomes double his natural size by the erection of his tough, bristly coat in a way that seems quite to deceive even the wise serpent as to what may be bristles and what not. It is only,.just to say for the cobra, though, that if his fangs were not extracted or the poison glands destroyed a successful chance peck would soon finish the mongoose in spite of his activity. The natural animosity is no doubt ? greatly toned down in the specimens possessed by the jugglers. Familiarity breeds tolerance, if not contempt, on both sides, so that they must attack one another with less ferocity than in their natural wild condition and must often laugh in their sleeves when the farce is over. I had the good or bad luck to come across many cobras here and there, the most of which I killed. Indeed, there Is little to fear from a cobra in the open. If you do not attack him he is not likely to attack you unless he takes it into his head that you are going to tread on the tail of his coat. It is a popular delusion that a cobra, after rearing himself, can jump at the enemy. This he is quite unable to do, for the motion of the head is along the arc of a circle of which the radius extends from the head to the part of the serpent touching the ground. On one occasion during the war in upper Burma, when resting on a small tent bed of an eighty pound service tent, I saw a cobra walking stealthily Into my parlor, as the spider would say to the fly, through the open door. I say “walking” advisedly, because serpents do actually walk on the end of their ribs instead of wriggling along after the fashion of worms. The presence of this snake naturally created quite a nasty feeling, with such a narrow compass to move about in, but the make did not get out alive. There are such incredible stories invented about cobras in India and so extravagant, too, that one hesitates to mention one’s own more modest, though truthful, experiences, as not quite thrilling enough to be placed on record. My own most creepy sensation was at an up country station in I had newly arrived there from Burma and was writing at nighttime on one of the usual kinds of writing desks, with drawers on each side 'and an empty intervaibelow and between, the desk being, as usual, placed against one of the walls of the room. I was dresteed, moreover, in thin, hot weather clothing, and therefore particularly vulnerable to the bites of snakes. My legs were in the empty space beneath the lid and in the interval between the drawers on either side. But what was It that I suddenly observed creeping round from the end of the table to my right and going into the hollow almost in touch with my right foot? It was a vile cobra. I could not jump away on account of the position in which I was placed. I at once realized that to move In any way would probably rouse .the serpent immediately to rear and strike. At any rate, whettier it was by calm calculation or that I was too petrified with horror to move, I never did move- a muscle till, to my intense relief, the cobra got beyond my feet to the back of the hollow against the wall. Then I moved away with less grace than agility apd shouted to my bearer “Boy! Boy!!’ at the top of my voice, for it is scarcely needful to tell that not even the common or garden bell rope has yet penetrated into the remote Mofossil stations of India, not to speak of the electric press the button variety. Hindoos, as a rule, are not fond of killing snakes, or anything else for that matter. Indeed, they look upon the cobra as sacred and worship it in their purblind fashion, especially at the yearly festival of Nag Panchami, or the feast of snakes, naga being the Hindoostanee word for a cobra. At' this; time, however, one or two of | my servants were Mussulmans, who

~~ , === [— The Housekeeper’s Check By ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE (Copyright, IMS, by Joseph BL Bowles. Our new addition was complete, but we never quite seemed to get through paying for it. A number of times, when we thought we had settled the last and final bit of our liabilities, a new demand would be presented, a new hydra head to be smitten off, a new wound to be seared over and forgotten. A big brace for the tall new chimney was an “extra,,” of course. Likewise the storm windows and a new patent damper for the furnace, guaranteed to save anywhere from nine to ninety-nine per cent, of the coal used, and to supply at least double the heat The spark-screen, andirons, and other adjuncts for the fireplace—these, too, were f outside the contract, and a good deal easier to buy than to pay for, even when the buying meant mousing about in dusty antique stores, and the paying a simple matter of drawing a check. It is easy to draw checks when the account is replete—in fact, it is rather a pleasure to do so—l am sure the Little Woman used to regard me with an admiration akin to awe as I carelessly filled in the figures and name of payee, and signed my name with a neat flourish oh the line below. I suppose she wondered why I never let her do it, and very likely considered me selfish in conserving to myself this important and rather agreeable duty, though I did not think of th.s at the time. It presently became less agreeable. When the third figure of our balance waned into the perspective until ft became a thin line that would become a vanishing point at the least touch, the construction of a check became a serious matter. It was no longer lightly conceived and carelessly put together, with decorative scrolls at the end, like a spring lyric. It became a thing of forethought and reflection — to be wrought at last with a grave dignity that savored of the epic’s solemn close—with that feeling of sadness and longing that marks the end of each and every waning balance in the banker’s till. As I was saying, our balance became a feature of consideration, even discussion. There were a good many things we still needed in the way of furniture and decorations, now that our habitation was to our liking. We also needed clothes. When we sat down in our rather imposing rooms in which there were a few good old pieces of furniture, and some truly antique rugs, the fact that our apparel was also good and old did not give pleasure to the Little Woman. She became almost disagreeable 1. about it,ope day, when I was-arguing. for a new chair, and declared thats&B looked like tramps that had gotth while the folks were away. • 7 I ' • 1 still urged the chair. I said that clothes were a matter of display and vanity. Also, that they were transient and fleeting, while the chair would be' the comfort of a lifetime. Whereupon the Little Woman stated that there were certain garments that were not used for display, except in magazine advertisements, and that these as well as the chair were matters of comfort, and needed a good deal more. She insistea that we had laid but enough on extraneous luxuries for one year, and that there were a few things we might forego, in order to be decently clad. To do the Little Woman justice, 1 that I believe her general tendenlsHs rather toward furniture than raiment—this being the true collector spirit, and to be commended. She had smothered her better inclination, this time, and was ready to sacrifice the chair for a silk waist and something to go under it. She meant to have garments, whatever the cost You shall see how she was punished. .We went together. Neither could quite trust- the other alone in the department store revel that was to follow the purchase of the waist. The fascinations of a department store are too great to be resisted singly. Even working together and in full accord, we yielded oftener than was good for our balance sheet, or for the prospect of the new chair any time within a period when we might reasonably hope to need comforts for the flesh. We didn’t pay as we bought. There is great saving of time in getting a transfer card, and a greater certainty of prompt delivery in having goods come C. O. D.- When we got through we had bought most of the things we could think of, and a good many we never would have thought of without seeing them, and that we couldn’t think of 'again when we got outside and were on the train going home. J had not counted the exact amount of our debauch, but had run the figures up loosely and liberally, and realizing that the end was now inevi- ' table, drew a check next morning for our full balance. Then I went away, leaving the check and the obsequies * in the hands of the Little Woman. If the amount was not quite enough she was to make it up out of her weekly ! purse. If it was too much she was to keep the change. ’ , , ; By some quirk of fortune it was too , much. It was several dollars too much. , ihe Little Woman was elated until the driver regarded the check rath'er doubtfully and ♦ decided' that he ■ couldn’t give money for it He would give the goods freely enough. The 1 amount of them was fully ten times as 1 much as the change coming, but they . weVe only goods. Money was a differ- < ent matter. He had probably tieard of bogus checks. This might be one of j them. He couldn’t exchange good mon- < *y, however little, for a check. ]

Perhaps he was a new driver. J hope so, for his sake. The Little Woman’s argument waa of no avail. He was good-natured, but he was firm. He was also ingenious. He suggested that another check for the correct amount would set everything straight. If the missus only had another check now, she could write it to fit the figures of the bill. The Little *Woman hesitated? She had never been allowed to perform this especial and sacred rite, though she had signed almost every other Kind «f paper, from a receipt for a load of coal to a first mortgage, with coupons. , A check seemed of less importance than these. Besides, a new check would leave a balance as a starting point of a new account. We' were as one, why not? She told me about it when I got home. It seems she had certain misgivings by that time —probably the promptings of a sub-conscious memory of banking matters and a cashier’s arbitrary requirements in the matter of characteristic signatures. It was too late to do anything that night., Tne bank was closed long ago, and I - did not think it wise to spend the night in looking up the president or even the cashier, to explain. I don’t think she slept a great deal. She had some idea that an officer would be waiting down stairs in the morning, and that she would never look on our Precious Ones or her silk waist again. I consoled her with the suggestion that, while ignorance of the law was regarded as no excuse, there were certain extenuating circumstances —that I thought the Precious Ones would hardly be grown, and that the silk waist might be in fashion again by the time she returned to gladden our hearts once more. Still, there was an uncertainty about the outcome that made the bright morning, the new waist, and our general assortment of furnishing goods as ashes to the Little Woman. She was sorry now. She wished she had let me buy the chair. We had an early breakfast. The banker regarded me rather doubtfully when I had finished my statement. He had known me on both < sides of the ledger for some time, but this was a new phase. “You say your—eh, housekeeper made a check, without a full knowHf “SHE’S REALLY ONE OF THE: FAMILY.” ledge of the seriousness attaching to the signing of names in that promiscuous way?” “I—yqs, that’s about it”.* I was covering the Little Woman’s identity and a lack of knowledge, not altogether unnatural to the sex, but which F felt that he, as a banker,, might regard with scorn. “Os course,” he proceeded, “as one hot directly related to you the matter appears somewhat more serious. Had it been really one of your family now —your sister, for instance, or your—” “Oh. but it’s just the same, you know,” I put in. “I mean, of course, that she —that she’s really one of the family—that is, of course, it’s all right, I mean.” I had not explained my plan to the Little Woman before starting. I had: an undercurrent of Wonder, now, what she would say if she could overhear my efforts to get her decently out of the pitfail into which; her pride had ? tumbled us. I hoped she was enjoying her new things, A clerk brought the check at that moment. It had come in from the clearing house, having traveled safely through several miles of circumlocu'tion. The six inches between the banker’s hands and mine would be the hardest tug. The banker scrutinized the signature severely. “Rather delicate hand for a—housekeeper. How long did you say she had been in your service?” a named the largest number oi years, within human limits, and reviewed the proprietary interest she had always felt in our affairs—the 2 amount of receipts and things she was daily called upon to indorse—and gave another and improved version of the episode with. the. intelligent driver , who was willing to give any amount of goods for my check, but no change. I abused the driver —there was no harm in doing wasn’t there, and it wouldn’t have hart him, anyhow. I think the driver saved the situation. The banker took a hand with me, at abusing him. Then we were united agaipst a common enemy, and the Little Woman was safe. I thought she would be tearful and contrite and grateful when I arrived with the news that it was all right, and that she Was to remain with us. I suppose she really was grateful, and I know that she was glad, for she went and put on all her new things and 'was so proud and had such an air that I didn’t dare for the life of me tell her the “housekeeping” detail® of my interview with the banker, and Jtave got xawMmed them till this day.