The Syracuse Journal, Volume 1, Number 5, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 28 May 1908 — Page 3

m LONELY GIRL

■r CHAPTER :s. B Os late, however, a month or'two ago, B\ the knowledge that Brian Deane —O’Connell’s nephew—had come back from abroad “on business” had come to Sir Lubien’s ears. Business? what business B could a man of Deane’s stamp have in | Ireland? He was doing tolerably well in B Australia-as a sheep farmer. But bu-si- ■ / ness in such a remote little corner of the B world as Carrig I When- Sir Lucien’s B lawyer in London saw nothing in his ■ coming, Sir Lucien told him with all his B usual urbanity that he was a fool, and B started straight for Carrig, and as he B hated being alone, without someone on whom to exercise his caustic wit and vile temper, he made a virtue of necessity, B*Wjand tried to compel some of his relations, •/and entreat others, to accompany him. Finally he got together neither those who were compelled or were entreated, but a few who from various reasons desired to get out of town for a bit.VAmongst them, . as we know, Hilary Adatfte, his nephew and heir. • ***** * “May, look here,” says Captain Adare, pulling his sister into the library after luncheon. “Did you mean what you said ' . last night?” “About Amber?” ! “Yes. That you were going to get him tb ask her here?” “Os course I meant it.” “Well—ask him now,’says he. V “I could have asked him five minutes ago only for you. You would keep talking of partridges. However, ‘now,’ as you call it, is always the best time.” As she spoke she leaves the room. Adare, thus abandoned to his own thoughts, gives them up to nothing but wonder pt the courage thfft can lie within ' so frail ,a body. As for him! Big and •• strong as he is, he would have thought for . many days before plucking up courfs ;■ age to tackle Sir Lqpien on such a question as this—or any other either! He is still'wondering when May returns. | 7 “Well?” says he, anticipating defeat. * - “It. is well; I am to invite her to come here on Friday. This day week. Os course he has something On his mind. p I think from what he said that he believes .Brian Deane is in love with her, and that her coming here—her being acknowledged —will please him so much, that be will “ give in and make some sort of a cornproraise about those’stones. I was wrong JaMtaWhen I thought he would ask her here to t Bhte him. But really, Hilary. I don't tint dreadful man Deane, knows of them, and even if he did. eomim; would not induce him to ■ them up.” ■^*‘Oh! he’s mad on the point of those BF ston.es,” says Hilary impatiently. “I I don’t believe he’ll .ever see or hear of them again. But all that is beside the. mark. Do you mean to tell one, in cold blood, that Sir Lucien has actually given you to ask our cousin here?” “He has, indeed. But, Hilary, why are you so glad?” 5 “Well, because —because I love her, I think,” says Adare, quite simply. <=■ CHAPTER IX. Adare, finding himself and his horse on the top of a hill that looks straight down on the old mill, hesitated about going home, though he is starving with hunger. Finally—love is a great satisfier — he rushes his good little mare down the hill and makes straight for the mill. Will she be there? When a man is in love, who backs him up? Not his own fellows; they all count him fooll Women don’t, however ! The man who loves them is wise, they say. 'v . Hilary, having left, his horse in the care of a woman whose cabin is noticeable from the road, goes on foot to the mill. Yesterday May had told him of Sir Lucien’s consent to her asking Amber to the Castle. To-day he will tell Amber —try to persuade her to accept the invitation. But will she be here? A turn in the road shows him the window in the old mill where first he had seen her, and again a little slim figure—not now in white indeed, but in dark blueserge, catches his eye. » Adare’s step and very soon he has passed over grasses and weeds lying so thickly and darkly in the r enclosure round the old ruin, and having come'to the torn-down doorway, mounts \ the steps with a beating heart, if a glad one, and all at once sees himself in her presence. “Finding myself here, so close, I thought, you know, seeing you in the window, I might f ” “Ofj course you’'might,” says she very prettily. They laugh together very happily. Indeed, so sweet, so confidential is her mood, that Adare thinks the moment wise to r break to her the coming of his sister’s visit on Friday next, and the invitation from Sir Lucien? “I’ve got something to tell you,” says he. “You won’t like it, I’m afraid, but -—Sir Lucien wants you to come and stay with us for a week or so.” • " Amber stares at him. “Sir Lucien—Sir Lucien wants me to Oh! it is absurd.” “It is not, indeed. And I entreat you to accept this invitation.” “I —to accept it!”' ■. “Yes. Why not? Look here; now, you are mad with him because you say he has made all the countryside round believe your father had a hand in the selling or doing away with these jewels, jl Well, if you accept this invitation, all | your neighbors will hear of you being a visitor at your uncle’s house, and it will do away with all that old gossip, won’t it?” “I don’t know,’’ says Amber, in a troubled tone. She has been carried away somewhat by his eloquence—an-eloquence that came from his heart. “It will vindicate your father’s memory. It will, indeed. You can see that,” toe* on Hilary.

“If I thought that ” says she, slowly. “You may think it. You must.” , “Well, I’ll go,” says she. “Not that I want to, you know”- —puckering up her pretty brows into a convincing frown-— “but —'■ —” a “That’s a promise,” says he, joyfully. He holds out his hands, and she. with a little laugh that disperses the charming frown at once, lays hers in his. Dear little hands! In the delight of the moment—the triumph of her consent —he stoops, as if to kiss them. Then, even in the act of ‘ stooping, stops ?hort. His eyes become riveted on one of the pretty hands he holds—the right one. Every particle of color in his face dies away. “Amber,” says he, straightening himself, and speaking slowly, and» certainly with difficulty, “where did you get those rings?” CHAPTER X. He is still staring, as if fascinated, as if disbelieving the sight of his own eyes, at her hand. On it shine two rihgs ; one is a magnificent the other a circlet of opals with a diamond of great value in its center. Adare kpows them. The old descriptive list of the missing jewels, lent, under certain conditions, to Amber’s mother, is well knowti* to him. These two rings, amongst many other far more important possessions, assuredly belong to the lost collection. “These?” Amber spreads out her small, loveable, brown little hands before her, and lets the rings—the wonderful rings—that shine upon them make full play in the fitful light. “Aren’t they pretty? I only wear them sometimes. I don’t know why I put them on to-day. But I’m glad now, because you can see them. Mother gave them to me. They are pretty, aren’t they?” She pauses, but is so taken up with her delight in her jewelled toys that she does not notiee how he lifts his head, that has been lowered, and makes an effort as if to speak—an effort beyond him/for the moment. afraid,” says Adare slowly, and with his very heart dying within him at Having to say this awful thing, “that your mother had no right to give them to you.”- " Her eyes now fill with surprise. There is no anger yet, only surprise. “No right?” “Think' what you-will of me,” says he desperately, “I must tell you the truth. Those rings belong to the jewels that your —that Sir Lucien is looking for.” “Oh, no, no, no I” cries she eagerly, passionately, as if with intent of Staying his next words. “You are wrong, quits wrong—my mother gave/'them to me. They could not belong to the jewels that are lost. She gave them to me' the very night before she died. Would she give them to me then—and• to me-—a merechild—if they were not f honestly her own?” He is silent, It is perhaps the most dreadful moment of his life. How can he speak?—how reassure her? His silence, strikes to her Very heart. “You don’t believe I” cries she, in a low but vehement tone.- “Take them, then. Take them I” She pulls them from her fingers, and dashes them with a superb gesture oA scorn, and righteous anger. and consciotTssjnnocence, at his feet. They roll round Ind round, but by a most marvejmre oltance do not reach any qf the many crevices in the old and broken flooring. ” “Let me speak!” “No. Not one word I Go! Do you hear? Goi” “Not till you hear me!” He stands doggedly before her. He is fighting, as h' knows, for his life. “I will not hear you. Why should I ? What are you tb me? A month ago I never even heard of you! I care nothing at all about you.. Indeed, you are less than nothing to me!” “Is that true?” says he; and then suddenly.catching her hands,•“! don’t believe it.” r " “No?” she laughs aloud. Such a miserable laugh. “What do you believe? Neither in me, nor in my father, nor my mother. Not even in your uncle, Sir Lucien, who has been the cause of this last insult. Did he employ you? Did he send you here? Are you a spy?” The smile, now dreadful as her words, is still upon her lips, and she is facing Mm bravely, defying him, with all the courage of the’ good old race from which she has sprung, her small head tilted backwards, when suddenly something happens. The small, and slender frame falls a=. trembling. She raises two shaking hands to her eyes, and turning sharply aside, ashamed—crushed to the very soul, that he should see her humiliation, she bursts into a passion of tears. A silence, with nothing but th'at' most heart-broken sobbing. “Amber,” exclaims he hoarsely. He goes to her and ventures to touch one of those small hands, pressed so wildly against the bursting lids. But she shrinks away from him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t. I could not bear it.” “Don’t cry like that, then,” says he savagely. “It drives me mad. ; I wish I had never said a word about those cursed rings. Even now, if you wish it, you can keep them. No one knows of them but you and ” “Is this another Insult?” exclaims she. “Do you think I would have you keep back your knowledge of those rings? Do you think I want, to keep them? I suppose my manner is ungracious, but—please pick them up, and”—with a lightning glance at film that very nearly kills him—“go away.” “It shall be as you will, of course,” says he, “with regard to my going. But I have nothing whatever to do with those rings; they are yours so far. Sir Lucien may lay claim to them, but how does > that concern me? They are his.” V .■*'

“They are nothing to me,” says ths girl coldly. “Let us make an end of the matter. It is very distasteful to me.” - She moves towards the 4 opening in the wall. “You mean by that”—he follows her —“that you wilt not accept Sir Lucien’s invitation.” He stops, lookirig at her, trying to read her face, his own very pale “Is this to be the end ?” She gives’ a little curt glance, half, only half, turning her head. “You do not understand me! If I ever hesitated about accepting it, you may be sure all such hesitation is now at an end,” says she, smiling at him, but oh! what a cold, smile. “I shall go to Carrig whenever your sister chooses to ask me. I am not one bit ashamed of your finding those rings upbn my fingers. I” —with her small head thrown backwards and the brilliant light o“f battle in her dark blue eyes—“l defy you all!” “Mfhy should you speak to me like that?” says the young man, a little pale, but with a firm expression round his lips “Is it fair? Defy Sir Lucien, if you will, but why look upon me as an enemy? Would you have had me act differently? Would you have had me—knowing those rings were not really yours —keep silence?” f . . ’ “What are you going to do with them?” asks she, faintly. There is a shrinking from them in her sad eyes, and yet a longing—a regret for them, too, that is not to be disguised. She had loved them, delighted in them. They had been her dearest possession, and now he has stepped in and has spoiled her joy in them. “They are yours as much as mine,” says he. “What will you do with them?” “Oh, no, not mine. It is not that — only- ” - She cover's her face with her hands. “Don’t tell him!” A last faint sob escapes her. “Don’t tell Sir Lucien !” , ! “I feel the greatest brute alive,” says he. “ l i*o you know I would rather die than make you so unhappy, and yet— Tell him! How could you suggest such a thing? Keep them until the others are discovered ” “Oh, no. I shall never touch them again; 'I could not. Could not you?” She looks at him anxiously. “No. But suppose—suppose we hide them somewhere here.”' It occurs to him that burying their little secret in the old mill will be a bond between them. “Down in that old cellar we looked into the other day. They could lie there very comfortably until—if ever the others are found.” - “Very well.” She leads the way down the broken staircase to, the hole in the upper flooring, where a mouldy old ladder lead? to the cellar beneath. As Adare puts his foot on the ladder he notices one of the arrows that had attracted, his attention before, cut deep into the upper step. “Here is another of those queer marks,” says he. “And all pointing downwards. I wonder what it means?” “Some direction to the mill men, no doubt.” “It is very dark. Are you afraid to come?” “No.” She descends quickly after him, reaching presently a vaulted chamber, dank and dark, and filled with a strong smell of must and earth. It is lighted, if lighted it can be called, by a thin ray of sunshine that creeps in through a small grated opening in a side wall. Looking round for a likely spot in which to bury them, Adare’s eyes suddenly r est'on a mark in the wall close to him. An arrow again, and again pointing downwards. “How curious,” says he. “Shall we bury them here? This old arrow may help us to remember them.” “I don’t want to remember them,” says Amber slowly. “And to dig so near a wall.” _ «• “True; n would be harder, no doubt, and we have neither spade- nor pick. Well”—moving a little farther from the wall—“here will do, and the arrow, after all, can be a guide even ( at this distance.” With a bit of iron Tying on the earthen floor, Adare digs a little hole in one of the corners close to the grated open, ing, and there, in his handkerchief, buries the rings. If only he had dug a little further to the right! 1 . (To be continued.) Cool. He looked at het anxiously. “I —I have heard,” he stammered,“that you are to be married this year. Is it true?” , ■ She met his questioning eyes. “I am glad you have asked me that question,” she told him. “Why?” She did not hesitate. "Because it, is in your power to furnish the answer.” Whereupon he took the hint. —Cleveland Plain Dealer. Soft Fall. Jinks —I never had much use for feather beds. I don’t consider them healthy. Blinks —Weft, I know a man who says he would like to see them all over the country. Jinks —Indeed! Who is he? Blinks—Why, an inventbr of flying machines.t The Problem Solved. Newed —My wife has a habit of taking money from my pockets when I’m asleep. Oldwed —Mine used to do that, too, but she “doesn’t any more. Newed —How do you prevent it? ' Oldwed —I spend every cent I have before I go home. The Weakling. „ “Say, mister” said the small boy, “lemme carry yer satchel?” “Oh!” replied the ladylike Mr. Cissey, “my satchel isn’t heavy,” “No, I kqow it wouldn’t be heavy fur me, but it’s different wid you.”—The Catholic Standard and Times. ■ YSouldn’t Be Better. The you really think you have an idea’: husband, don’t you? The Matron—l know I have. Why, he treats me as if he were a candidate for office and I was a vote;*.

Give Your Wife a Sunare Deal. Are you sure that you are giving your wife a square deal? Perhaps she, with all her charm, doesn't happen to have either great energy or executive ability. She may not want any occupation outside your home. She may not be strong enough for anything else. In that case she must get her experience of life second hand. She can, perhaps, get much from her reading, from her friends. She must, however, depend mainly upon you. You must be her point of contact with the larger life outside your home. If you surround your doings with an air of mystery—riiake the patronizing assumption that she can’t understand the affairs which interest and occupy you, you deliberately narrow her life, you deliberately lessen her chances for efficiency and happiness. No matter how godd a, provider you m|y be, no matter how kind and considerate, you are not giving her a square deal. This does not mean that you-should heap your business cares and troubles upon your wife’s head. That would be as wrong as for her to shift her domestic troubles to your shoulders. Perhaps you are so unfortunate as to be discontented with your wife. She is frivolous, ’extravagant, unpractical. You feel that her beauty does not counteract these deficiencies? Probably that is true, but who is to blame? Did you mayiy her because she «%s economical, practical, a good housekeeper, a good prospective mother? You were fascinated by her because she was pretty, irresponsible, illogical and whimsical. You a.re now discontented with her because she is irresponsible, illogical and whimsical. Did you think that a wedding ring and a husband would change her nature? Would you buy a horse because he could travel in 2:10, and then become disgusted .with him because he couldn’t haul bricks? Strange as it may seem, the wife with whom you

pOv -'LI | r ' z / e k-gVjjg p Wil “TOT ■ Wew AW Ui 14 W ’

are discontented, was once the pretty girl whom you were wild to marry. Nobody made you marry her! She didn’t tell you she was a good cook, or ah experienced housekeeper. Your mother wanted you to marry another girl who was both. You laughed at the thought You got what you wanted. .If you don’t want what you got, that is your fault and yours alone. “Why not give up expecting the impossible of your wife, and expect only the possible? If you thus give her an honest chance she may yet achieve what now seems impossible. If she does not, take your medicine.—Appleton’s. ■ / . \ Between Fifty and Sixty. The sixth decade of life has been most prolific in human achievements, and may well be designated as the age of the masterwork, says the Century Magazine. In action alone, its accomplishments have revolutionized history, and it would be most difficult to conceive what-would be the present status of the world’s affairs had these ten years of individual life never existed. Dark Colors After Twenty-Five. When she gets past 25 years of age the Japanese noblewoman lays aside bright colors and brilliant effects and wears a dark brown or\dark blue kimono. This is always of the richest material, however, and always the fam-

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ily crest is embroidered on neck, shoulders and sleeves. Sometimes during this period a simple design of storks or qranes or a mountain with clouds around it will be embroidered around the bottom of the kimono. Bright colors are absolutely forbidden to the Japanese lady of quality after passing her twenty-fifth birtfiftlay. Since she is usually a grandmother about this time, or very shortly afterward, the deprivation is not as great as a Westerner would think.

OMIt S

Very smart colored effects are this year obtained in the dotted swisses. The heavy filet laces* gain constantly in popularity and have quite superseded the Irish and Venise. Chenille tassels are rufi through crystal rings and fastened to the handle of the gay parasol. Os course, tassels and cover match. Odd little animals are seen on the handle of the light wood parasols. Some of the patterns' are artistic, though, rather odd looking. The Madame Butterfly costumes of tussore are displacing cretonne jacket linings and a touch of cretonne on the trimming, with picturesque buttons to match. Many of the striped walking suits are trimmed with pompadour ribbon on the collar, narrow revers, cuffs and belt, the ribbon matching the stripe of the material. * White dreses are finished in the tunic style, with an overskirt of lace that ends in a point at the front and

UP-TO-DATE GOWNS AND HATS..

back, sometimes with a bordure of lace beneath. Black and white is still immensely popular, but if one wishes to be “in grand chic” one must get the white and chaudron or copper plaid skirt, with the cutaway empire jacket of solid chaudron. There is an attempt to make every gown that is not distinctly a shirtwaist suit long and sweeping. This holds good even for the sheer lingerie fabrics; but while the trained gown is undoubtedly newest there are still quite elaborate white and light colored frocks seen that clear the ground—also the dirt. A rather startling color scheme for a hat, which seems to be gaining in popularity, is a straw of dark bronze, with a mass of quills in nattier blue, geranium and emerald green. A wide loose braid of ribbon in these three shades encircles the crown and the ends form a chou at the base of the quills. A Sweeping Tip. Soft brooms and a light hand in sweeping are responsible for much of the lasting powers of carpets and rugs, a bad servant usually ignoring the rule of sweeping witli the pile instead of against It, a detail of sweeping which makes, however, all the difference in the case of Turkey rugs, while grease ' > V

spots should always be searched for and removed as soon as. possible. Powdered magnesia and fuller’s earth in equal parts made into a paste with boiling water is excellent for the purpose, the paste being laid over the spots and removed with a brush when caked. The use of a hot iron and tissue paper is always to be deprecated on account, of.scorching the pile of the rug or carp’et. ’ t, Health and Beauty Hints. Turpentine applied to open wounds is painful, but successfully kills anygerms which might happen to be there. An inexpensive and excellent toothpowder is made of equal parts of powdered castile soap, powdered oyrjs root and precipitated chalk. Honey is excellent in nearly all throat and lung affections. For a sharp •tickling throat cough, a teaspoonful taken every few moments will quickly allay the irritation. Ink and other stains may be removed from the hands by a solution of rose water and acetic acid in the proportions of eighteen parts rose water to one of acetic held. Never sleep in a room with closed windows; lower the upper sash an Inch and raise the lower sash slightly; this will give a free circulation of air withotit creating a draft. To drop medicine easily cut a groove along the side of the cork of a medicine bottle;.put back in the bcfttle and it will be easy to count the drops one by one, without pouring too fast. The habit of biting the nails may be conquered by will power in an older person, but with children cut the nails very close and dip- the ends of the fingers in quinine or a little extract of quassia. Light hair is brightened by adding a teaspoonful of salts of s tartar and the juice of a lemon to the shampoo water. Frequent use of this is not

recommended, as it will in time make ‘ the hair harsh. Powdered charcoal will sweeten the breath. After eating onions if a little is taken into the mouth the offensive odor will be taken from the breath. If the skin is the least bit greasy, never use any cream on it, for this will make matters worse instead of improving them. Apply this lotion td the face once a day: Boracic acid, one dram; distilled witch hazel two ounces; rosewater, two ounces. For bruises, witch hazel applied and wrapped over afflicted part is a sovereign remedy. To prevent discoloration or congestion from bruises, apply as hot water as can be borne for five or ten minutes, renewing cloths as soon as they become slightly cold. * For Burning Feet. If you are a smfferer from burning feet about as speedy a relief .is any may be had from soaking the feet in tepid water in which washing soda has been dissolved. A tablespoonfol to a bucket of water is a good proportion. . A Society Pest. There is no more mischievous pest in society than the man whose attentions are without intention — who cftmes, and comes, but never courts.—• Dorothy Dlx. »

WHEN HE IffET HIS MATCH. New Stenographer Wanted to Find Ont About Employer. He was engaging a new stenographer, and he bit off His words, and hurled them at her in away to frighten’nny ordinary girl out ’of her wits, says Judge. “Chew gum?” he asked. .“No, sir.” ■ “Talk slang?” “No, sir.!’ “Make goo-geo eyes at the fellows when you’re not busy?” .. “No, sir.” • “Know how to spell ‘cat’ and ‘dog* correctly?.” “Yes, sir.” “Chin through the/telephone half a (dozen times a day?” “No, sir.” » “Usually tell the office force how , much the firm owes and all the rest of its private business you learn?” “No, sir.” • He was thinking of something else *to ask her when she took a hand in. the matter and put a few queries. “Smoke cheap cigars when you’re dictating?” she asked. “Why— er—no,” he gasped, In-aston-ishment “Take it out of the stenographer’s hide when you’ve had a scrap at home ' and got the worst of it?” “ “Cer-certalnly not.” • “Slam things around and swear when business Is bad?” “N-never.” “Lay for your employes with a club when they get caught in a block some morning?” “No, indeed.” I “Think you know enough about grammar and punctuation to appreciate a good stenographer when you get one?” I “I—think so.’.’ ' “Want me to go tof work, or is your time worth so little that—— “You bet 1” he broke in, enthusiastic-' ally. “Kindly hang up your things and let’s get at these letters.” NEW WORLD JERUSALEM. 1 ’- f ■ ■ J ; ■ Agricultural School at Woodbine, N. J., Is Turning Out Farmers. Is the Jew essentially wedded to the commercial life, or, given the opportunity, would he again become a tiller of the soil as In the old days of ibe na-

tlonal life lit Pal'bstine? Baron De H.ltsch believed they would return to tjle soil with . proper encourage-

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COLLEGE AND SUPERINTENDENT. ment and opportunity/ He established an agricultural schgol for Jews at Woodbine, N. J. The result is a new world Jerusalem. is to-day” the only exclusively Jewish town- Ln the world.. It i has a population of 2,500, is up-to-date immuniclpal improvements, and is well ruled. It has none but Jewish residents. Jewish town officials, Jewish policemen and firemen; in fact, Jewish . everything. Seventy-five per cent of the | people own their own homes. • And, the«inhabitants are , showing the world at large that the Jews of to day are as capable' of self-government as they were in the days of the Judges of Israel. Baron De Hirsch’s theory is vindicated.. The school turns out graduates every year, who are scattered « all over the country managing large farms or conducting smaller ones of their own. There are fifty Jewish farms scattered around Woodbine; many otters around Millville, Varmel,' Rosenhaym, Alliance and other southern New Jersey towns. - ‘ *' In every instance the Jew is proving himself a capable farmer. The graduates of the school leave it well drilled. Henry V/. Geller, agricultural expert, is the superintendent. The college and Its superintendent are pictured here. to Ont Ugly Ancestor*. c " “All our ancestors,” said a physician, “were pockmarked, and smallfpox was a recommendaiion If you were looking for work. “What I mean is that you couldn’t get a job if you had not hpd small” pox. No one wanted a servant who was liable at any moment to be stricken down with the loathsome disease. Eenqe -” He opened a newspaper volume of 1774. “Heneefiielp wanted’ ads. read like this: " ‘Wanted, a man between 20 and 80*. years of age, to be footman and under- - butler In a great familjr. He must have hud the smallpox In the natural way. .Idso a woman, middle-aged, to, wait upon a young lady of great fortune aid fashion. The woman must have hid the smallpox in the natural way.’” . Hard Hit. “There is one thing I dread,” remarked Johnson, “and that is a premature burial." "Don’t worry about that,” replied Brown; “the thing is Impossible. There’s no danger of your being burled too soon.” —Tit-Bi ts. - Other* Whenever." Some people make happiness wherever they go.—Success