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The Big Miss Euphemi upona fallen 10 with: her blm c] "Jemima!" shn "Jemima. Hume! Ain’t 3 goin’ to stop pickin’? My pa an’ shook down. and not anoLh would I pick this day, if I wn‘de- in 'em knee deep. Co. here in the shade, and let‘s eat our lunch I” The pink sunbonnet mgved and its owner cmne slowly from the woods, hei‘ portly'form tearing an ample path-way in the bushes. “Well Euphemiu Anderson!" she said, as she sank panting in the cool shnde of the maples and fanned her rotund countenance, “If you'd lived for the last twenty years on the prairie, and: in a town at that, you‘d go on pickin‘ raspberries all summer, and winter too for that matter,an’ be glad. This here ’s brought back my younger days more than anything. I've gone round in a reg‘lar dream all afternoon, sayin’ to myself “Jemima Hume, you’re home again; you’re in Ontario and you’re under a. tree pickin’ raspberries after twenty years I" They were seated at the edge of a little wooded hill, known .as "The Slash," which overlooked the surround- ing farms. Mrs. Hume looked down across the sunny fields that sloped in gentle undulations down to the blue and silver expanse of Lake Huron. Here and there farm-houses nestled cozily in their orchards, and past them run a picturesque little glen that divided Miss Anderson‘s home from the neighbouring (arm. A little stream gurgled through its green depths, slipping lazily over the white stones, for the thirsty sun had almost dried it, lingering in the cool hollow called "The Spring," where the willows were reflected in its clear pools, rolling out a little swifter under the bridge, where the white dusty road crossed it, and. finally flinging its joyous self into the waters of Lake Huron, as they came rushing up in welcome, all blue and white and smiling. It was indeed a beautiful picture, with the warm afternoon sunlight flooding all; but the visitor's attention had been caught by a huge board fence that ran parallel to the little stream. It was remark- ably high and was topped with iron spikes [worthy of the wall of a mediaeval castle. bonnet bush "You may well ask, Jemima. That fence is the disgrace of the country- side. I a'pose there weren’t two bet- ter friends in Ontario than Steve Martin and our Andrew, when you folks moved away. But they got into a row about fencin’ the farms off, nothin' much to begin \vith, but it ended up awful bad. I never guite got the rights of the story, because it started before my time, when Andrew’s wife was livin‘, but there was a good deal of trouble about pay- in’ for stance, and fora long spell there was no fence at all, both 0‘ them Lvin‘ that stubborn. An‘ Steve’s cattle used to get into Andrew‘s grain; some said he kept that field for pasture on purpose even after it was all] were out. 1 never liked to ask Andrew about it because he‘s got a temper. even if he is my brother, an' the name of Martin to him. is just like showin‘ a red rag to a med bull ; but as far as I can make out they went on rowin' un' rowin' for a whole year, till it came to Steve havin' the law on Andrew, an’ that’s a thing he couldn’t never for- give; ‘none of our family ever bein’ in slaw-court in their lives before. I don't blame Andrew much butI do say it‘s an awful way to live with your neighbors. It's just eighteen years. come next Thanksgiving, since poor Maria died. an‘ I came to keep house (or Andrew; and that big fence had Just been finished. An’ since the day "Well, well,” said her hostess, smiling, "you’ll be easy entertained Jemima, if that’s all you need. I'm sure it makes me young again just to sue you round. Somehow IDBVeI‘ felt the same after you an‘ Peter went to Manitoba. Now help yourself to that chicken jelly, and try some of the short-cake. There's no hurry home, 1151 long as I get there to help Sarah Ellen put away the milk. Thus the women sat and talked for some-time. "Deary me, Euphemia" she said, re- adjusting her spectacles, "What on earth possessed your brother to put upl a barricade like that between you and the Martinses V" A shadow passed over Miss Eupho- mia‘s wrinkled face. "Look now; ain’t that a prettier sight than you‘ll ever see in the north west 9" said Miss Euphemia at length. fallen log and wxpea 1161‘ uwe r blue checkad aproi). um I" she called to a pink aun- displuyed above the raspberry Anderson sat down and wiped her face let‘s eat our Comc had 0L1 ever full to death. You see, there was just the two Martin children, a boy and a girl. You‘ll remember the boy, Jim. He! was just the same age as our Archie 311‘ they fought like two young bears at school. Well, Jim turned out an awful worthless fellow and left ‘lome when he was quite young. He went off to Australia or Africa or Greenland or some such out-o-Lhe way I Set foot In that housa the Martinaes an’ us ain’t had no more to do with each other than if we was both scared the others had small-pox. An‘ Mrs. Martin seems a pleasant spoken body too. Bob was just five then, an‘ bein’ the youngest he hadn't much idea of what was goin’ on; and Imind when he started to school his father gave him a reg‘lar trimmin’ one night [or haulin’ little -Maggie Martin home ouh cau place. an’ they ain’t never heard of him for yea'ra. Some say old Steve Martin ain‘t never got over it, and that’s what makes him so hard. He thought the sun hard. He thought the sun just rose an’ set on that boy an’ his moitheir just the same. But it‘s the girl I started to tell you about. I don‘t know what sort of a girl she is, but I tell you she‘s most awful go‘odâ€"lookin‘. She’s the neatest slip of a thing, as straight as that stick, an’ with fair, curly hair like her mother, an‘ the biggest an’ softest eyes. She’s an” says, as park as you please. "So Bob’s keepin’ company with Maggie Maxtin ?” " \Vell, I just felt for a minute as if all the breath had been knocked out of my body. I couldn’t say a word. She pretended to be most awful sur- prised because I didn‘t know. She said it had been goin’ on all last win- ter and she’d seen them herself comin’ home from the pic-n10 on the Queen’s Birthday, armâ€"inâ€"arm, walkin’ dread- ful slow. I‘ve been that worried ever sinoethinkin‘ what his pa would do to that boy if he was to find out, that I can't sleep nigh-La. I know An- drew ain‘t got wind of it yet, for him an’ Bob is just the biggest chums, Bob bein’ the baby you know, an’ the only one at home now, besides havin‘ his mother's black eyes. But I can’t bear to think what he's do if he was to find out.” DOV 9. Williams all over, whether she's like the Martins in her ways or not Idon’t know. \Vell, what Istarted to tell you about her was this. I never got wind of it until about a week ago beâ€" cause everybody is scared to mention the Martinses in our house; but Sylvia Morrison couldn‘t keep it; You mind what a gossip Sylvia used to be ? ‘Well, she’s ten times worse now, for she does the sewin’ for all the folks on this line, and she’s just chuck full 0' news all the time. Last week I had her to help make over my black silk, soon as I heard you was comin’ an’ right in the middle of stitchin' a piece om the machine, she stops up sudden an? says, as park as you please. “ Well, well 1" said her friend, sooth- ‘ingly, "I ‘wouldn’t let it worry me, now Euphemia. I jufit wouldn’t. There mayn’t be anything in it after all. Young folks change so now. Our Tom is just hereaway, thereaway, with a new girl every week. Boys is like that," she added, reassuringly. “ Yes, but Bob ain’t," replied Miss Euphemia, with mournful conviction. “If he takes a notion for anything he never changes. He's like Maria’s people that way. Now the Andersons were all flirts in their day.” " Yes, and you were one of the worst yourself, Eufihie I" laughed her friend. A twinkle came into Miss Euphe- mia’s blue eyes and for a moment hex wrinkled face, that still 'showed signs of a past beauty, looked almost young. “But Bob‘s different. He’s such a jolly sort of a fellow you‘d think he didn‘t care for a thing except to be up to some mischief. But my good- ness! he's that set when he does take a thing into his head there’s no turn- in’ him. I mind the time his father gave hLm the thrashin‘ I was tellin’ you about. I went up to his room after Andrew had gone to the barn, because it just always went through me to see Bobby touched. He never shed a tear until I took him into my lap, an‘ than the poor little darling put his arms around my‘ neck till I "I‘m afraid, I was,” she with quite a coquettish g} better have been l‘ke you, J1 see what came of it all," sighed. ho 1‘11 m it from her i at home. “Ain’L to live. Jemima aar, dear!” siE uthetically. "It 551 htened whisper. at’s the worst of it. There was no trouble in that quarter ak of, but now I’m clean worried 1th. You see, there was just NO Martin children, a boy and a the youn L'uph like th And 1 her f mt. It is indeed. ks keep it up ’6‘" voice dropped to nther too it just a te DB she admitt glance. ".l'd Jemima, for .” and she her 1t pity trier whe sounds of life; a line of lazy cattle wandered slowly up the white road, the leader‘s bell tinkling softly; the Little river caught the radiance of the sun and responded with a gay sparkle. But the big line fence followed the stream’s bright course, winding down the hillside dark and sinister like the serpent in the garden of Eden. Miss Euphemia's sharp eyes had been taking in the details of the Scene and had. espied two figures moving in the deep violet shadows by the spring. Suddenly she sprang to her feet. “Jemima, oh land of liberty 1 What’s a bear or what 7” “A bear! I wish it was. It‘x our Bobl Yes, it is so our Bob 1" she cried climbing upon the fence to get abet- ter View. “Oh, my stars above, it’s true I” For answer Miss Euphemia pointed through the trees to the little willow grove beneath them,and there, sta \d- ing against the big line fince, as though it had been erected for We express purpose of sheltering Andex- sons and Martins, while they mads love to each other, stood the stalwart fouvm of the son of the Anderson household, and very near him shone the golden head of the Martin’s daughter. that 'Z" " For the love of goodness, Euph‘ie Andaman.” gasped Mrs. Hume, 'Is it Mrs. Hume clutch-ed her fr'nnd’a trembling form. “Ewphemia Anderson, what‘s the matter? Are you gone daft 7" Miss Anderson seized her friend’s arm and dragged her across the field, over the summerâ€"fallow and into the lane beyond. Neither spoke until the barn-yard was raached and then Miss Euphemia dropped her pail and leaned against the gate. him, see think 1 There was a aympathetir tween the two old friends They leaned against the They leaned against the tre and looked down over the valley. The sun was sinking i Huron, now a sea of gold, 9. ing its resplendent glow over and the treeâ€"tops. The stalwa as on the shore stood black ag shining water, the woods in lows were growing purple. E farm houses came faint, " Mind! He’d mind murder far less. A Martin, Jemima! It’ll drive him mad, Oh, my poor Bobby, my lamb, you‘ll be driven from your home this night. His father’ll never forgive him, never! Oh dear! Oh, dear! There 811C “Jemima Hume, don’t tell me that he kissed her 1" she commanded. But Mrs. Hume was quite beyond telling anything. She pointed me- chanically to a figure that was crossâ€" ing the summer fallow quickly, and making straight fur the spring. Poor Miss Euphemia upset her berries and trampled them ruthlessly in her eag- ecrness to see who it was. "It’s Andrew 1" she screamed. " It‘s his father! He’s seen me goin' an’ he’s followin’. May the Lord have mercy I” \V “Come away in Euphie,” said hem friend, soothin‘gly. "Come now, don’t take on so; don’t cry now. Maybe Andrew won’t mind so much a: you think." thought him, never! Oh dear! Oh, dear! There I am Jemima burdenin’ you with all my troubles and you my visitor. Deary me, what a. dreadful thing, and to happen when you’re here, too. Come, we might as well go in; they'll be home soon au‘ we'll know what’s hap- pened." \Vhat had happened was soon ap- parent, for it could be read in the lowering face of the old farmer as he entered the house. The fourth meal of the day was spread in the big, breezy kitchen, for it was the rule in the Anderson household to have the table set at all hours. Sarah Ellen was bringing in the fried chicken from the cook-house, and the two wo- men were seated awaiting the others, when the elder Anderson entered. " Ye needn’t wait for Bob,” he said shortly, thu‘owing his hat into the corâ€" ner and seating himself. " An‘ just go on without me, I don’t want any sup- per toâ€"night." "0var Edam will I cast my shoe." says the psalmist, the throwing of a shoe being the symbol of new ownerâ€" ship, a testimony in Israel of pos- session. In Angloâ€"Saxon times the fa- ther delivered the bride‘s shoe to the bridegroom, who touched her with it to show his authority. The custom of throwing an old shoe after the bride in England and Scotland signified that the parents gave up all right or do- THRO\VI.NG SHOES AFTER BRIDES minibn over >the daughter. find all Aunt yes wer a little wh he‘d choke me, an' we'had ‘y together. But. oh‘, my any little man mad! His bi; as were blazin’ and be tight little fist an” be gays: ’ t EuDhie. I'll marry littl if I don’t To be Continued uphie, I‘ll marry little n I get big, just to spite don’t 1’ An' I sometimes a he's kept that in his life. It would just be like r the hills art beech- gaiust the 1 the holâ€" From the peaceful zy cattle ' a time. 8 trunk tranquil nto Lake nd- not gratified. Cucumbers are a ramlk poi-.5011 to the insects, and the pairings from them, scattered about, will thin their ranks psrceptibly. Borax, which is a. clean powder, is :11- so‘ poisonous to thiam, and this, with a trace of [sugar added to it, sprinkled in) tho iron closets about the range and othmr haunts will have a desir- able effect. There a. great variety of manufacture l pnwders, all of which are good if applied to corners and edges of floors and wall with one of the "shotguns" that came for the purposes. ' ing; by t here hrs In making pickles only the best cider vinegar should be used. If a gmeuen color is wanted in sour cucumâ€" bear pickles it can be obtained by put- ting 1mm into cold vinegar in a povrccla'hn lined, kettle and letting than heat slowly over a slow fire unâ€" til they are green. Only granite or pure-elatn-lined kettles should be em- ployed in) making pickles. Mold can be avoided by putting nasturtiums or pieces of horse-radish root into the pickle jars, which should always stand in a dry and dark placlet A cafe frappe, which is always de- lightful as an afternoon or evening refreshment is simply made. To one quart of strong coffee sweetened to taste add the beaten white of one egg and freeze. b‘erve be in glasses, with whipped cream cm the top. People who move into rented houses are likely to encounter water bugs and cockroaches, and only vigilant ef- forts will effectually rid the prem- ises of the 'pests. Both of these var- ieties of bugs are especially fond of brown paper and wet cloths, and it is well to see that their tastes are not Era-titled. Cucumbers are a Wash. black lace'with train water, to whim} a. teaspoonful of borax and a tablespoonful of alcohol has‘ been added to emery pint. b‘ewj cotton on u. bo‘ttLa smoothly and wind the lace owacr it. Pull out the edge and busts ist down on the. bottle. \Vash white lace with boiling waâ€" ter and borax soap, after first bast- ing it on a bottle cove-red with. white cottotn. Let the lace dry on the b0 t'tLen. to t}! Bro wn b r lioio‘us TO PRESERVE MEATS. To can meat boil the meat until nearly done, season wi‘lh salt and pepâ€" per. Out from bones Ln slices and put at boiling point into glass cans. Fill all straws with. the. broth to the whiCh well t white. :1 About the House. put at boning poant IDLO glass cans. Fill all spaces with. the. broth to the bjl‘Lm of tin mm. Screw on covers iigth'tly as possible. Beef, mutton veal or chicken can be successfully canned by this method. Keep in a cool, dry place. The bones may be boiled until tha meat will slip from (ham; them can ll. and the broth for cool and pour over meat. Brine should b3 strong enough to bear up deq wise. Spunkle with fine salt and meat with salt. I hams on bottom, 5 ml with flame- salt and rub each piece of meat with salt. Pack is!) barrel with hams on bottom, shoulders next. and sides on top. After three days cover with following 'br'me; \Vater, 8 gal- lons; salt, 1;! pounds; sugar, Spounds; saltpetter, 3 ounces; concentrated lye, 3 teaspoonfuls. B011 and skim, then use inn HILL). 1nd Artists sometimes use a raw pota- to for this purpose. Cut 'off the end of tha potato and rub the painting vary gently with the out and. As fast as the potato becomes soiled cut 1n egg. pmuo 000“. 000000009000? nd qu To CLEANING OIL PAINTINGS “WO“OOW“OO TO HOUVSEKE 1') L’ERS. paclked ti . season sausage, for 40 pounds mat use 1 pound salt, 2 ounces \ 201mm pepper. Pack in ks and cover with melted lard. from start md bread. box sweets sandwich: In ve 10a ve )uld ntre summ 11d be in gin will early in ,t. Th1 tightly be wrapped in several cloth, and this put in- of a much larger box gh-tly with wads of pa- it will not come in di- with the sides of the This will prevent the 3.11 anti g swaps. ure pork, thoroughly trim. ths and shoul- t sides in two length.- :le bottom of barrel 21mm M ythod. Keep in a The bones may be seat will slip from and the broth for picnic luncheon 1nty of relishes and any people object ‘, and if) the party | the morning the ays especially de- wahkx, and it is a ofi both it and 0115 are better butter should be sun lubious for poison- ching it tin box, green Brine It was very cordially despised, ntterl taste turned toward the antique wooden furniture, brass beds and all the similar improvements that came during the past score of years. The cottage sets were relegated 'to coun- try residences, servant's rooms and other inconspicuous places. Sinde that time painted furniture has not been seen until the white enamelled chest: of drawers and other wooden pieces began to be seen. Now there are signs that the days of painted furniture may return, although it is not likely that the taste for it will PAINTED FURNITURE. The painted furniture formerly do- scribed as "cottage sets" passed out of style more thnn u more of year! ago. It was always looked upon as I rather 'eoouomical and modest sub- stiltute for the black walnut carved set, or even thermore costly rosewood. which was in those days the last word in modish and expensive furniture. The "cottage Lurniture” could be of cheaper wood'. because the thick paint covered up all trace of its quality. Gloomy grays. dull greens and steely blues were the tints most ad- mired in thia old-fashioned furniture. The backgrounds were relieved by crudely painted bunches of flowers which ornamentedâ€"ii anything so in- firinsically hideous could be spld to have that effwt anywhereâ€"the head and foot of ‘the beds and were applied in more diminutive form to the bur"- eaus' and other pieces in “the "set." ever be strong enough to recover the slightest favor for the cottage set. Probably this some degree of d11- ference exists between all articles popular for household decoration thirty years ago and to-day. The oldâ€"fashioned furniture seems to have: disappeared altogether and never like- ly to reappear in any form But its direct descendant, very much bet- tered and undoubtedly made much more expensive, is offered to-day by the large furniture establishments as one of their latest and smartest styles. A PLEASANT SURPRISE. '»' Seeing one's self is a. great sur- prise," said the amateur philosopher. “You think you do that every day in your looking glass, but you don’t. What you see there is a conventional image, a symbol. It stands for you just as certain arbitrary ink scratch- es stand for your name, and it is handy in showing you where to part your hair and how. to tie your orav'at; but it doesn’t give you any idea of how you would look if you Were to meet your self here on King street. It is only by the rarest accident, happen- ing maybe, twice or thrice in a life- time, that one gets a glimpse of one’s real self. An unsuspected mirror or u ell-mice reflection in a window pane is usually the agency. You see some- body approaching, somebody you know perfectly well you have never seen be- fore in life, yet who startles you by a poignant, inexplicable sense of famil- hrity. In half a heart beat the off.’ a thin slice and continue to use it until tha Whole surface is clean. $110th method is to rub the soiled. surface with the finger wet. in warm waten‘. I It the llLrt is very hard and old us-e- oil instead of water. Let it met for a few hours so that the Cottage furniture was always sold in a set. Painted furniture of the day is very much more artistic and elaborate than its. predecessor ever was. It is as expensive, too, as nearly any other kind. and would never be bought for economy. White is the most rpopular color for a background. It is decor- ated with spraysof flowers. very art- istically and charmingly disposed and painted, indeed, with all the excel- lences that the most modern and ‘best trained artists can give them. There is as much difference between them and the old plinted pieces as there is between a crude chroma and a. dell- cate water color. \Vithout exception, everybody Ihave ever spoke to on the subject-Jams ad- mitted to me that he was pleased by the appearance of his double. So there‘s a hard metaphysical nut to :rackâ€"why is it that we generally look better than we had supposed f" ll 11 113-5 oil instead of water. Let mat for a. few hours so that the ,I‘t my be softened. then wash of! ith a sponge. and tepid suds.