Evening Star Newspaper, January 20, 1924, Page 64

Mrs. Dutton ancl ,Mrs. Pine By Juliet Wilbor Tompkins. Some Really Human Characters Are Presented While the Reader Is Permitted to Con- [ sider the Question Whether Good Cooking and Housekeeping AYe After All the Prime Es- ' sentials of the Happy and Contented Household. RS. DUTTON had worked for various people before she came to Gloria Penrose, for ladies had treated her civ- illy and respected her leisure and ap- proclated her abilities—but they ran their own homos, and sooner or later this had always meant friction with the powerful spirit disgulsed In sub- servient gray mohalir and white lawn. Gloria, after three days of amazed wonder if it were not too guod to be true, had uttered an internal shout of joy and signed a check book full of blank checks. “There! I'll give you another when that Is used up,” she explained. “Run the place your own way, but as if you were poor, you know. Puor but nive. Bring me my lunch on & tray and don't ever let anythng come near me ore 4 o'clock. And, shutting the door of the stu- | dio, she had modcled a fountan that he Oscar Reed prize at exhibition and founded ti prosperity years When friends bewailed their hou hold difficuities, Gloria sald w blithe crueity, “Get a Mrs. Dutton' She said it one night at nday tabie und the n opposite up with a quick smile. “Ah, get a Mrs. Pine!” he said The topic hurg pleasuntly b them the rest of the meal. The min- ute they rose from the table Jim Lawrence was at Glorfa's side. “You tell me about Mrs. Pine and ot about Mre. Dutton,” she sald instantiy. So they turned to a couch at the far end of the great studio and he told her about the fine woman who tad managed his house and brought tp his two motherless little boys. cooking and cleaning with a giant case, yet Insisting on tuble manners and small refinements a overlooks, keeping always her place, but €0 dignifying It that big boys now in college were not a shade less de- voted to their Piney. “She I8 like your next-door nelgh- bor in a New England village” he expiainad. “A lady by refinement, vot simple, 80 that it doesn't embar- rase you to have her in the kitchen. Good plain education, strong on als and spelling: . Gloria interpreted. A robust short-cut al- him a laugh at himself. “Her only flaw is that she can't work with any one else and so—" “Nelther can Mrs. Dutton” Gloria put in, and they laughed over it, en- joved it hugel nd once, when I had a trafned nurse, the feud between them was so bitter that I had to get well at once. “Oh. T should never dare bring a nurse Into the house with Piney,” he admitted. “When Bobs had scarlet fever she consented to get in a cook while she did the nursing, but she took care that it was a rather poor cook! She has the jolliest laugh in the world. When the boys and Piney get laughing together it's rather nice!” he confided. She understood with a curlous pang & little like homesickness. o Dutton doesn't mother me. £ha owns and exhibits me,” she thought it out. *I am her career. And she has really made my career. She ie like those efficlent wives to whom successful men owa it all to you Onh, never.” The idea made She had another short cut for him. “She lsn’t frlendly, you know—sghe's Napoleon. She never laughs. She has such a well-bred voice that when she says ‘The wash has went, Miss Penrose,’ you think rhe is being humorous.” Frank O'Brien then came up and wanted to know what was so amus- g them. “Let me in on {t,” he begged. d to him likingly and Jim Lawrence's heart missed a beat, tut she aid not tell. h, domestic life* she general- “Frank, do your collle story r Mr. Lawrence—the one about the vellow do S5 Frank did his Chinese act and Oh, no. Glorla laush. Glorla laughed the way she listened ; —with all her heart and soul—and Jim Lawrence thought him a deadly hore. Lawrence left at the first pause and Gloria, who had wanted to show him Mrs. Dutton, went home ab- surdly grieved } For a weck work lagged and a mentle molancholy lay on the face of life. In her headlong pursult of the cscaping day Glorie had seldom paused to look at hersel?, and now. checked for a sober stare, she was dismayed at what she saw. “I'm a mess,” she sald solemnly. fy work isn't developing—substi- tuting a duck for a turtle fsn't &ro ™ not read, I'm not think- ing—I'm just having a good time. A gloeful child of thirty-eix!” She poked disgustedly at the pillar of lay that was waiting to blossom into the fat, naughty, riotous baby of her public's delight. “I'm & failure. I'm a——" Then she tcok a jump of clay and began to mold her trouble Into a tiny group— the flesh and the spirit. It was the beginning of her new manner, but of course she did not know that at the time. * * ¥ ¥ THE spring academy was holding its private view that afternoon. and Glorla's latest fountain—with the duck—would be on exhibition. Mrs. Dutton came to remind her at 4 o'clock. Mrs. Dutton was at the front door to let her out and to cast & com- petent look over her handiwork. “There is dinner for Misy Penrose, but mot for fou “Three, but not for four,” Glorla repeated with vague docility, then woke to understanding with a hasty, “Qh, I'm not going to bring’home any one tonight, I don’t feel like com- pan. “I can handle three,” Mrs. Dutton repeated. But chops cannot be stretched. And when there is dessert for thres and six is brung home at the last minute, no one is satisfled. “It fsn't fair to you, Mre. Dutton,” Gloria agreed, warmly. “Only yoy always work such miracles that ¥ et to imposing on you. I won't to- night.” Then the elevator bore her off, and Mrs. Dutton, savoring the rieh re- ward that was her daily fare, passed sloiwly through the apartment to ses the ! of the past efght | man | {laughed out so joyously that what further miracles she could ac- complish. Gioria's fountain had been rimmed with grass and tulips, and the glor- lous baby in the middie held his usual audlence of touched women. A thrill ,of the old pleasure stirred in Gloria's |drooping heart: the thing did have illfe, charm, humor. Then a warm contralto voice drew her attentio “Isn’t he the cutest Iittle tike!” it | was saying. A big woman in rich biack siik of an ancient cut, her white !head bonneted with black velvet and pansies, white ruches at her neck and | wrists, was smiling on the fountain, her handsome, rustic face aglow with maternal tenderness. “Don't he remind you of Bobs?’ ime hearty volce went on. “Me was just such a little rascal. Remem- ber— A shit |cempanion standing at the pool's edge, | listening with amused detachment, m Lawrence's eyes, fixed on the fountain, were not eritical or unkind ‘merely t httul: yet jshrank away as though .from Her ¢l ks bu while she | biindly in front a cord, brook that had been f banks of violet snow at every acad- jemy eshibition siuce she could re- | member. VTHEN she he . qu! gladly, ! was grecting her with anything but |scorn. He was even touchingly happy jat e meeting. Glori lifted so sud- jdenly out of her prostration, shone jon him. ] “How is Mrs. Dutton?" he asked at once. Splendid powel " Glorla | laughed over ail | them both { “I brougiit Mrs. Pine with me; she {adores pictures.” He glanced over his | shoulder to see that Mrs. Pine was fall right. “You must meet her” { “Oh, I want to,” Gloria exclaimed, ibut they only moved on to the next { plcture, and stood befere it looking happlly at each cther. “She is fountain.” glve pleasure. Gloria flushed. You hated it Jeers. ned stood At the height of her id, and the that expressed to about your t on, thinking to e it 1 was surprised. Thers W fluster of denial, and she saw ¢ Ihad not really been scorning her worlk. arily good,” was all he said It was. She knew that {to get into a broader fleld been too contented where 1 was,” she {explained. “It is a dreadful limita- {tion to e born loving to laugh and to { feed people.” “I would rather have your laugh in the world than some sculpture,” he observed. “I haven't yet tried your food—" He paused suggestively. “Mrs. Dutton has enough for three tonight, but not for four,” she told him gravely. “Chops won't stretch. If you 2nd Mrs. Pine- = “Oh, T think we will let Piney g0 home. Unless you constder a chap- eron—-"" “Chaperon! Wait till you see Mrs. {Dutton,” she said, and Lawrencs Mrs. Pine, covertly watching, smiled over him with eyes tenderly misted. then took pains to lose herself In the crowd. | “You must meet Mrs_ Pine,” he said (again, and they made a feint of look- jing for her. | "It never occurred to me to take iMrs. Dutton to parties.” Gloria sound- | ed worrled. | “An, well, Piney ! without the boys. I take her to ev- lerything I can. It is so easy,” he {added with mild scorn for himself. “Easy to be nice to lonely, elderly | people?” Glorta shook her bright Jhead. “Either you are very good, or {you're very old. “Or very lazy? “T want T have is very lonely he suggested. “You see, 1 am always a success with Piney. I don't have to lift a finger." “Are you working very hard with me now?’ she wanted to know. He sought the exact truth. *“No, {but I am nervous. You have a splen- jdor—I don't see how I can hope to keep up with you for very long." * K % % GHE bent forward to examine a ple- ture of three dull-looking ladies drinking tea with much detail; the 1y well reproduced. “MRS. DUTTON ISN'T_FRIEND- LY, YOU KNOW—SHE'S NAPO- LEON,” GLORIA EXPLAINED. in the crowd revealed her | Gloria | wing between | she said cheerfully. | “Your workmanship is extraordin- | chintz of the hangings was especial- | “Three oid Dutch peasants drink- Ing tew can be so beautiful” she sald regretfully. Then she looked back at him with amused candor, “T don’t belleve you will find me much harder than Mrs. Pine.” It's worth trying, then?" “Oh, I should say so; very well ‘worth 1t.” Lawrence straightened up as though he threw off half a dosen lyears. And then he patiently took them on again, for Frank O'Brlan ciove the crowd, bearing gladly down on Glorla. Lawrence excused himself to hunt up Mrs. Pine and followed blindly where she led, answerlng her com- ments with & Jerky vagueness that presently brought a mischievous smile into the kind face. “I declare, T've taken in all Y ca she said very soon. *“I know that's meant for a cliff, but it looks to me for all the world Iike 2 fine three-rib roast with the outside slice cut off for Bobs. I guess I better go home." ou must meet Miss Penrose first, ady who made the fountaln, | Lawrence sald, suddenly roused to at- | tention. | He led the way through the rooms to a bench whence Glorla and Frank O'Brian worshipped what was only a Ipile of peaches to the crowd, but was | to them a little miracle in the laying on of paint. Glorla’s quick rising to meet Mrs. {Pine seemed to leave O'Brian out of it, and when Lawrence turned to escort Mrs. Pine to the door, Gloria's direct, “You will come back for me here?” eliminated poor Frank forever. They were scarcely aware that he ex- cused himself. When the crowd thinned, they ex | | | no consclousness of interruption. Mrs. | Dutton’s pertect little dinner passed |in the same absorbed exploration, |Every miraculous moment turned up tsome fresh charm or value in one or the other. | " Sre. Dutton served them at first with a startled stiffness, then with a | gradual relenting, a thoughtful con- | sideration of Lawrence's pleasant per- lson. By dessert she had an air of | brisk interest, and when she carried thsir coffee to the studlo fire, she {tcok a survey of the apartment as | though canvassing for a possibie ex- tra room. She undoubtedly planned the wedding breakfast before she pt. | Glorta stooa for good night, ihand in both of Jim Lawrence's. “We're mad,” she stammered. “Per- | fectly crazy. Life len't Iike this. It t be true in the morning.” Tl come and find‘out,” he said. * ok ok ¥ her fwo HERE was never a moment when it was not true—gloriously, sing- ingly true. Gloria was working fu- | riously, and Jim Lawrence looked on jwith an arrested stiliness, as though | a_revelation were at hand. And then | cne day he tpok @ sheet of paper and drew a plan. £ He had told her about his queer lit- tle house down in an old corner of the city, as he had told her about Bobs and Chris and the series of critl- cal articles he was writing on mod- ern painters. But this plan brought a secret smile that presently drew her down bes!de him. “What is it?" she demanded. “The studio we are golng to build in my back yard,” he sald, an@ point. ed out its many charms. Gloria listened with a troubled brow, “Why, I hadn't thought about —moving.” she £aid slowly. He was only amused. “You have thought about marrying me, haven't you?" “Oh, yes. Dally. But someway—I suppose I took it for granted that you would come here.” “With two boys and Mrs. Pine?” He was still smiling. “Come down and 'unny little house. You will I know. This doesn’t matter. But, Jim, faltered—"Mrs. Dutton." He fought against understanding. “Well, Piney will have to submit to some help, with a lady in the house.” he said, sketching the studio's fire- place. A heavy silence crushed his brave lightness. “Do you ses Mrs. Dutton helping Mrs, Pine?” Gloria asked at last. He took refuge in authority. “My good Gloria, they have to make some concessions to our fves!’ “Yes, but will they?’ She spoke rearily. “And it fsm't just that I apartment '—her voice “|ien't fatr. changed thelr bench for a taxi with | can’t get along without Mrs. Dutto though I don’t see how I could. It is what I owe her and what she has done for me. I‘could mo more turn her off—- “Well, Mrs. Pine is one of the fam- ily; she is for life”” That seemed to settle It for him, and a chill fell on the atmosphere. . “I am afrald Mrs. Dutton is for life. too,” Gloria sald miserably, her head in her hands. “And she has been so nice about you, JIm."” There was re- proach fn that. “She seemed to ac- cept you from the first. “Mrs. Pine thought you were ‘per- fectly lovely.' She has sald so every day,” he countered. She gave it up with a forlorn laugh. “Well, half of the vear I will live with you and your Piney, and the other half you can live here with me, and Mrs. Dutton,” she proposed, “What we must do Is bring them i together and let them work it out tor themselves,” he declared. “They both know, without telling, what s going on. We must find some, excuse for sending Mrs. Dutton down to the house and leave them together. “And when we open the door, there will be just a little pile of fur and a little heap of feathers,” Gloria | prophestea. She had no hope, but she helped Jhim find the excuse. The following day Mrs. Dutton was to take down a note and walt for an answer, which should be judiciously delayed. Mry. Pine meanwhile would offer tea. ** % x AT lPelt-past six the next night Gloria telephoned from a drug store. “I don’t think you'd better come up this evening, Jim.” Her oice was furtive, depressed and his answer came back mufflec “No; 1 don’t think I will go out" wful there, too?" she whispered. There w: sigh that sounded like Pretty bad!" and then communica- tlon was cut off. Gloria's evening meal was placed stonily before her. “l can't stand hurting her like that,” Glorla wrote to Jim. “It is like taking my happiness over her {dead body. I am so guilty I can't look her in the face. We shall have to see each other somewhere else. And Jim wrote back: “Piney's eyes are red and swollen and her kind old mouth is jammed shut to keep it from {trembling, and she has' asked me what it costs to get into an old ladies home. I laughed at the idea of her ever leaving me, but I couldn't re- assure hgr. She sald that ‘clrcum- stances might arise,’ and then I heard her sob in the hall. I feel like & hound dog. I must stay by, evenlngs. Can you meet me somewhere for tea?" They met for tea, but the shadow was heavy on them both. “Mrs. Dutton asked me if I would be willing to give her a letter of ref- erence, in case she had to find a new place,” Glorla sald at once. “Jim, I cried! But she only grew stonler and deader. She has literally lived for me. I can't let her leave. I have told her so.” He was no longer denying the size {of their preblem. “I certainly can't hip Piney,” he sald sorrowfully. “Why don't we elope—run over to Europe for three months and wrestle with it when we get back?” He al- most meant ft. “Merry three months we'd have with that ahead of ua' she pointed out. “Besides, we couldn’t treat them like that If we are going to marry it is only decent to tell them. You would certainly tell the boy: “If?* he repeated, hurt eyes on her's. “But, Jim, what can we d Her volce was a smothered wall. “We can't say to them, ‘You have got to live together in harmony and peace.’ It would be like telling the irre- sistible force to lie down with the immovable object. And we can't throw them over. And there we are.” He tried it over from the outside: ““They gave up their marriage be- cause their respective higgd girls were opposed.’ It would not sound very sensible in our hiographie “*“They didn't give it up. But they walted and perhaps time found a way for them,'” she amended so sadly that he put out his hand to hers under the tea table. “I will walt, dear. 1 will do any- thing In reason,” he promised, and #o brought back a faint glow from their quenched joy, but the toplc would not let them escape long. “Heavens, but I'd like to know what they sald to each other,” he exclaimed suddenly; “how they found each other out! It must have been & tremendous interview.” Even in his trouble he could get a literary enjoy- ment from the vision of that meet- ing. but Gloria could only suffer. “Oh, poor old Dutton! To give your all and get back so lttle! Jim, it ‘We have each other some- where ahead. We can be patient.” “But I have gone without you for so lon he sald, and so nearly ‘droke her heart. . ** x % HE met him dally for tea, but she came home alone for a solitary dinner, and worked furiously in the empty evenings, refusing all Invita- tions. And Jim stayed by in the lonely little house, paying daily his great debt of gratitude, taking Mrs. Pine to concerts that he did not hear and to moving plctures that he 414 not ses. The two households were reduced to a dead level of silent gloom. Mrs. Dutton, after days of bleak- ness, suddenly took a turn for the better, She was more human and more exquisite than ever in her de- voted service. Gloria had an un happy sense of sinking deeper and deeper into her debt. It was a relief ‘when the housekeeper took her after- noon out. Once she asked' for whole day, and Gloria, the moment she was gone, flew to the telephone. Before she could call Jim he rang up. “Mrs. Pine is off for the day,” he began, and her ringing “So !s Mrs. Dutton!” brought a ‘burst of the old laughter. *I will be right up,” he promised. Spring was on the world, but they reveled in a day of home. Mrs. Dut- ton had left luncheon delicately pre- pared—a meal surely designed for two, though they were too absorbed to think of that. The door was slammed on thelr trouble and the day, was all ytter joy in each other. They “DON’T HE REMIND YOU OF BOBS?” THE HEARTY VOICE WENT ON. GLORIA SHRANK AWAY AS THOUGH FROM JEERS. lcould not believe the clock when 1t { thrust the time on thelr notice. | “I must run home; Piney will be { getting back,” Jim said, starting up, /but parting was harder than ever. “Piney is happier lately, in a gen- tle, exalted sort of way.” He told it as feebly good news, but Gloria shiv- iered. o is Mrs. Dutton, Oh, Jimmy, |U'm afraid it only means that they are growing reassuured.” she said| | miserably. “They think the danger ts | blowing over.” { They clung to each other as though they were being dragged apart. Then a door shut somewhere in the apart- ment and Jim fled. Mrs. Dutton came to the studio door. She spoke in her usual tone of calm, dry statement. “Miss Penrose, I shall be leaving you at the end of the month.” “Leaving me?” Gloria gasped. “Fes, ma'am. She sank into a couch, but Mrs. Dutton stood unmoved and unsup- ! ported, her eyes quietly fixed on her | employer's shocked face. | “Have I—hurt you, Mrs. Dutton?", Gloria faltered “Oh, no, m You'have always been goodness ftself.” That also was a calm statement of fact. “But I| have an opening. A very capable woman I know has took the manage- ment of an Inn for the summer and | she wants me to run the dining room | while she attends to the kitchen.| Each will have her own part of the | house and share alfke in the profits. | We went down and seen it today and signed the papers. She paused for comment, but Glorda | could find no words. “The inn is small chintses,” Mrs. Dutton offered. swimming and canoes. Some of its! but refined— PARIS, January 10. F the cable tells the truth, the new Chicago Bible revolutionizes ail our Paris ideas of “stew.” It is reported as saying that Jacob gave Esau a stew instead of ‘red as the King ‘ames Bible has it. Here in Paris we hope the Illinois translator has used the word “stew” of the “savory { kid” which Jacob gave to his father Isaac and so supplanted his elder brother Esau, who came too late with savory venison. French cooks, like Nozh Webster, know that a stew is “meat gently bolled with a simmering heat,” and they also dish up red lentils which are boiled but can never make a stew by themselves. They have the prophet Ezekiel on their side—for he, when the Lord told him to lie on his side 290 days, had to prepare food accord- ingly: “Wheat and barley and beans and lentiles and millet and fitches.” All these he got into one pot, but he onsidered what he got out of it only bread.” A French cook would also put them all into & pot, but it would be about & plece of meat—and he would dish out a “ragout.” Ragouts and kickshaws used to be the pet aversion of Englishmen when they were confronted with French oooking. “Take all that flummery away and give me a beefsteak.” As to Irish stews, they, too, are frequent in Parls restaurants, but it is diplo- matic here to leave any discussion of them to the new Free State parlia- ment. Y “What's into French stew?” as they say of Scotch haggis, which is also a sheep mixture, but too explosive to agree with prohibition. The French mutton ragout may be washed down with the lightest wine or water, or even with tea. It is not any sort of mutton your butcher may give you that is fit to go into it. In cheap boarding houses {the landlady may try to palm oft on |you cuts from the shoulder, and, with ilong simmering and proper vege- tables, it may be palatable. But that will never be a2 dainty dish to set {before @ king. A Paris clubman whose father was a general told me how his mother went about it—for old-fash- {oned people in France never thought it beneath them to pay long and cloge attention to cooking. Settle first on the amount of meat you and yours wish to eat in the ra- gout and divide it in your mind into three parts. If it is in three pounds but one pound, shoulder—not more— one pound of breast and one pound of chops, first cut. That may be ex- pensive just for a stew, but, If it is to be & satisfactory work of art and confound the British beef-eater, it must be regardiess of expense. My own cook econ: nn“u by making the 87 | mohair and serve dinner as usual. “Also | ' patrons have went years.” “Well—of course—if it is what you | want—"" Gloria stammered. *“And If | you are sure the other woman——' “She stands very high, maam.” Mrs. Dutton turned to go. “We have had long talks, and we understand | oach other. She has acted as house- | keeper for your friend Mr. Lawrence. | Her name is Pine.” And Mrs. Dutton | went composedly to put on her gray there for seven | * 5ok # 1 LORIA listened for Lawrence's | ring and let him in herself. They | did not speak until they were in the | studio with the door closed. | ‘Well!” Lawrence was breathless. Oh, yes. We can, now,” Gloria ad- mitted, but they still stood apart, trying to find the dominating truth in the welter of their emotion. Glorla suddenly gave it words: | “Jimmy, how can we live without | them?" it There it was. “We've got to. They signed an agreement. If they couldn’t live to- whole stew out of chops, first cut— | one for each eater. The quality of the meat being thus secured, the next thing is to choose | the vegetables to simmer with it in | the stewpot. Noah Webster, who | wrote his dictionary on the corner of the kitchen table, to profit by the fire in cold weather, and so saw what good cooking meant to the women of the American revolution, says: “Such | vegetables are added to stews to in- crease their utritious qualities or to glve them fiavor.” The French cook thinks of both things. One of his ragouts has a historic| name—for he has nearly as many kinds of ragout as he has omelets. The “Navarin” appears frequently on | Parls bills of fare and its name comes somehow from the famous battle of | Navarino. That was won in 1827 by | 4 Eng- Lee Birthplace | gether | 1eave us free. | gout with us, Gloria, earth—"" Suddenly she saw further. “Oh, but this was delicate, this was fine. why on | They knew we couldn't sacrifice one | to the other. So they both go, to And they have gone together. 5o as to learn how—divid- ing the kingdom between them. Jimmy, they care as much as tha His mind leaped back to his diffi- cult talk with Mrs. Pine. “They saw how they were hurting us, and Piney couldn’t stand it,” he worked it out. “She must have come to Mrs. Dutton —heavens, what an interview! I wish I could have heard it." had no literary appreci ‘'Oh, no! It must have hurt But Mrs. Dutton met her half-way, Jimmy. “Oh, yes. Oh, they are big, they land and Russia—over the Turks and it secured the {ndependence of Greece. Turks and Greeks are still having it out, but the French ragout is victo- rious. It is the simplest of all—just potatoss and beans simmering with the mutton. 1f you like varfety, you take young carrots and turnips, half~and half, which makes an agreeable mixture. Sometimes green peas are tossed into the simmering broth, for decorative purposes, I think. You may put into your stew all these and all those of the Prophet Ezeklel, provided they stew uniformly while keeping their shapes and catching up the flavor of the mutton. They must not add a strong flavor of their own. Cabbage goes Into many made dishes of French cooks—but never into ra- Go mildly, too, with parsley, Revisited On Natal Day Anniversary O the right of the noble hall) as one enters Stratford Is the room in which Robert Edward Lee was born, Janu- ary 19, 1807. Many decades previous- ly his famous kinsmen, Richard Henry and Francis' Lightfoot Lee, both signers of the Declaration of Independence, had first seen the light in that same room. Gen. Lee's father, “Light Horse Harry Lee,” beloved by Gen. Wash- ington, was a cousin of the “Strat- ford” Lees and married, for the first time, & daughter of Ludwell Lee, then the owner of Stratford. After the death of “Harry” Le first wife he was persuaded to stay at Stratford because of his children, who had large Interests in the home, both financially and sentimentally. To it he was constrained to bring his sec- ond wife, the lovely and gentle Anne Hill Carter of Shirley, to whom he was married In June,-1793. She wal the mother of Robert Edward Lee. The bricks for this fine old man- fon were imported from England very nearly two hundred years ago, and the home and outbuildings were all made on the spacious and sub- stantisl lines of Georgian archi- tecture. Stratforda consists of two wings thirty feet wide by sixty deep, con- nected /by a hall twenty-five - by thirty feet, which gives the mansion the form of the letter H. The great hall, comparable to those in English manor houses, s lofty and dome-shaped, while the walls are paneled fn fine old oak, with bullt-in bookeases of the same material Dbe- tween the doors that lead into the wings. At either end of the hall are large doors and windows, looking out upon the yard and gardens, so that the room {s well lighted and easily ventilated. In-“the old days the hall ‘was not only used as a living room and & library for the family, but served all the purposes of a town hall for the good of the countryside. Many entertainments and even reli- glous services were held in the hall at Stratford. A curious and beautiful featurs of the Stratford architecture is the con- struction of the chimneys. Near the apex of the roof, on each wing, four chimneys come out and are so well buttressed as to seem at a distance only a decorative feature of the man- sion, The storehouses, office and kitchen are distant from the mansion by fifty or sixty feet. The dimensions of the fireplace in the old kitchen are twelve feet wide, six high and five deep— spacious enough surely for the “stall- ed ox" of English feasting days. Though Stratford is private prop- erty—the home of Dr. Stuart—it is kept almost like a shrine, and vii itors from all of the United States and from forelgn countries as ‘well make pligrimages there. Those who haye visited the spot attest that the anclent hospitality of the place 1s not lacking in modern days. Stratford Is only about twenty-five miles from Wakefleld, on the Poto- mac river, the site of George Wash- ington's birthplace. Both these ehrines are in Westmoreland county, on the northern neck of Virginia:~ | are splendia, Gloria! them back in time.” “But meanwhile? She sounded lost, frightened. “I don't know how to hire cooks and run houses,” she | faltered. “You will be so disappoint- ed in me.” He had a triumphant solution. His hands closed on her shoulders. "We will spend the summer at the inn™” he cried. “We will beg them to take us And so they fell into cach other’s arms. “We are very clever and gifted, you and I Jimmy,” she said later. from his shoulder. “But are we really worthy of Mrs. Duttom and Mrs. Pine?" They W Pointed out. (Copyright. We shall get | 1 never know ft” ke 1024.) of which Noah Webster speaks, other aromatic herbs. Are French stews too rich for high- brow stomachs? 1 don't believe a word of it—even the gently permeat- ing fat of the mutton cannot make it s0. And then—think of the ad- vantage—the falsest of teeth no teeth at all can masticate this savory meat. Such must have been the fleshpots in the land of Egypr for which the children of Israel longed vainly. There is a last loving kindness of the French ragout. Those of us who |otherwise would eat overmuch meat are tempted by the savory filling veg- etables simmered and seethed and sod with it. And those of us who eat no meat at all imbibe its substantial er- sence in the mixed pottage. STERLING HEILIG Tells Story of Wind. T one of the great meteorological observatories there has been set up a self-recording anemometer. Wind is simply air {n movement, and the pressure that this more or less rapld- ly moving air exerts upon a certain area can be measured. In the case of the windmill the wings of the mill move more swiftly In proportion to the power of the wind. This anemom- eter fs not unlike the windmill. It consists of horizontal, easily rotated crossbars, on each of the four ends of which a cup half spherical in shape is fastened.' The wind catches in these cups and so turns the cross- bar. From the crossbar a rod goes into the instrument room. The rota- tion of the cup works a mechanisin that moves & strip of paper upon which the velocity of the wind is plotted, The direction of the wind is also marked by the apparatus, as the vane is connected with the register- i ing eheet. It is & simple matter to read at any time the direction and the velocity of the wind. Runs Wholly Submerged. AY_ inexpensive undershot power i whee! which will run even when wholly submerged and which {s espe- clally adapted for use in mountain streams was invented some time ago by a Salt Lake man. The wheel's source of power lles in the fact that the blades fold on the upward stroke. making the leverage greater at all times on thpse below than above the center shaft and thereby enabling it to run in water of any depth. The wheel, which is made entirely of metal, may be of any diameter and ‘width. To prevent clogging with floating weeds or debris the wheel is inclosed in & heavy mesh wire screen so con- nected to the wheel that it revolvcs in the opposite direction. i