Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, June 4, 1915, Page 7

THE BEE: OMAHA, FRIDAY, JUNE gazine Pa No. 1—His Mother v Why Worry N , Copyright, 1015, Intern'! News Service By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. The legs of the stork are long. the 1egs of the duck are short:' you ‘eannot make the legs of the stork shorl, neither can you make the legs of the duck long. Why wofry?" says the Chiriese philoso- i The world 1s not at all as most of us would have it. Tn summer we who work in great cities must face long stretches of hot days when we drag through our toll in sweltering discomfort But what do we accomplish If when the first hot day of July arrives we begin to Wworry lest this be the beginning of a "hot spell?’ Neither heat nor cold Is any the easier to bear because we worry about our abllity to bear it Do you know why an aching tooth troubles you most at night? During the day your tooth has ached a bit, but you have been busy about your tasks and have bad little time to spend in consider- ing the pain, or If you did consider it at all it wae to dismiss it with the idea that if it got unbearable you could run in at your dentist's office for a minute and seek reliof. At night how different the case of your tooth versus you! You lie down in fear lest it begin to ache and thus cause you suffering. You worry vourself into a state of weak receptiveness, where pain and Jangled nerves may have full sway. You imagine how dreadful the pain will be when it comes. All worry has as poisonous an effect as 2his! Never was there wiser motto than this one, popular a few years ago: T have had many troubles in my life—and most of them never happened.” Troubles are always worse fn anticipa- tion than iIn fact. Sorrow, sutfering, pov- erty, shame—any evil that befalls you— can be endured when the time comes for facing' it. Strength is found for facing reality—or else one goes under and Is finished! But for the waste and wear and tear and silly foolishness of tilting at shadows, there i no remedy—except jus 1o stop. Worry brings trouble nearer, makes it happen sooner, clouds hours that might well have been sun filled, weakens the yower of enduring when real trouble ar- rives. Worry nets you no gain, gets you no power. There §s never an antidote for worry In action of a useless sort. It never sanely works out methods of avold- ing evil. It is just flustered fright that cannot take proper precautions to prevent harmful happening. ‘Why worry? There are many things in life ‘that cannot he changed and that must be endured. Winter is bound to have blizaards; summer I8 sure (o have scorching sunshine, but amainst facts of climate aud matural phenomena, agninst strong physical reactions and fatigue and pain and hunker and thirst, worry will not avail you Suppose you have mot been slesping well; ‘suppose you have an unconifort- able habit of blushing, suppose you are tongue-tied in company: none of thess things (of others even more afnoying) will work on you any great harm. Men Have lived to be 0 and have been sound and active in spite of not sleeping four hours a nfight on an average for thirty years. | People who blush or are tongue-tied | and awkward in company often’ win triendg throygh their very simplicity and shy sweetness. 1 know a man who for ten years was a “merchant pPrince.” 'During all that time ha made himaelf miserable worry- ing about the possibility that he “might starve in a garret’ some day. Reoently {he met with financial ruin." His werry- ing had not impelled him to take pre- cautiong or save for “a rainy day.” But his wofrying hdd clouded the ‘ten years that might have been happy. . Why worry! There {8 no force for good In worry; no impulse to ward off evil; no strength to combat danger. | Worry makes nerves and wrinkies; it 1s | the traitor who opens the citadel of your | personality to evil; it wears you out an ticipating suffering, so that you are not strong to combat it it come it should: it creater an atmosphere in which calamity flourishes. When you have trouble that.can be met by action or warded off by fore sight, by all means act and plan. When you suspect or Imagine an unpleasant posaibllity why. broed over it umtil'you have manufactured you own little “old man of the sea™ to carry burden? When you face facts of matire, of soclety, of your own personality, why | worry about the way they are geing to work out? It you come ever to same swift current | over which there is no bridge perhaps you' can turn ard ko somie other way. If not there may be a ferry to carry you over—or pérhaps you will {ind You can swim or even ford the waters. The evil you can {mhgine—the way ot you may not be clever enough to concelve, Why worry? “The legs of the stork are long; the legs of the duck dre short, You éannot make the legs of the stork short; neither can you make the legs of the duck fong. Why worry? " EARLE WILLIAMS & Tommy Barolay ANITA STEWART a8 The Goadess Written by Gouverneur Morris (Ome of ihe Mowt Wotable Fig- and it seemed to Tommy she was trying | to master him with her eyes. H “What are you gn‘ly; to do to me?”’ he | said. “Hypnotize me?" | And then he laughed, and looked so brown and handsome and good natured | that Celestia had to smfle at him. | | “Now, Celestia,” he sald, “I'm going to | take you for boat ride. But yo've got | | to sit still—mighty still. You pretend that A Story of Imperfect Hospitality By LUCILLE CAIN We all havs acquaintances Who press us to go #nd see them, any Hime—just when we like. But we rarely d4 like, be- cause we fecl that ‘people who really wanted ta Xnow us better wobld fix » meating in the (mmediate future. | These vagus invitations, however kindly |meant &t tha time thevy are rhade, are | not meant seriously two minutes after- | wards. ¥ ' At loAst, that is the impression they Teave with us and we wender' whether these curlous folies who deal §6 camually with the posaibility of intimacy’ with eur- ;lol\on treat all their acquaintances in a { tke inanner. ‘If so, their hold upon ‘solial | intercdurse must be u teable one.” | Apparently they do rot conslder any- one werth a moment's concentrition. s {16 1t fa matier not of c.duhma [ DUl of Take. “Chke” requires explana- tion, and even thén miiat be translated liberally. 1T romember, as s selfool ki going Wwith some girl friends in their home, at the end of an afternoon walk somehow T took it for granted I sheuld be asked to tea; thelr mother had cer- [ tainly given me (o understand thet | | was always welcome. “Come in when you like, dgar,’ had said. ’ y ¥o that it was with uneasiness, a ap dizappointment, that 'WM&’M"'\_’ ually that no refreshments was to offered me. After a few mifutes of strafried conversation, and trying Hot ez look e if the hands of ‘the :lg-iz‘;b_fire P 4 % ':;1‘ “teh time,” 1 made o o™ into the .- kindly woman, and the \ my friendi ;rl‘o ygun}ii on 01, \we whre sorry you dide’t to ahe. sAld Impulsively. A ’ silly "o mothier; " {uNt beea for " J wash't any cake. g 4 Far the momént T could hardly beljeve | | ‘my ears. 10 stemed no ridfoutous” that i anyone should have minded offerin§ ‘s fungry sirl ot 1§ years breag shd Dutter fore 18 & Wi » of thé KinAnsde in -hm’im f*'m’q% ‘:.tly: "l:lm“ to ‘l"y- 1 it n o Ththe you're back in heaven )istening to Israel, There in the sflver flame of the candle I see, night after night accompanied by ‘Spheres.” my “old flames.” ' The man with the frosty cap to his hair and the 4 shat ‘made HIb: Oty Sutintertdbie: | subtle little shadows of the years that pile up falling on his face. “Is there nd' reverends left on earth?| smiled over his pipe and named them off for me. ures in American Literature) Dramatized lpt'o;l’hoto-?h.r by But she spoke wth a sudden sternness singing again, ‘Sail on, Silver-Moon!' And I cannot! g 3 “That was my first Love—the first of my ‘Old Flames'—Mother Author of o' mine."~—NELL BRINKLEY. ; of Pauline” “The Perils “TFhe Bxploits of Wiaine” (Copyright, 1915, vy Star Company.) | Copyright, 1915, by The Star Co. All ¥For- elgn Rights Reserved. Synopsis of Previous Chapter. After the tragic death of John Ames- bury his prostrated wife, one of Ameri- ca's greatest beauties, dies. At her death Prof.” Stilliter, an agent of the interests, kidnaps the beautiful 3-year-old baby girl and brings her up in a paradise where she sees no man, but thinks she is taught by angels, who instruct her for her mis- slon to reform the world. At-the age of 18 she is suddenly thrust into the world Where agents of the Interests are ready to_pretend to find her. The ome to feel the loss of the little Amesbury girl most after she been epirited ‘away by the intérests ‘was ‘ommy. In ‘a few days, however, he found himself living amid luxurious sur- roundings as the adopted son of Mr. Bar- cluy. Time in its flight brings manhood to Tommy and great expectations tg Bar- clay, who has planned to_have Tommy | marry into wealth. But Tommy's lack | of interest In Barclay's business affairs | changes matters. Barclay meets with | success In breaking Up the match he had really planned. Turned down by the girl Tommy goes to the Adfrondacks to forget the affair. While there he meets by accl- dent Celestia THIRD EPISODE. | He returned in ten minutes, paddiing quietly, and found Celesita playmg with | the sand as if she had been a little child Her eyes were bright with animation and she had gotten sand on her forchead and in her hair. Percefving Tommy, she | tossed & double handful of sand into the | alr, and as the sunlight caught the | myriads of bLright surfaces, she said: | “What is it? Oh, what s it? | “Sand,” sald Tommy. | “Sand,” cried Celestia Didn't you ever play in the sand when you were little?” “I used to play with diamonds and rubles,” said Celestia. “'Oh, but this is wonderful. See, you can write in it and draw pictures. Look, 1 am making the man Stilliter.’ And, indeed. with her forefinger for pencll, she made an excellent carlcature of him. “Who taught you to do that, Celestia “An angel," she sald, simply \ “Well,” said Tommy I've heard of people who could draw like angels—but— oh, Celestia, aren't you a little tired of playing this heavenly origin business on me? I don't take any stock in ft.” She looked at him with a sudden grave wonder. “When I tell you that 1 come from heaven, you don't believe me? “Why, ( tia,” he sald, meeting her &aze with equal gravity. “you're just a regular girl. Why there's blood on your cheek, where & deer fly has Dbitten you “¥ou've got to believe me," she said, No fafth? It's high timé that I came.’ ‘ He helped ‘ber into ‘the dugout, his eyes on the back of her head, enamored with the way her dark, stron huir met her straight, white mneck, and as he, paddled he kept saying, “Who the deuce is she, and what thie deuce iy she?" | And to these questions he could not find | any answers that were altogether satis-| factory. Just as they were landing on the island there came to them onee more, faintly, and from far-off the buying of the bloodhounds. Celestia gave Tommy a look full of anxious appeal. “Don't be afrald,” he sald. “They are miles ang miles from here." So they were. All of them. Stilliter, the guides, the hounds, and the Indlan who rejoiced fu the name of Old Man Smells-good, which If it referred to any- thiig about him except his ability to follow a trail was an inappropriate name. They were all there, several iles away but Old Man Smells-good was 4n the head of an exceedingly tall pine, which over- topped the rest of the forest, and from wilch the view was exceedingly fine and | éxpansive. Old Man Bmells-good had a| pair of eyes that resembled a pair of telescopes. He could see anything that | was in sight | “See anything?' Stilliter called up 10| ny oy knows how long that is), the the Indlan. “Sure, enough, a chap who's lived as long as I is beginning to aee faces in things. And I shall tell you No, 1.” The man, with his mind gone adly back, traveling a familiar road with feet that gratefully trod the road called boy-lane again, drew hard on his pipe, and I know it was to curb the ache of tears in his throat and brows. He lifted his eyes and they glittered wet. “It was my mother. My little mother She was my first love. 1 adored her with all my tiny boy- heéart. I was 3 when sbe died. Though 1 lost her 8o long ago—I1 have the deep darkness and kindness of her eyes—the drifting away in the toss- ing boat of her arms as she swung in a rocking chair that I possess (it is still red—still has little ugly )‘ello"} tlowers painted on it—though she is gone)—the memor: that her bhair| was browp as a chestnut burr and| sllky and long—long as the time| trom one Christmas to the other (and | “No see a damn thing” answered the|B0lden shine of the plein bnnd-rlng; Indian without changing his expression. on her finger as I turned and twisted As a matter of fact, by miratle of optics, | it with idle hands—and the 8ODgS | he had just discovered Tommy helping | ghe yged to sing! The songs she | elestia ashore on the island Smells-good dismounted the tree and stood shaking his head | No s¢e any damn thing he maid. “Dog ne good. Smells-good he think a little. Think up where um moe’ likely to %o. The c1g fakir. He seated himself upon his heels, filled and lighted his pipe, and closeq his eves as if in deep thought Stilliter hegan to show signs of impa tlenice, but one of the guidés said Better leave him alone; he's got a hunch, likely as not.*' Not until he had finished bis pipe aid old Man Smolls-good give any signs of what had been woing on in his head. When he rose to his feet, he sald simply, | Me find um soon” and started off in th direction of the lake. Fifteen inutes later he knelt sud-| denlv and appeared to bury his long, hooked nose in the grouna He rose| afta: & momert's snifiing and sajd: *Me | got um, sure” Then he ordered one of the guides to remain behind with the dogs. ! And ther he went forward, pretending to follow a trail, pointing o marks which tha other colldn't see, for the simple fact that they didn't ‘exist, listening, pre- tending to hear sdunds that couldn't be beard, sniffiing, kneeling, and poking his long e into the ground. Once he poked it to a ground hornet's nest san | ‘Little Mother with the golden| | volce and the arms that were my| drifting sea, with the velvet cheeks | and the deep eyes above which the! ! brows sprang like little brown feath- ers—little mother who vanished| away so quickly and left your gay, young face painted a picture on your boy's beart—I1 would give all memories of the loves (hat fol- lowed—all the realities of them —the hope of them —if 1 and had & narrow and undignified escape from being badly stung He led them to the shores of the lake and pointed quietly across at the island Even Stflliter could see a pale column of smoke coming from among the trees.| “Bimeby, swim over’ sald Oid Man Bwmelisgood, for 2. Fetch dug-out. Bet ter walt til dark.” And they waited till dark. Then Old | Man Bmells-400d, having been definitely | promised an extra §2 for the wetting, | stepped forth stark naked, except for & newlv filled pipe, and siipped quietly ingo the lake. (To Be Coninued Tomerrow.) is not a vacation if she has to cook meals in a “Summer home.” A kitchen is a kitchen whether in the mountains, on the sea-shore, or in the city. Our kitchen is your kitchen when you know Shredded Whea We do the ing for you in our two- million dollar kitchen—and its real whole wheat bread—all the rich, bo a‘u:ldiniglemmclet-mal.:mg elements N Tt "y e roner, shredded and in cri s gl B ey tr action in Ea:nfim for breakfast wrt‘l“'mflk or cream. Eat them for lunch with berries or other fruits. The Shredded Wheat Company, Niagara Fall, N. Y.