. r PACE BIR. ARE DAILY BRITIS 14, 1900. WHIC, MONDAY JUNE THE .CHILDREN'S gr - (Copyright, 1008, by the Wow York Herald Co. All Rights Rewervedy was not yet entirely light on Christmas morning. when Miss Everett was awakened by the first clarion ¢all" of the little Budweisers. From the Budweiser flat above her there came the shrill tiste of a tin frombofhe which ushered ina sudden "activity. Bare feet pattered and thumped overhead, and anid these sounds Miss Everett was aware of 'signs of an early awakening in the apart- mend next to hers. ! ""Christnias las become a nuisance in this house," sald MSR Everett to herself; "there aré too many children. 'The Morrisons: will be at it in a minute; 1 may as well get up." 6 dressed with her usual methedical daintiness, Phetd wus no théte whs very guish it for her the year. "I'shnll have a peaceful, sane Christinas day," she t81¢" berpelf. Nf rid lio put her rooms to rights and made her morning coffee drew a round breakfast table in front of the freshly kindled fire in Miss Everett's eharming sitting roont und laid covers for two. Some one kfideked itt the door and Miss Everett opened It to a sal woman with youthful eyes and a quantity of nut brawn balr which she had evidently not yet had time to arrange. . "Wouldn't you like to sée our tree?" she said to Mist Everett, eagerly. "We always have it just after breakfast, you know. The kiddies dre In the dining root HOW, so yuu can have a peep." Miss Kverett inspected the tree, then she looked keenly at the other woman, "You look fagged out," she sald, severely. "1 heard you, last night working till midnight, Why do you do it? Do you think it's worth while, really 7 The mother of the little Morrisons dropped into the nedrest chair. Her youthful eyes in her small, care- worn fare glowed with an jnextingnishable optimism, "Why, of course it's worth while!" she cried. "The children have always had a tree on Christmas morn- ing, and they do love It sol What would Christmas be for me if 1 couldn't make them happy? 1 always think of it as the children's day, you see." Miss Everett went back to her empty, peaceful rooms. Up stairs the little Budweisers rollicked wild- ly, and next doop she could hear the small Morrisons pushing. back thely" chairs: from the breakfast table, Her sitting room was like a little isiand of quiet sur- rounded by a nolsy tide of gayety. Same one struck a chotd on the plano mext door and Miss Everett winced. renson why she should hurry; she felt little 11 the whole day ahead to disthi- from ally other holliday or Sunday in "If only they wouldn't sing!" she thought, but imme- diately there" pervaded the room the shrill, sweet sound of children's voices. She could imagine them-- all the little Morrvisons--marching with shining eyes into thelr mother's sitting room, and she could hear them singing as they marched: -- "Hark, the herald angels sing Glory to the new born King! There cme into her mind the remembrance of Mrs, Morrison's youthful eyes and her volce as she said, ®] always think of it as the children's day." "Yes," said Miss Everett slowly, "it is the chil- @iren's day. And then, suddenly, her empty arms. John Hearn knocked twice before she heard him, put when she opened the door to him she was as serenely self-contained as ever. "You've-kept the coffee waiting," she " me see, how-miny Christmas mornings have late for breakfast with me, John?" "Seven," he replied; "I counted 'em up Tis oy she laid her head down upon smiled. "Let you been ing. It's a blessed {natitution, Ernestine, this Stud' fog imvitation to breakfast with you on' Christnias morning. This year It saved me from baying fo choose hétween Aunt Sallie and the Kents. I don't know why [ declined the Kents. Christmas isa't what it used to be; have you noticed that, my dear?' She laughed as she poured his coffee. "We're get- ting old," she said Hghtly. He looked at her. aorows the table. Bruestine was very good looking Iu a distinguished and Intellectual way. She was thirty-five and she looked less. "No," he sald, "it isn't that" A shade of deflunte thén?" But he did not or immediately. He walked about the room, comivg finally to a stand in front of her writing table, It wax piled high with manu- seript and proof shects "After all." he vontinued, abruptly, "what's it all worth? You're a successful woman and I'm an supposedly successful man; but on Christmas morning were both alone, You've sent your annual letter to Aunt Marie at the other side of the world, and I've duitfully got off a list of presents that grows shorter every year. Presently I'll go down to the club to an infernally dismal lunch; then the papers and a book, a suicidal dinner and the theatre-- unless you'll take pity and go out to dinner with me, Ernéstine?--and then a lonesome pipe to end up a lonesome day. That isn't Christmas; it ought to mean something and it doesn't. It's"---- he stopped, listen- ing, for the little Morrisons had begun to sing again, & hymn beloved of all children: -- "Jt came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old; g From angels bending near the earth, To touch thelr hearts of gold." John Hearn opened the door into the hall of Ernes- tine's flat and the shrill young voices swelled louder. "That's better," he sald eagerly. "Don't you like that, Ernestine?" She had risen and stood at the window with her bck' to Bim. With the first {ine of the old hymn an unusual, painful flood of loneliness threatened to engulf her again. She clenched her hands, Not for anything would she have him see that the sound of children's voices could make her weep. "They get noisier every year!" she said barshly. "I've ltvell here eight years and 1 like these rooms, bit I am really afraid I shall have to give them up. They're filling up the place with children--just listen 10 those Budwelsers!" Papa Budweiser was joyously singing, "Wei schén lenchtet der Morgenstern! and the six little Bud- welsers were joining in. vet t Into ber eyes. "What is it, ans | «J Mke it," said John Hearn. There was a hungry 100k iA Bis eyes, but Ernestine did not see it. She was looking at a copy of "Soul's Adventures" he had brought her. "What a nice edition," she sald, forcing a lighter tone into her voice. "What's this other package?" John started as she held up a heavy parcel. "Oh, by Jove! I clean forgot Hanford! That's a box of cigars for the old chap. You don't know Hanford? He travel: for a Chicago firm--e nice, decent, middle aged chap, who's liad horrible luck lately. 1 used to go to see him and his wife, sometimes, when I was "Cut their Wag. They were the happlest couple you over saw--it used to do me good to see them together. well; she dfed last month. Last night about eleven 1 met Hanford on the street. We both tried to talk cheerfflly about the weather and the state of the atreetd hit. IT tell you, Ernestine, something gripped joe by, the throat. If you eyer SAW a man that's struggling fo keep his head above water, that's" Hiln- ford. . 1 went back to his hotel with Dim, for--here's the /wopst of it---he's got three motheriess chihiren on wis hands and He's brought them down lere to' New York fof Cliristaing. Can' you jmiteine 1--Christmas fu the kind of diugy, second class hotel Hanford can afford?" & Eruedtine's eyes w idened. cried. "Why didn't he leave them "That's like a man!" she at home?" " L L © O30 he cried for his--mother; so did the others. Dickie, and she took him aside quietly. "--- think Hanford's afraid of himself. He' never Leen adrinking man, but last night there whs something abott him that made me suspect maybe he'd gone under after his wife's death. He gave me the im- pression of a man who's fighting. Do you know what 1 mean? - Oh, he's all right, now; but 1 sort of think thie children are a safeguard, He told me they were living In a boarding honse, anyway, and they cried to be with him for Christmas, So they're here, They'd gone to bed last night whet we got baek ta. the hotel, hat they had hung up thelr stockings--three 0 'em tied to the backs of chatrd--and the littlest obe is only about two fingers long! Hanford had bought n few things to pat in them, but 1 didn't like the gual- ity or the quantity of His assortment. Now, I thought maybe yeu could tell me where a fellow can get some toys and things this morning. 1 don't know where to start in"---- . He stopped with an embarrassed laugh, for there was # shiny Took in his listener's eyes us if the tears were pear the surface, ~ "Why, 1--1 don't know," she said. *"] haven't bought any toys for years, and 1 don't 'belleve the shops are open this morfilng anyway. 1 wouldn't have the slightest idea where to look." John Hearn stared. "I thonght all women knew about such things," he sald, disapprovingly. "Well, I'll have to make a break by myself ---- "Walt!" she exclaimed. "I'm_going with you. I can see that you're perfectly helplgss. I'm going to put on my street things." 3 . From the next room' she called out to him to know how old the children were. There wis a note of éx- citement in her voice he had rarely heard there, and when she: came back, hatted and furred, she brought in one hand a_ great how of rose pink ripbon and mn the other a cluster of Chinese dolls and 'tt beok. whe rilibon is for the eight-year-old gifl" she ex- plained, "the pirate book (lucky it Just came in for review) 1s for the big brother, and these favor things are for the littlest one, These will do to go on with. We'll go right down to the hotel and survey the land; then we cap plan about the rest when Wwé find how things are going." John Hearn observed with sntisfaction that Ernes- tine had taken things entirely fn. her own hands. "We'll take a cab," she sald, "Something tells me we ought to get there quickly." Ii tlie corridor on the fourth floor of a melancholy family hotel they met Hanford. He was making for the elevator, and there was an air of filght about him. When he sw John Hearn and: his eompstion he turned his back to the light witha wordless gasp of surprise, : "I was just going out for a---paper," he sid. "The children are In there." * He waved an art 'towaix a closed door. And then, as if the gesture had Tost him his self-control, he suddenly' dropped 'his head in his hands and leaned against the wall." Hrnestiné had never seen anything so grotesquely tragic as the sight of this stout, middle aged, unshaven man sobbing against the wall. Stranger as he was, and in spite of her fastidious distaste for a scene, she found herself putting her hand on his arm and asking him to tell her his trouble. "It's the children," he returned between two sobs that tore his throat. "Little one's si¢k this morning can' stand it any longer--got to the end of my rope'------ "No, no: you haven't," she sald, gently. "I've come to take you and the children home with me for the day, Come, take me to them--or, no--stay here with John a few minutes and I'll go to the children." He lifted his haggard tace out of his hands and watched her as she opened the door he had indicated. Then he mopped at his swollen eyes with his hand- kerchief. . "John. she doesn't know what shés saved me from," he said. In one of two adjoining bedrooms Ernestine found the children. There was a tumbled bed in one cor- ner, and on it lay a yellow haired little chap of five, His face was feverish and puffed with weeping. Sit- ting beside him tailor fashion on the bed was the eight-year-old girl, and kneeling on the floor at the other side of the bed was the oldest boy. They had emptied the contents of their stockings on to the bed in a vain attempt to divert their sorrowful little broth- er, but his interest was plainly not aroused to any ex- tent by the seant array of cheap toys around him. As Ernestine walked in they stared at her half fright ened, and she noticed that the three pairs of big eyes were red-rimmed. "Merry Christmas!" she cried. "I'm a new kind of Santa Claus. I just met your father in the hall and he told me about you three. I've only gota few things left--but here they~are! Do you mind If 1 sit down on the bed, too?" For an Instant the three stared dublously. But no one could resist Ernestine when she set out to make herself liked. The oldest boy accepted the Santa Claus story with the sheepish smile of the fellow who knows better, but the yellow haired little chap was plainly fascinated. It was not more than two minutes before he had drawn himself perceptibly nearer to watch the opening of Ernestine's shopping bag; and when he beheld the Chinese dolls he openly kicked. off the coveriet and crowded quite up to her shoulder. "Did you come down the chimbley ?" he whispered. His head was very close to her shoulder, and his wide, upturned eyes wer: marvellously blue. ' Before she realized it Ernestine"s arm bad crept around' him, His little body snuggling close to her sent a new sort of thrill through her heart. Five minutés later she was holding him in both her arms when John Hearn brought In the children's father. 'She reddened w lit- tle as she met her friend's eyes, but she did not re- lease her hold on. the littlest one. "We're acquainted. you see' she cried, gayly. "Help me to get the children's things on, you two men; we're golug straight up to my house, We're going to have a Christmas dinner--and a Christmas tree!" she added, recklessly. She saw the father's anxious eye on the small "I think the trouble with the little chap is only home sickness," she said. "He mustn't get te crying again; he's got to be coddled. You leave it all to me." In the carriage on the way back up town John Hearn could not keep his eyes from Ernestine's face. He had never seen there before a look so humanly tender. She held Dickie Hanford in her lap, for the littlest one had become convinced that the strange © lady was the source of wonderful and pleasant things and not to be allowed to get.away from him. He leaned his small, pale face against her furs, and it wie impossible to tell which of them appeared the happier, "Which do you think looks tree, red candles or green ones?" she asked the chil- dren, and the last trace of home sickness and shyness vanished from their faces. By the time they reached Ernestine's fiat they had attained a state of happy anticfpatién; and even Hanford's face woked less haggard. | - "I'm afraid we're putting you out a good deal, Miss Everett," he sald as he looked around her sitting room. The mald bad cleared away the breakfast things and freshened the fire: the room was ful of an atmosphere which struck straight at the heart of the homeless man. py * Rrnestine shook her head. "You've given me some- ing to do," she sald "and that's what I needed. 1 take off your things and make yourselves af hame, Tin gong ap stairs fo tell the Tittle Bud- welsers to call on you presently, and the Morrisons will show you their tree, and in the weautime I'll go out and make a few arrangemeuts with Santa Claus." It was all very well to be gay before the children, but wher had R Short CORSICA nicer on -a Christmas a a y Grace Sartwell Mason RELEASED pe C, A0,08 | Morrison she called John Hern out into the hall wJohn," she sald desperately, "Mrs. Morrison says she doesn't believe we can find a single toy and much Jess a tree in this Dlossed (town to-day. What shall we do¥ We're going 10 have a free if we have te go where they grow awd chop ene down---and something to put on it, too! Mrs. Morrison says we might find some little shop open in Harlem, so I've tald Rita to give them a little luncheon about noon, for heaven knows when I shall get back:™ "I'l go, too," said Jobin, "Of course! To yeu think I'm going alone on such a wild adventure? Have you plaity of money with you? For I'm goiag to have a tree if 1 have to hire a private detective td locate one!" + He roassured her ou that pofat. He was light hearted enough to assume any rexpongibility. Every time he looked at Ernestine he felt as if he discovered somé charming new aspect of a book he had often read and which had often disappohited him. She liad become tenderly hmman, in the sort of way he had always felt she might if one touched the. right chord in her nature. He himself had never touched it--indeed, of late he liad almost despaired of Ernes- tine. "How fast you walk!" he laughed. "i feel as if 1 ought to ask forgiveness for dragging you into this, spolling your peaceful day, yon Know." ; "My pedeeful day!" she repeated scornfully. "Too peaceful, tod empty. oo abominably selfish! Don't waste yout breath In talking--we'll have to run if we cateh this ear" They caught the car, but, stranded high and dry in Hatleni. they looked at each other helplessly. As far as they conld see the streets of Harlem were as the sfrects of their own peighborhood. heartlessly en- gaged in having a good tine behind closed doors. Bot they started forth blithely Into the unknown. At that stage of the quest hope beat high and all Kinde of good Ick'seemed possible. An hour and a half later they stopped at the corner of a street where nn ripping wind played lonesomely, piling the gnow info closed dborways and deserted areas. Cone plete failure was theirs thus far. They had inquired everywhere--at drug stores, at Greek candy shops. of policemen, who waved them somewhere else with a bleak "hy, and of private cit} gong who treated them us lunatics at large. They had finally banged at the door of a little shop, through the windows of which they caught a glimpse of toys and something that looked lke evergreen boughs. It was from this last attempt that they paused to recover, for an irritated woman had opened a win- dow aver the! - heads and informed them that even a fool could see that the place was closed! "Madam, you are right," John said in his best man- x Were in glittered with tinsel and colored paper decoras tions. "I believe that fat little German can help us?" said Ernestine suddenly. "When he comes back with the coffee T am going to tell him our story." A little attention to the children, who stared in shyly from the doorway, a word of praise for the coffee, and the sympathy of her audience was won. Ernestine told the story of their guest for a Christmas tree, and, moved hy some homely 'feeling in her ls: tener's face, she added & hint of the three motherless children, A sentimental dew gathered In theeyes of the little German. He rushed out and brought in his wife, three times his size. but infinitely motherly. The story was retold. By this time the entire Sehnit- zor family was in the room, and when Ernestine finished she knew that the responsibility of their search was shifted to other and more capable shoul- ders.» "Will you be quiet, you children?" the father of the family cried. "Now, von at a tlme, soh! Fritzie, vere did you Christinas drees see yesterday? Better- ws? Ach, ves: but Befterman's at ten o'clock closed. Vat vou say, Clara? The Front street mar ket? Ach, nein; they sold tite last owe! Aud there is Hermanu's place, but be is long ago gone home: and Freddie Heinz, he had four for sale on the curb yes- terday. The Janowskis bought one and the vidow next door bought von--for vy 1 cannod see--and"----- astar Hose No. 87! all the children cried at once. Papa Schnitzer »aped. to his feet. "Ach, soh! » Dose hose fellers bought Freddie Heinz's best dree!" He puf his hand to his head with an effect of im- passioned thought, and then he cried --" For vy should dey a Christmas dree hat? Dwenty men and not one schild! Tt is un dree wasted, Not?" Ernestine felt rather bewildered, but presently under his flow of Teutonic American she perceived dimly a purpose forming. Suddenly the little Ger- man dived into a dark clothes press, from which he emerged with a fur eap on his head and an overcoat in his hand. Immediately every child in the room be- gan to clamor and dance, and before Ernestine real ized what was happening heels were waving from this cupboard and outer garments began to fly out into the room. "are all those kids going, Gus?" asked Mrs, Schnit- zer. "How ean I help it?" renlied her@uan, gazing at the tangle of arm sand legs fighting for overcoats and rubbers behind the closet door. "Come with me!" he cried to his guests, and speechless they found themselves swept Into the street. around the corner and straight to the side door of Hose No. 37. Beblind them straggled a long quene of little Sehnitzers in various stages of outdoor dress. Sehnitzer rapped twice. The door opened rapidly; he walked in and the othérs followed. The Schnit- zors were evidently on friendly ground. The place re- sounded' with "Merry Christmas, Schnitzer! Hello, Fritzieg, and Clara, and Hans, and Bartholomay and Itosie! t Ernestine felt for an instant abashed at this unusual situation in which she found herself, but when those members of Hose No. . who happened to be presefit were introdueed to her she found her- self put at edse by thelr evident pleasure in having il *1 can't stand { other. it any fonger-- Git to the end of my rope RELEASED. DEC 20 .08 ner, "but can you tell us where we can find a Ch#ist- mas tree?" The woman stared as"if her worst suspicions were confirmed. "Naw! she said. "Anybody but a bhiltty swell wonld a known enough to uy bought a tree yis- terday!" i "She iy perfectly right" mourned Ernestine, hud- dling in her furs. "I deny the fmplication that I'm a swell, but I agree that I'm quite incompetent." You're cold" said John, looking at her anxiously, "Your nese is quite blue. It's lunch time and after; you apght to have something to eat. Let me take you back home" But at this she turned upon him. "John Hearn, 1 shall go back with that tree er-upon i#% 1 promised those poor little things a tree and they shall have it! Let's try that street. You never can tell what is just around the corner." 3 A fine snow, like powdered ice, was beginning to comé down. They tramped onward, doggedly, two, blocks, three, ive--and then the glow of a gorgeous fire arrested their steps. It eame from a fat and jovial coal stove and it lighted, up the fifteen feet square of a shining little German saloon. The room was empty, but holly branches aud ropes of eyer- greet were on the walls and there was an old fash- joned air of Christmas cheer abouf fhe place. "Shell we?" they said to each other, and the next minute found themselves in the ladles" parlor, con- fronting the proprietor; who resembled his own coal stove in that he was perfectly round and shone w ith the ruddy' light of friendliness and good living. Whew he learned that the lady was cold and hungry he be- came hospitality Incarnate. "This room iss too coldt.! he declared. into_the other reom come." As he led the tray to the family sitting room at the reir he was obliged 6 «hoo hefore nim vhildren of al ages and both sexes. They hiossomad ent from un- expected doors and corners, and cach child had the round, glowing face of its father, "Christinas hasa't anissed them here," sald Erbes- tine, with a sigh, for every child they had seen hugged tnd ttle ro 3 "You must company'. "1 vant to make a speech!" declared Schaitzer at once. And he took the centre of the floor. Ernestine never forgot what followed. Not for mothing: had Schnitzer gained a repufgtion as orator of the ward, He told thd story of the search for a Christmas tree and of Hanford's motherless children in a manner that was noting less than inspired. He was only a fat, beer selling, sentimental little German, but as dhe Nstened to him and watched the dawning sympa- thy in the faces of his audience there came to Eroes- tine the reflection that here at last was reality. She felt all at once more akin to the world--a new sense of life, warm, homely and sincere, possessed her. Schnitzer worked up to his elimax with a trne oratorical cunning. - He bad pictured the three chil- dren, without a mother and without a spark of Christ- mas cheer, and then he turned upon his listeners. - "And here we hif dwendy men and not one schild. But haf we a dree? Ath--soh, yes! Dings in dis world are not right! Vat do you with dig dree? You look at it vonce, and into the street with it} And dose dree liddle children I told you of --ask of yout- selfs, iss it right? Mein frients, vat do you now with dat dree? Gif you it to those children--no? Or yes!" The regppnse came without an instant's hesitation. Grinnitlg shamefacedly as does the American man whe he gives way to sentiment, ¢ Hos No. 27 as one man Presented thir tree to Ernestine. Just as it stood, with candles ready to light, gorgeous iin ropes of silver stars affixed to it, with enuning little 'helmets tied among the branches and glittering fros transforming it into a fairy tree, they handed it over. "Bat--lut"-- stammered Kraestine, binshing wi Pleasure, "we can't take your lovely gree! It ' be right' : "Why, say, lady." their spokesman red himself, "what's the use of & of old jke us having a tree? Christmas is for know. for I've got'a bunch at ho Si 5 dea Ae pa of + a magic lamp or the njembers of ied, growing fellows Kids tor he mistress of high seat beside the driver: in Christmas tree brabches, and farewells to the members of Hose Hearn thought Ernestine might fore they got into her own neighborhood, thinking only of the children. ¥ y 4 "1 hope they'll be looking out" she said: and they" were. Their three faces were pressed close to the win- dow, wistfully and rather soberly, until {hes on bt sight of the Fire Department wagon and ond... © Then: their eyes popped out as if a fairy tile had sad: denly come true under thelr very noses. They even looked a little frightened; but all that changed to sheer rhpture when Micky Doyle bore the 'tree aps» stairs and into the room where they were. : Ernestine retired into her bedrgom and wiped her: eyes. "1 never imagined a child could be made so happy," ghe said to herself, The rest of the day was wonderful. It would have been impossible for an onlooker to decide which' en- joyed themselves most, the children or the three grown-up people. The tidy peace of Eimestine's flat gave way to a riotous fiisorder. A Christmas supper from Victor's « was ered and eaten amid much gavety: Then the children were sent up to visit the little Morrisons. Ernestine unpacked the basket Hearn had 'filed and disposed the presents about, while the two men lighted the candles. The children came back, sidling in at the door with a delicious mo- mentary - erly ssment; then; with radiant eyes,. they 'lobked: specchlessly at the tree--and Ernestine told herself it had all been more than worth while, Later thiit evening the littlest one went to sleep with his curly head ggainst her arm. . He hadstried manfully to keep awake, but it had a day too full of exeltement; his head bobbed and bobbed until finally it found a vestingiplace in the hollow of her arm, ) "1 can't thank you as I'd like to, Miss Everett," Hanford said earnestly, as he prepared to depart with his sleepy children; "you've helped me more than you can ever realise. 1-1 don't like to think what. kiud of a day it 'would have been without you." Avdegrée of peade and hope had come back to Han- ford's face: As'she looked at him Ernestine realized something of'axhat the day had meant to him; for, inher own hegrfy there had flashed a sudden reallza- tion 'of what=thet day had brought to her. When Hanford tad 'gote she came back Into" her sitting: roont™ She turned down some of. the 1ighfs ahd put a chair oF two-tu'plice; but her mind was hot on the task." She Khelt front of the dying fire with the intention of "mending It, but she remained 'staring into the glowing' heart of it. "Did Fou' notice," she sald after a time, "that the little chap went to sleep with his, head on my arm?" : Jon Heard wif puiting Sut ihe candles on the pe, arnéd an at | for a ; "Yes. 1 noticed" he. said. Sug mma e wis 'very quiet. Overhead the little Horan HiKd subsided; next door the Morrisons were sifent. But just as a nearby clock chimed nine somé one'in thelr apartment began to play, "Oh; Little Town of Bethlehem." "John Hearn left his task and came to thé fire, 'One by one the little Morrisons took up the birder of that hymn beloved of children:-- Oh Little, Town of Bethlehem, ow still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless steep The silent stars' go by, ' Yet: in HY dark stréets shincth nF The.everlasting light k The hepes and fonrstof all the years 7 & Are met In thee to-night!" In thelr voices as they sang there was something of the exultation and mystery of that other day which was'a CHAS day. To the man and woman listening there came an instant in which they saw their futile lives in the light of another Life which began as a little child under the waiting stars of Bethlehem. Thelr eyes met, and the man saw that the woman's eyes were shining with tears. "Ernestine, Brnestine!" he cried; "I how you at last. I love you morg/than I cam tell; I have always loved you now \you. need me. We need. each Ae oti=<but Can't we make all our Chirstmas days like. this one---no longér alone, or empty, or sad?" on, ra She reached out her hands to him, "No longer emp- uv or. ajane," she sald. "It's the children's day-and QD THE HEALTHFUL BANANA. N the production of nutritive substance © ground" cultivated the banana is far abvad ph other food plant, says a recent French writer. In fertile ground an acre of bananas may feed fifty men, j while the same area planted in wheat would support® fonly two. Methods of preservation have been sparely applied to the banana, which is one reason for Its Slight use as a food outside of the countries where it WE. : Of the four chief ways of preserving foods--namely, heat, colds drying and antiseptics, only drying hak been applied extensively to the banana. The Waas machine dries bananas by furnace heat, producing about twenty-seven and a half pounds of the desiccated fruit from one liundred pounds of the natural weight. In other forms of apparatus the bananas are heated in a partial vacumm, which dries them more quickly. Fruit thus dried and pressed keeps a long time. In some places they are kept in strings, like sausages. Banana starch 1s obtained by drying the green fruit. This product Is made in quantities in South America, in the form of a.fine, very white powder. Its grains are slightly ronuded, but it resembles in ofher respects more familiar varieties of starch, although it is some- what richer.' These Banana products could probably be used to advantage in Earope and the United States. The first firm to put a dried banana breakfast food on the mar- ket may make n forttme. The cereals have been some- what overworked and the forms into which they may bé tortured are. being exhausted. e banana as' a fresh fruit is not all that can be desired; as a starchy vegetable it may have an extensive career of pros- perity aud popularity before it. 3 & 3 BE MOSQUITOES OF MANY KINDS. WwW E are accustomed to talk about mosquitoes; and their peculiarities without always realizing that there are many species of these pests, with widely differing characteristics. One species may innoculate malaria, another with yellow fever; "tinsel, with 'thirty-seven Boar frost