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-* [I ft : THE HELPING HAND By Christine Whiting Parmenter It was cold, and stormy, and dark. Mary Mathiesen, moving quietly about the kitchen, preparing supper, paused j for a moment to b* sure that the lo-| custs slapping against the windows,; did not frighten her baby, whom she; had just tucked in for the night As no sound came from above, she sought' the dining room, switching on "It's it's terrible for a boy to want a home, Jim," said Mary, gently. "I know," answered Mathiesen. He leaned across the little table to give Mary's hand a squeeze. "Sometimes I feel like a sinner to have so much; but I can't just see us adopting a sixteen-year-old son!" laughed. Then her face sob- "Want any beets or carrots, ma'am?" he asked. , His wares were temptingly display- ed and Mary decided that she wanted beets. "Joe, will you bring a dish from the pantry?" she called over her shoulder, as she made her selection. There was no response. Suddenly, Mary realized that the joyous shouts were stilled. Only the baby's voice, raised in a hurt whimper, was audible. Turning, she saw that the boy had vanished, though on the floor lay a huddled shape under an old shawl. Without a word, Mary brought the dish herself, paid the man and watch- ed him depart before she crossed the and lifted the shawl to disclose , though the cosy, she thought with the rain beat-j Ing ajn.inst the windows, were here I'll bring one out to-mor- Mary laid a hand on the boy's arm. ,_ Ti _ ; row. He'll have to swim round in my "Joe was that the farmer who only Jim wardrobe m afternoon . Her thoughts were interrupted by He's small abused you? for sixteen; but, then, he looks as if "Nope," said the boy, not meeting he'd never had enough to eat." her eyes. "I never see that man be- Mathiesen had departed for the city fore. I was just playin' with the an unexpected knock. It was a strange lip 1 ".^ * % 71 lt0r -" i! e M?5 ^oil^ before their guest awoke next day.; baby. She likes for me to hide and she saw a boy in shabby raiment . M thttnat ^ in , n thn ^^ room .| then jump out at her." standing upon the little porch. meal before him, and went to the stove lin es about his mouth which had been to turn a griddle cake slowl y vanishing, returned. At times "Good morning," she .aid. creer-' M 7 caught him watching her fur- fully. "I hope you like griddle cakes *'* M * h % we ? * n * to read ,nrf .ni. *>" i her thoughts. In the afternoon she and maple svrup? manufactured an errand to the vil- Mary, tiptoeing into the boy's room^ , , looked down with pity on a face which,! "All right" said Mary, but the boy's \Vhat can I do for you?" she asked, in gleep> had lost itg sMen Unes Y et,| white face and trembling hands did as he did not speak. then) wag a hard cxpress i on to the 'not escape her, nor the fact that he For a moment the boy was silent, ; mouth that she couldn't understand in did not return to the carefree romp, peering into the room beyond, as if In one so young. Then she remembered He kept close to the house all day, earch of something. He didn't meet; the livid bruise he had displayed, and sometimes reading, sometimes staring Mary's friendly glance as he said her heart melted. When, later, the ir-lo space, his brows knit in thought; hoarsely, "I want a home." boy came down, she set a bowl of oat- and, as the^ hours passed,^ the ^bitter "A home!" echoed Mary in surprise. She stood back, motioning the boy to enter. He obeyed sullenly, as if doing her a favor. "You're hungry, aren't yon?" said Mary quietly. "Sit here by the table and I'll get your supper. Then you an tell me why you want a home." He slumped into a chair, resting his Ibows on the table and staring nerv-j look at him. When, at length, she nFght found him"stiii"sulien."" Not even ausly into every comer. He ate hun-| glanced him way, she had to suppress Mathiesen's kindly smile brought a trrily the bread and milk which Mary an astonished exclamation. He hard- response, jje went to bed early, but set before- him, watching her covertly] ly looked like the same boy. He was they cou j d hear nim toss i n g restlessly as she moved about preparing her ^railing it was the first smile Mary; unt ii they slept own supper. Mary was perfectly j had seen-but he was smiling neither j .. poor fa sa - d Mathi Uy . aware of his alert glances. He remind- at her nor at the prospect of griddle, If only h / d what - 3 on his mind | sd her of a squirrel devouring a nut * "' *'- nt. r,ti' while in deadly fear of some alien in- terruption. When he had finished, she turned to him and smiled encourag- ingly. "So you want a home?" "Yes," answered the boy. He spoke It was a question, but the boy made lage ^ order to leave the baby in his no answer a. he seated himself before care the oatmeal It struck Mary that he nim might be embarrassed, so she did not haps.'in"time," he"wou7d trust "her. But A l-i TTTt i 1 Ll_ _V * If she showed that she trusted her dearest treasure, per- "."*' fiSSrt JE2i ffSKSSSS === . . . .. i he corner where, nl Rh M, him ^ j can>t d} _ Baby Mathiesen reigned supreme i-, a I ^ , ans f ^ undl j fce , fenced-m spot, from wh.ch she was h(J , s ^ fce * He>3 nofc lx grinning a friendly welcome. i Mary rm sure of that> , "I like kids," said the boy, suddenly., It was late ^ &t night> when Mary It seemed to Mary that it was the was SOU ndly sleeping, that Mathiesen f 1 m . . _ I r I ** **" v U 1 1 U i lowly, as if reciting something. "I, first natural speech that he had made.' awo k e ^th of something -~..- i ... ,, r . i . one uay, rrorn tne spider. stealthy footstep. Mathiesen slipped * " rme f, ? thl3 Wa ? C me for " That ' s K d ." 8he answered, calmly. out of bed< ^hed with unerring in- a boy. He picked me out o the whole, "I'm going to ask you to look out for 8tinet for his b i anket wrap pe r , and bunch me the biggest I thought! her till nap time, I have so much to crept downstairs. Through a crack MI was goin to have a home, but do. Mr. Mathiesen will be home early. in the c^^ door of the dinin g room. all he wanted was a work hone. Look!" He stripped his shirt off one He's going to bring you a clothes. dining suit of a faj nt light was visible. It didn't Your look pretty well used occur to Mathiesen that he might need ouer sow a mark, ugly and up." [ a we apon. His hand ciosed firmly on new He done that I run away, back "Clothes for me!" gasped the boy. | the door knob which yielded quietly, to th orphanoge. but they licked me. "New ones?" | so quie tly that the boy standing before Yes, new ones! Ready for your; the sideboard, did not know he was I want a home like other boys. I- He stopped confused, and | cakes?" Mary: "Da, da." answered the baby, and looked down on him compassionately. | the boy laughed. "You poor boy!" she said, gently. "I can't promise you a home; but I'll Interrupted. Then he turned, stifling a frightened cry. five you a night's lodging and try to help." "You here alone?" asked the boy,, suddenly; something cunning creeping "Can't she have one, ma'am?" "Oh, she had her breakfast ' Mathiesen's keen eyes, at a glance, took in the scene before him. Dressed on (? once more in his old clothes, his cap ago," said Mary. "Will you keep an pu ll e d low over his eyes, stood Joe, eye on her wtole I make the beds? I'm| grasping in one hand what looked like a pillow case, the contents of which clinked queerly as he moved. The late because I didn't want to wake you.' into his eyes that repelled Mary. "No. I have my husband and . , ,_, . * --*- -.s ,i , > ^ . ^ , . rv ^ a 11 vi 1 4 1 1 1 ' *. ' . v Ineres Jim now!" she added,; ate alone. When she returned he was the baby's porringer remained, telling Joyfully; glad of Mathiesen's guiding 1 on the floor beside the baby's fence, its own story. Mary knew tactfully, that the boy sideboard was swept bare of Mary's rny husband and baby would enjoy his breakfast more if he g ji ve r candlesticks and dishes. Only . w - - 9 - ..,, - -- F two v w 11 story, Hand in this problem. making faces which Miss Mathiesen, Mathiesen drew a quick breath. Mat! icsen. who had entered by the evidently considered a great accom- Then he came nearer, took the boy's front door, met her half way across' plishment She wept when her mother; burden from him, and said, quietly: the dining room and hugged her ard took her up, and stretched out implor- "Suppose we sit down, Joe, and talk ing hands to her new friend. it over." "She'd rather play than go by-by, The boy obeyed, trembling. ently. "Some storm!" he exclaimed, boy- ishly, "and some home to come In to I'm hungry, Mary, any day," laughed Mary. "Perhaps; "Take off your cap," said Mathiesen you'll carry her upstairs while I get kindly. He was quietly removing the her bottle. Then she'll go to sleep in silver from the pillow case, laying it the sun- room and you can do what upon the dining table, and talking. out of the wet! nd " . Mary's finger on her lips caused him ._ _ r _ , D , to top abruptly. She closed the door, I you want till lunch time. Do you like giving the boy a chance to pull himself and In a few quick words told him of to read? There are lots of books and together. their self-invited guest j magazines in the living room." "These candlesticks were a wedding "Poor kid!" said Mathiesen quietly. j "Well, Jim," said Mary after their gift from Mr. Carey for whom I He stepped into the kitchen, holding guest had gone to bed the second night, work," he explained, calmly. "Mrs. out his hand in welcome, but the boy "what do you think?"" I Mathiesen is very fond of them, did not, or would not, understand. He "I'm puzzled," replied Mathiesen, They're worth a good deal of money, looked up suspiciously, as the man's slowly. "I don't get at him, Mary. He I am sure. And this dish came from hand dropped to his shoulder. liked the clothes, oh ! tremendously ; a stenographer In my office. I sup- "How old are you?" questioned but he watched me while he was dress- pose it took her a whole week to earn Mathiesen kindly. ing as If he thought I had an axe to it maybe more. These salts and pep- "Sixteen," answered the boy, and grind or was going to spring some- pers are hardly worth the trouble of flushed. | thing unpleasant on him. He told the carrying away. They wouldn't bring "M-mm," murmured Mathjesen. He same story, though, that he told last much; but we love them because a looked ^down at the boy with eyes that night; and when he's alone for any little sick girl, in the house where I couldn't be anything by kind, yet length of time, he looks sullen. The used to board, spent all her savings seemed to demand the truth. "You're only time he acts like a real boy is to give them to us. The forks ana tired, aren't you?" he asked. "And wet, when he's with the baby; and that's spoons we'll miss, of course. I sup- and cold. Mrs. Mathiesen has seen to queer, too, for most boys would take 1 pose I've been careless about burglar your supper, of course. Suppose you! pains to hide the fact that they liked insurance. Somehow I never thought have A bath and go to bed. To-morrow! to amuse a baby. We'll keep him here that anyone would steal from us; be- we'll have a talk. Is the guest room' a day or two, dear, if you don't mind, cause, really we haven't very much, ready, Mary?" i Perhaps, when he gets used to us, 'I " She nodded, and the boy, still sullen, he'll talk more freely." A smothered protest came from the followed Mathiesen upstairs. Mary] The day or two grew into a fort- ; boy. and Mathiesan sat down sudden- heard her husband moving about, evl- night, at the end of which Mathiesen, i ly before him. "Now " he began, but dently showing the boy where he who was accustomed to receiving Joe interrupted hoarsely: "I know would sleep and giving him clean everybody V confidences confessed him- your game! You'll just keep me clothes. The water was running Into' self baffbd. The boy had a confusing talkin' till the cop you've sent for gets the tub when Jim returned. In silence ' way of -vading questions or answer- here." h helped Mary put supper on the' inft then table, and sighed with relief as he! thing, sat down. in a way that revealed no- "I hop* you gave that boy enough to eat, dear. He's starved. His shoul- "He leminds me of a shrewd law- "No," answered Mathiesen, quietly, "I haven't sent for any cop. In fact, I don't know where to find one out here yer" Mathiesen complained, one morn- in the country. I'll make a bargain !'s starved. His shoul- Ing. "He has brains that boy; but | with you. if you like. If you'll ans- dr blades are almost through the we can't keep him here indefinitely,' v.-er my questions truthfully, I'll skin, and he has a bruise " | Mary. It's too much for you. I've' promise not to send for an officer in "I saw it," said Mary quickly. "The' got a scheme " j any case even if you walk off with . farmer^ who took him from the oohan- ' Mary didn't hear the scheme just then, because the baby demanded her ge did it" "M-mm," said Mathiesen " again ; j mother's presence, and whKi she re- thsn, quietly: "Sixteen years old and turned Jim was ready for his train n orphan. Somehow that doesn't sound quite credible." "You think he lied?" whispered Mary, one ear on sounds above. Jim smikd. "Oh, we'll glv him the Later, the boy he had told them his name was Joe brought in an armful of kindlings and, dropping them Into Mrs. Mathiesen's treasures. Isn't that fair?" Joe didn't answer, and Mathiesen chose to take silence for consent "Let's begin at the beginning," he said, kindly. "How old are you, Joe?" The boy hesitated then blurted out the box, got down on his knees for a defiantly: "I'm goin' on fifteen, any- romp with Mary's baby. It was a way!" And why did you tell us you were benefit of tfce doubt He needs atten- ' noisy romp, but Mary only smiled at Won anywa>. To-morrow's Saturday 1 the joyous youth of it She turned older?" and I'll come out early. You keep him in surprise, when the door opened to; "I thought," began, the boy. then kusy through the morning and I'll talk admit a man whose knock she had not raised his head, and for the first time Wtif him when I get horn*." hum! ! met Mathiesen's eyes. They were stern eyes now, but something compassion- ate in their depths stirred things long dormant in the boy's heart "I didn't come from no orphanage," he confessed, suddenly. "I knew that" answered Mathiesen. "I inquired at Saint Luke's the day after you came." "You knew I lied!" cried Joe, "and and kept me?" "Yes. You told Mrs. Mathiesen that you wanted a home. We were sorry you didn't trust us; but if a boy wants a home there's something jrood in him, so we decided to trust you anyway." A shamed red crept inta the boy's cheek. He started to speak, but the words came as if they hurt "It was a lie, sir. I didn't want no home not then." "Then why" began Mathiesen, in genuine surprise, when Joe interrupt- ed: "I didn't know nothin' about homes then. I read that all in the paper, how a guy went to a house and told the folks that story wantin' a home, and how he come from an in- stitution. Then when they took him in and he got the run o' things, he lit out with all the jewelry and money." "And got caught" supplemented Mathiesen, "and sent to prison. I read that story, too. And you thought it paid?" The boy's voice shook. "I guessed I could put it through," he confessed, miserably. "I was goin' to bury the stuff till the police stopped lookin', but" "Yes?" encouraged Mathiesen. "But I I liked the baby. I sort o' hated to be mean. I'd most give up thinkin' about that scheme; but when I see that man again I I wanted to get even with with somebody!" His face hardened, and his brows were seamed and angry. "You mean the farmer who came this morning?" asked Mathiesen quickly. "Yes; him that give me this cut." He pointed to his shoulder. "I was ; workin' for him honest I thought ' I'd try the country for a spell; and , one day he give his little girl a smack that knocked her flat I see red, sir, and I lammed him one on the jaw. He had a whip in his hand and " The boy shuddered, and Mathiesen : said compassionately, "I understand. You needn't tell me. And and you thought we'd serd you back to him?" "I thought, maybe, you'd think he had a right to me. I ain't but four- teen year old. But I'd go to hell, mister, before I'd go back to him. I run off that nigrht I'd have burned h's hams for him if I hadn't been afraid I'd burn his wife and kids. I didn't hnve nothin' to eat all next day.! It was then I remembered that boy what asked for a home, and I looVed in these windows and see all this sil-| ver sh-nin'. I I thought U was s-'-nie rich guy's summer place. I didn't hardly know what a home was then.| I never got anything but knocks all; my life. Oh, you don't know, sir! You don't understand. You got so much. Don't don't the world owe me somethin', mister?" "No," answered Mathiesen, sternly,' "not one thing." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Everything that we want, Joe, we have to earn \ everythingeven love. But," his voice softened, "I do understand, boy. When' I was your age I was as alone as you.) But if I hadn't lived straight, and kept my soul and body clean, do you' think for a moment I'd be where I am, to-day, with a home like this, and friends who care for me, and a wife and baby to love and work for?" He waited, but as the boy was silent he went on slowly. "We reap what we sow, son. There is nothing truer; and if you live honestly, and p'.ay fair, and hold out a helping hand to the man below, sometime, sooner or later, the reward comes if it's only the sat- isfying knowledge of days well lived." The boy looked up. His eyes were 1 bright, because back of his eyelids there were tears. "What what'll I do, sir?" he asked humbly. "I hope you know," went on Mathie- sen, as if he had not heard the ques- tion, "that if I could, I'd give you the home you asked for. But I'm not rich, Joe far from it and I have a wife and baby, as well as an old mother, whom I have to consider; but I've another plan for you." The boy was leaning forward, 1 scarcely breathing, as Mathiesen went on quietly: "I've got you a job as ele- vator boy in our office building. It's easy work that will leave you time to read and study, which is what you , need. You'll learn enough for your needs at present; but I don't want you In a cheap boarding-house. You need a home, and I think I've found vou one." "Where?" questioned the boy,! breathlessly. "I have a friend who's worked in our office for twenty years. She had a snug little home with her mother, who died a year ago. This seemed to take away all her courage. She wasn't well, and the firm decided that she de- served a rest. So, last January, they ' retired her on a liberal pension, and told her to take life easily. "But that didn't do the trick, fhe truth was, she was lonely, and one day, when she was staying here, Mrs. Mathiesen. had an inspiration. 'Miss Garnet' she said, 'why don't you adopt a baby?' "Well she did! She'd always want- ed to, but thought her friends would disapprove. She's very happy now, but she needs someone she oan trust to bring up wood, and tend the fur- nace, and be a big brother to her baby. Would you like to try?" The boy looked up, still shaken. > "Is is she like your uussis?" he hesitated. Ancient New Year's Customs and Their Origin Probably after Hallowe'en and Christmas there is no festival of the year so girt about with long-establish- ed customs as New Year's Day. Am- ong th best known of these are the auguries drawn from what was called the "Candlemas Bull" In Scotland and other northern countries the term Candlemas, given to this season of the year, is supposed to have had its origin in religious ceremonies per- formed by candle light. The candlea used were very large and highly ornamented, and were brought in at the midnight hour to the assembled guests, who, since the falling of dusk, had been drinking freely of the was- sail bowl. Then, in procession, they marched out into the night, and to their imaginations the passing clouds assumed the shape of a bull. From the rise and fall and general motions of these clouds the seer foretold good or bad weather. Sometimes, too, aug- uries for the future were gathered from the state of the atmosphere on New Year's Eve, and also from the force and character of the wind. In the imagination cf most primi- tive peoples, especially those of the North, who were forced to battle against the elements of nature for life and sustenance, the eves of great feasts were considered occasions when the spirits of good and evil were in deadly conflict. The moment of mid- night on New Year's eve was always considered a time of special activity for the spirits of eviL In order to overcome them holier and more pow- erful influences had to be invoked. The evil spirits, or genii, as can be gather- ed from tie Icelandic and Anglo- Saxon folklore, and even from words in their dialect, could be overcome by an appeal to the good genii, the lutgh- men. or hillmen. Probably imported from Italy was the superstition that on New Year's eve the "evil eye" was all the more malignant. Then, too, there was a widespread practice of the "setting of mete or drynke by nights on the benche to fede Allholde or Goblyn." In some of the dialogues of the fa- mous medieval morality play "Dives and Pauper" we find mention of this and many other New Year's customs intended to counteract the activities of the forces of evil Perhaps what contributed most of this general fear of sinister influences was the deep drinking among the peo- ple, which continued almost uninter- ruptedly from Christmas until New Year's Day. Up to the ninth century, except in the Syrian and Coptic churches, New Year's day was not celebrated as a special feast day, but was looked upon as merely the octave of Christmas. Therefore the Christ- mas cheer was continued throughout the entire octave without abatement. It flickered up for tlte. last time on New Year's Day, as is clear\tr-nj the' 19th sermon of Augustine, BisnopSkf Hippe. In England on New Year's Ev the young women went about carrying the "wassail bowl" and singing from door to door certain verses a custom which had much in common with the hog-many practice in Scotland. Htt pint, the strange brew which in that country was carried about in tha streets at midnight, was composed of ale, spirits, sugar, nutmeg or cinna- mon. It was a powerful potion, th effects of which were almost imme- diately evident. Ritson in a collection of ancient songs gives as a few sung to the quafflngs of this "prince of liquors, old or new." One such U: "A jolly wassel bowl, A wassel of good ale, Well fare the butler's soul That setteth this to sale; Our jolly wassel!" Notwithstanding the opposition which it has met since the year 1811. when many abuses were discovered in the practice, the custom of hurrying first across the threshold of his sweet- heart has been practiced by many young lad in Anglo-Saxon countries. The young lady listened attentively from the time the midnight bells ceaa- ed to ring to catch the first footfall on the floor. The welfare of the family, par- ticularly the fairer portion of it, was supposed to depend upon the character of the first comer after the midnlpht hour had sounded. Great care was taken to exclude all improper per- sons, especially as the midnight in- truder enjoyed the privilege of im- printing a "hearty kiss" on the lips of the expectant lassie. The custom of bestowing gifts ha become so inextricably linked with the New Year's celebrations in Paris that New Year's Day is still called the Jour cTEstrtnnft. This custom seema to have had its rise In the conduct of the nobles of the late Middle Ages, who were in the habit of bestowing gifts upon their sovereign. The giving of gifts was also very common In England amo-~ the people. On Christmas Day, and often on St. Stephen's Day, employers, parents and masters presented Christmas boxes to their dependents. It was a form of Christmas charity. On New Year's Day, however, gifts were exchanged between friends and acquaintances as a sign of (rood wilL This custom, per- haps, had its origin in the box which was taken aboard every vessel thai sailed out of port during the octave of Christmas and which was not to be opened until the return of the vessel. Contributions were to be dropped into this box, large or small, according as the day had been propitious or other- wise. Hence the name of "Christmas boxes," which were given up to and including New Year's Day. Each one of these days became known as "Box- ing Day." At the present time the 6th of December is known as "Box- Mathiesen smiled. "She's not so young, nor perhaps so pretty, but she's awfully nice. And the baby " "I bet it's not as good as our baby!" said the boy suddenly. Had Mathiesen's over-burdened heart needed warming, that tribute *o his wee daughter would have done it. But before he could reply, the boy's eyes crept to the silver on the table and he gasped, as if suddenly remind- ed of some dreadful thing he had for- gotten, while Mathiesen, watching him closely, said quietly: "It's in your hands now, Joe. I gave you my word ; and if you still want to | carry away our silver, I shan't stop you. But if you wish, you can be a son to Miss Garnet, and earn the 1 friendship we want to give you. It's[ for you to choose: and, I think, you're man enough to choose the right." Then the boy, still staring at the silver, voiced the thought born of his! new-found sense of shame: "But but whafll she think, sir?" His eyes crept from Mary's trea- sures to the room above, and Mathie- sen smiled. It was a smile that hail healed many a hurt heart before, and now it fell like balm on a tortured soul. "I have no secrets from my wife, Joe," he said quietly, "but this is your secret, and if you want me to 1 keep it "Oh, would you'.'" cried the boy' breathlessly. 1 His head went down amid the silver on tiie table, while the storm that had been gathering shook his slender form. Mathiesen arose, and a feeling of helplessness crept over him. He knew that the boy needed the comfort one' would give a child, yet he had ap- pealed to him as a mar., and that thought he must leave intact. If Mary were only here Then, to his joy, he saw her in the doorway. Her eyes held his for aj brief moment .swept past him to the silver on the table to the boy's head, bowed amid his plunder to the baby's ( lonely porringer mute witnesa for the defence, and Mary, being Mary, understood. She crossed the room and put her arms about the boy. | "You hadn't any mother, had you?"; she said, tenderly. "You didnt under- stand. There. There." She might have been comforting her own baby, thought her husband. He paused a moment, looking down ador-' ingly at her bowed head. Then, turn- Ing quietly, he W&ht-eiit aad cli^-i *ht door. He knew how the boy would choose. Mary would finish the task he had begun. New Success. The Year's End. Full happy is the man who comes at last Into the safe completion of his yearj Weathered the perils of his springy that blast How many blossoms promising and dear! And of his summer, with dread pas- sions fraught That oft, like fire, through the ripening corn, Blight all with mocking death and, leave distraught Loved ones to mourn the ruined, waste forlorn. But now, though autumn gave but; harvest slight Oh, grateful Is he to the powers above For winter's sunshine, and the lengthened night By hearthside genial with the warmth of love. Through silvered days of vistas gold. and green Contentedly he glides away, serene. A Prayer. Oh, young New Y'ear, take not these things from me The olden faiths; the shining loyalty Of friends the bitter, searching yeari have proved The glowing hearth fires, and th ( books I loved; All wonted kindnesses and weleom- ing All safe, hard-trodden paths to which 1 cling. Oh, gay New Year, glad with the thrill of spring Leave me the ways that were my comforting ! Laura Simmons. To every reader, young and old, w extend our heartiest New Year's greetings and best wishes for a most prosperous and happy 1924. This is the best seaso<- of the year for the farmer to turn over a leaf; in his account book. I rt us fully resolve to y wtrr good resolution*.