a photograph in a heavy silver frame. "Strong of face and thin of hair, robber of my best friend," she apostrophized it, but the bride threatened her with the tea pot.

"Stop that and have some tea out of my latest wedding present. Do you know I'm being quite overwhelmed with gifts, in spite of a private ceremony in the chantry of St. James. I made these little cakes," this last with complacency unbounded.

The Editor turned savagely on her hostess: "Margaret, you sleek pussy cat, you frilly bride, you make me sick! Where are your ambitions? Have you written anything lately?"

The bride sat up very straight: "Oh, Jane, my poor, misguided friend! I have ambitions in plenty, and am working hard to realize them, but they lie along the line of home. As for writing, I have no time except for letters, and I do them long hand."

where does all the dust come from? We lunch outside, wherever it happens, and how dear Cousin Mary enjoys her playtime, and so do I. Not since I came to this big, wonderful New York have I had time to enjoy it until now."

Shadows were gathering in the homelike room as they left their empty tea cups, and the bride led the way to the dining room. "I'm furnishing by degrees," she said, "but the dining room. happened spontaneously by reason of our wedding presents."

She touched the drop light over the table and a golden glow filled the room like sunlight, shining on a cabinet of cut glass, the silver-laden sideboard and the polished dining table.

Full of enthusiasm the Major's lady set down her untasted cup of tea and clasped her newly-ringed hands.

"Why, first we get breakfast, Cousin Mary and I, no maids for me until 'the missus' learns enough to give orders intelligently; and as for breakfast, my good Jane, I looked on for a week at what a big, hungry man eats for his morning. meal, and I'm cooking accordingly. Later on I mean to do some of it decoratively on the table, electric toaster and all that, but just now it's the kitchen species, double boiler, sauce pan and the rest that is being included in my course. The Major has an appetite, if you like; the toast, marmalade and coffee, with which you and I fed our literary ambitions of a morning, would serve only as an accompaniment to his matin meal. Jane, I'm cooking cereals, oatmeal, hominy and the like. I have attained muffins and corn bread, loftily I aspire to ham omelette, to corned beef hash.

"Our house being set in order, and

proval of my efforts for his comfort. Stay for supper, do, it's creamed lobster in my chafing dish, hash browned potatoes, even now ready for the oven, and a nice, cool little salad of my own making to follow. I bought the French pastry," she added with honesty, "for though I mean to learn pie crust, my efforts aren't crowned with success."

Three months later the Editor, a duly invited dinner guest, sat at her friend's table facing Cousin Mary, the placid and capable instructor of domestic lore. A trim, white-capped maid served the dainty meal.

"You see," explained Margaret, when soup had been set before them and they were alone, "I have learned enough to give directions, or at least suggestions, hence, that capable creature in the kitchen, and in Cousin Mary behold my reference library. We are now rehearsing, having been assigned our roles in the domestic drama, and we are ready, any time, to have the curtain raised, when, 'Lo, the Conquering Hero comes"."

Over their coffee, served in the Living Room, the Editor turned questioning eyes upon her former associate. "Margaret, I find you a strangely diverting study; your house, your gowns and your talk of harmonious furnishings and balanced menus. If your tailor-made, busy life with me was your choice, isn't this new and never-changing role likely to become wearing and tiresome?"

"Jane, dear," and the bride grasped her friend's hand, sadly endangering the coffee cup she was holding, "this isn't make believe, it is my real self; my literary labors were an answer to a vacuum of purpose and pocket book. Speaking

"WE

Six months after his wedding day, liberated from a base hospital for the comfortable period of convalescence, the Major stepped from a mundane taxi-cab into the realization of his dreams. Tall, brown and surprisingly thin, his eyes grown wise and sad with the sight of war, filled with a world of content, as he puffed a meditative pipe.

"What a place to get well in; a house of my own, and most of all, you, Margaret, the spirit of home."

TELL, I'm fired!" Marjorie made the announcement to her room-mate defiantly, as she stalked into their tiny room and flounced down upon the bed with an elaborate too elaborate "don't care" yawn. "I've a good enough voice, the manager says, but no stage presence. I can see he's right: I'm as stiff and awkward, after six months, as I was that first awful day. And if I can't hold down a place, even in the chorus - Well, I'm through, that's all!" She swung one foot, kicking the bed post listlessly.

"Marje, look here." Marjorie's roommate spoke in a low voice. She was sitting on a stool by the one window, and had kept her face half averted; but now she wheeled on her stool, and handed Marjorie a typewritten letter, which the other took and glanced at indifferently, then gave a smothered exclamation and read in frowning haste.

"Dearie Girl, that's tough! I'm sorry!" She got up quickly, went over and put her arms around her friend. "I never once thought that your job was in danger, Mildred.. I'm so sorry!"

Mildred looked up at her with a peculiar expression, and answered, in a queer suppressed tone: "The strange part of it is that I'm glad, glad, glad! I loathe teaching, I knew I wasn't good at it, but I'd never have had the courage to quit, myself. And now” she indicated the letter, and shrugged whimsically, but there was a radiance about her sensitive, small featured face, as she looked up, bright-eyed, at her friend.

"Why, you good old sport, you! I believe you are glad!" Marjorie stood off with elbows on hips and surveyed this new Mildred.

"Listen, Marjorie: the Principal said. my training was good, and that I undoubtedly understood cooking. He was very kind. He praised the school cafetaria

that that

you know how I've enjoyed doing and the little dinners I've given. But, my classes were unruly. I shudder when I think of that kitchen-full of hoodlum girls. And to think that I'll never again have to face thirty of them, at once."

"There is something in that," chuckled Marjorie. "Now you suggest it, little

one, I can get some joy out of not having to face an ogre down front every night, that claps and rustles, and laughs at the wrong places!"

but come along. It's a ducky place!" and off they went, like happy school girls on a "lark."

A few days later it was Mildred's turn to burst in with enthusiastically bright cheeks: "I've told them all, and they're all going to help, teachers, and the super

"Why, no! Out with it."

A

"A little tea-room somewhere. dainty little place where I could plan and manage everything. I know I could do it. I wouldn't be a misfit there."

"I believe you could, all right, dear." Marjorie regarded her friend for a moment in silence; then added wistfully, "I don't suppose there'd be a corner for me in it? Room for another misfit?"

"I've been thinking about that, ever since you came home. And there would be a place, if you'd like it. You're a home girl, dearie, as much as I am, in spite of the newly acquired chorus-girl slang. And we'll have a 'homey' kind of tea-room. I teach to the end of the term, you know, and in the meanwhile we can be planning, and you can be doing the running around."

"The money, Mildred?”

"We'll begin small. You remember I've been teaching and saving for three years; goodness knows I've 'sweat blood' for the money, but now "twill do, 'twill serve'."

"I've an uncle that might lend, if we get in a tight place."

"Good! But I think we won't. Write and ask, though; it'll give us confidence." The two months till the end of school were busy and happy ones for the prospective business women. Reports from Marjorie, animated discussions, and plans for Marjorie's next day were the features of each evening, in the little bedroom.

"I've found just the thing!" was Marjorie's greeting, as she met Mildred at the door one afternoon a week before the end of school. Don't take off your things,

ested in every little detail; you know they entertain a lot. They've been dear to me all day. I couldn't believe they were the same girls I've been disliking so! Mr. Blackwell, that's the Principal, you know, says he shall come often."

Three weeks more found the tea-room ready for business. The "ducky" place was a little brown bungalow toward the end of a popular boulevard. It had pansies and nasturtiums blooming in front. Over the steps hung an unobtrusive sign in burnt wood, "The HearthFire."

The door opened directly into a living room, the full width of the house, with a large brick fireplace opposite, rather dominating the room. French windows opened upon porches. Built-in bookcases were well filled. A few good pictures were on the walls; "Home Keeping Hearts Are Happiest" hung over the cheery fire. A grand piano stood in one corner. All had the air of quiet home cheer, and the few brown stained tables, holding low bowls of nasturtiums or pansies, did not disturb that air.

The girls had sent out simple announcements to people of a select list supplied them by their interested "backers." Early on the opening day automobiles began stopping, bringing, first, eager high school enthusiasts, with mother and father, or aunt, or an older friend. A most unprofessional-looking, home body, with quiet, well-poised manners and very pink cheeks, met them at the door, welcomed them to a table and gave them a choice between tea and coffee. With the tea or coffee, in fragile cups, were served tiny iced cakes in a brown basket. "Dee

licious!" murmured the first young enthusiast under her breath.

At a pause in the bright chatter of the guests, a pretty girl, in a simple empire dress and hair loosely gathered in an empire knot, took her place at the piano, began playing softly, and sang sweetly several songs, ballads and playful little things; then slipped as quietly away.

That the tea-room was to be a success was evident from the first. Soon they had to have more help, and in no time the tables overflowed to the porch, then to the lawn. But always the girls kept the same atmosphere of a quiet home-place, and served the same simple things. Extra tables were concealed somewhere in the rear and brought out only when needed; so you could go for an early morning spin, drop in for a bite, and have it cosily before the grate or in a secluded corner of the porch, quite as if you were honored and only guests.

During warm days, iced tea, iced coffee, and iced chocolate were served, and the last two soon became famous; sandwiches were added, for the benefit of hungry autoists. Flowers varied with the season, but were always of the simple garden variety. A large bunch of golden glow or sunflowers or barberry bush replaced the fire in the grate.

"The Hearth Fire" appealed especially

to those who were tired of the conventional "ice-cream parlor," and were willing to pay well for dainty beauty in service and surroundings. Many of these people sought out the friendship of the girls who had created this delightful spot.

On an evening late that fall, the two sat in their own cozy, little sitting room of the bungalow, and "took stock" of their venture.

"Are we such misfits after all?" laughed Mildred, with pencil poised from totaling very satisfactory accounts. A ring at the bell interrupted.

"Surely not a tea-drinker this time of night," said Marjorie, rising to answer. She came back bearing a florist's box, which she handed to Mildred, and watched her teasingly while she opened upon a wealth of pink roses, and glanced with heightened color at the card within.

"Mr. Blackwell has certainly developed an awful appetite for tea this summer!" teased Marjorie. "You're not a Misfit at "The Hearth Fire,' but Someone evidently thinks you haven't found your absolutely right niche."

"And you?" Mildred glanced significantly at the picture of a handsome lieutenant on Marjorie's dressing table.

"It's been awfully good training for a permanent job!" murmured Marjorie softly.

In the shade of a blossoming sloe bush,
As white as the winter's first snow,
I once saw a wee fiddler sitting
And scraping his bit of a bow.

And says he then, "The top av the morning,
Yer honor, and what do yiz say,
To shakin' yer fut to the music
Av the merry tune I'll play?"

Then he laughed like the wind when it's stirring
The shamrocks that grow on the hill,
And he lifted his little brown fiddle,
And the feet of me wouldn't be still.
So before you could think I was dancing,
And who should be dancing with me,
But the prettiest bit of a coleen,
That ever a mortal did see.

W

ILL the present high cost of living be abated after the war, or is it a situation that has come to stay? This question is being asked by every householder, every manufacturer, and every business man. A reassuring answer is given by the Federal Bureau of Foreign and Domestic Commerce, whose experts have conducted an investigation in Europe, in South America, and in this country.

According to the reports of these investigators, it may safely be predicted that the close of the war will witness a marked decline in the cost of such necessities as food and clothing, the latter including wool, cotton, silk and leather manufactures. But for some time to come there will be little or no drop in the prices of lumber and timber products, and of structural steel and cement.

It is fair to assume, say those who are best able to judge, that within a comparatively short time after peace has been declared, there will be a pronounced drop in the prices of such commodities as wheat, corn, barley and sugar. Large quantities of these staples are available in Argentine, Uruguay, Australia and Java. The supplies will probably be in fairly good condition at the close of the war, and will be available for consumption as soon as ships can be found to move them. With our present rate of ship construction maintained, there seems nothing to fear in that direction.

As to after-the-war prices of lumber and timber products, it is probable that there will be comparatively little or no decline for a period of two or three years. Since the outbreak of the war in Europe, our exports of lumber have been greatly restricted by lack of bottoms and by high ocean freight rates. Thus, even the ordinary lumber requirements of Europe have been imperfectly supplied during

the last four years. To catch up with this deficiency, alone, will require great activity on the part of American lumber manufacturers, but there will be additional supply to make up. The demand for lumber for reconstruction purposes in France and Belgium will be tremendous. Moreover, the demand at home will probably be grater than it has been within the last year, as building operations have been greatly restricted since we entered the war.

The prices of other building materials, such as structural steel, sheet iron and cement, will probably rule high for a considerable period after the war. In the matter of iron and steel products, other than structural steel, there will be, in all probability, a gradual decline, during the period immediately following the war. Upon the declaration of peace, the United States Government and the allied powers, which are taking the greater part of the iron and steel production of the country, will be almost entirely out of the market, and very few new contracts will be made, on government account, for a number of months, except, perhaps, in the matter of ship plates, boilers, engines and other iron and steel necessary for ship construction.

As soon as government orders for iron and steel fall off, there will be a marked decline in the quotations for all such products. A part of the present product tion, however, will be absorbed by private interests, who have been out of the market for a number of months. While it is probable that there will be a considerable demand for iron and steel in South America and the Far East, yet, even if our manufacturers get all of this foreign business, it will hardly be sufficient to keep them working at the present rate of production.

As to the prices for electrical machin