An excellent fire-lute is made of eight parts sharp sand, two parts good clay, and one part horse-dung; mix and temper like mortar. A short splice is made by unlaying the ends of two pieces of rope to a sufficient length, then interlaying them, draw them close and push the strands of one under the strands of the other several times.

This amount will make two loaves, either twisted or in small bread pans. Bake forty-five minutes in a moderate oven. If the bread is set in the morning use a cake of compressed yeast and bake the loaves in the afternoon. Make dough according to the above recipe. Work small pieces of dough into strands a finger long, and take three strands for each loaf.

Would you-all mind swingin' me, Jeb?" Jeb got up slowly from his stool and took hold of the upper end strands of the hammock. He pulled it back and forth a few times, while Sary smiled alluringly up at him. Then he cleared his throat and began to speak. "This world was made fur love. Oh, what woul' arth be widdout de flowers of love to parfume our way?" Jeb coughed.

"Now, just you look here, Master Ned." But Ned didn't stop to look; for, after the restive kick at the chair, he had broken into a canter, dashed down the garden and through the gate into the meadow, across which he now galloped straight for the new haystack, for only a week before that meadow had been forbidden ground and full of long, waving, flowery strands.

The blue strands, with hardly a waver or tremor, streamed straight up. He was somewhat reassured, however, when he remembered that he had not yet emerged from a great valley between low ranges that ordinarily prevented free passage of the winds. He mushed on, his snowshoes crunching on the white crust. The powers of the wilderness gave him good speed almost to the noon hour.

The last time I had seen her was in France, wet through in old short-skirted kit, with badly rolled muddy puttees, muddier heavy boots, a beast of a dripping hat pinned through rain-sodden strands of hair, streaks of mud over her face, ploughing through mud to a British Field Ambulance, yet erect, hawk-eyed, with the air of a General of Division. There sex was wiped out.

In all directions twisted and torn, with ends that stuck up, and stray strands uncut was wire: thick and rusty it coiled in and out between the screw pickets cut to pieces, but still there. Men picked their way over it gingerly, stepping with care and walking round the little ridges that separated the shell holes.

All night long the old folks heavily slept; and all night long little Umè-ko drifted in a soft, slow rising flood of consciousness that was neither sleep nor waking, though wrought of the intertwining strands of each. Again she saw the dark face in the gateway. It was a mere picture in a frame, set for an artist's joy. Then it seemed a summons, calling her to unfamiliar paths, a prophecy, a clew.

We watched her press beads of proper size and color into the eye sockets; skilfully finish the base upon which each figure lay; then twist a lump of butter into a square of fine muslin, and deftly squeeze, until it crinkled through the meshes in form of fleece for the lamb's coat, then use a different mesh to produce the strands for the lion's mane and the tuft for the end of his tail.

During the time required for jerking a quantity of it, Glover made a boat out of the two hides, scraping them with a hunting knife, sewing them with a sailor's needle and strands of the sounding-line, and stretching them on a frame of green saplings, the result being a craft six feet long by nearly four broad, and about the shape of a half walnut-shell.