borg did likewise, it must be said to her credit.

The young lovers were growing very formal with each other. When ever Ingeborg called on Sister Caspersen, she was always off before Ferdinand was aware of her presnece. When Ferdinand had worked for the doctor, Ingeborg was obliged to speak to him often, on account of his inability to understand perfectly the English language. The girl was genuinely proud of the way in which he acquitted himself in his work. She knew, however, that he suffered. Often when she had conversed with him, he had gazed at her so wistfully, scarcely able to speak. At such times her conscience would upbraid

her.

"Why," she would ask, "do I act so foolishly? But, oh, I do wish. Ferdinand would be a little more like

the doctor."

It was Friday evening late in May; Sister Clearfield's daughters were coming home on the morrow. Every thing around the place looked love Iv. Blessed girls, to have such a home awaiting them! How fresh the lawns looked. The clean kept winding walks, contrasting so nicely with the green grass, the fragrance of the flowers filling the air, the house standing so prettily among the trees, the whole surrounded by the new, freshly painted fence; all making a very lovely picture indeed! And certainly the interior of the home was no less attractive.

"Ingeborg, when you get done out here," the doctor said after supper, "you must come in and sing once

tered the sitting room,the doctor was at the piano. It was some time before he noticed the girl, and when he did so, he arose at once.

"Now, Ingeborg, please!" "Doctor, you play so lovely tonight. Please go on and me."

"Not tonight. promise."

excuse

Remember your

As the girl hesitatingly arose, Sister Clearfield remarked: "We'll have to humor him a little, Ingeborg. He's to be married in two weeks. His sweetheart is coming home with Ruth and Sarah. She's been attending school, too. Her home is up north, and she is coming down to spend two or three days here before returning home."

Ingeborg sang! How ever she got through it, she never knew. She sang, "Why Has My Lover Left Me?" as she had never sung it be

fore. She thought that she stood how miserably wretched she felt. As in darkness, and, oh, how forsaken, she finished, the doctor abruptly left the room and went upstairs. The girl looked stupidly at Sister Clearfield, who remarked:

"Don't mind that silly boy. I believe you were too tired to sing tonight. We have worked hard all the week, and I think we need rest.”

Ingeborg went to bed, but not to sleep. She had asked the "Why?" so often. Now she understood. How she accused herself. How wicked she felt, and how mean she had acted to poor Ferdinand. Had she been in love with the Dr.? How she startled herself as she asked the question. No, no; she had not been in love with the doctor! The Lord had been merciful to lead her to those kind hearted people, and how unworthy she had proved. She knew she had grown vain. She had had visions of a home like Mrs. Charfield's to call her own, of a girl to work for her, she being the accomplished lady! "O, Lord,for

give me! I never realized I had gone so far," the girl cried, wringing her hands in the darkness of the night. And Ferdinand! did she love him? She knew he was the best man in the world, far too good for her. "Never, never shall I seek to win him back! He'll soon find some one better than I am. And I-well I-" and the girl cried in despair again and again, reviewing her recent life.

Next morning in answer to Sister Clearfield's kind inquiries, Ingeborg explained she must have taken cold, and excused herself from coming to the breakfast table.

The whole day seemed like a dream to Ingeborg. How very, very insignificant she felt when the girls arrived. True, they greeted her most kindly, thanking her for all her kindness to their mother, and they were so sorry she was unwell, and then they introduced their dear friend, Miss Washington, who seemed very charming but hardly, she thought, the doctor's equal.

The next morning, which was Sunday, Sister Clearfield insisted on Ingeborg attending the Scandinavian meeting. and then going to visit with her friends, there to stay a day or two, if necessary, to rest herself.

"You need a little vacation, and I'll get along nicely with the girls. I hope you won't desert me yet, though. After the wedding they are all going to Michigan to visit relatives for a while, leaving me alone. I shall not care to go, as I was there two years ago."

As Ingeborg sat in the meeting that morning she was oblivious to everything about her, for her own thoughts crowded out everything else. "Can I go home with Sister Cas persen after the way I have acted to Ferdinand?" she asked herself. Then she remembered how glad the dear old soul was to have her come, because all her neighbors were Americans, with whom she was unable to converse. At last, when she had

made up her mind to go, she was startled by the sound of a musical voice she knew so well. Looking up, she saw Ferdinand standing before the congregation, expounding the principles of the Gospel fearlessly. How manly he looked! Why-and her heart thrilled with pleasure-"he is certainly handsome, and only-let me see, I am twenty-only twentyone vears old!"

Shaved? Yes! and in what becoming style has he combed his hair. And then, indeed, he is the best dressed man in the congregation. She remembered his mother having said that he had had a suit made to order in Copenhagen, and that he hardly liked to wear it, considering it rather extravagant for a poor emigrant. Yes, he certainly looked stylish! But her reverie was broken, the fine sentiments and inspired utterances of the speaker drew her attention. How happy she felt, until that dread feeling returned to her heart. Her mind was made up. She was going to be brave. After meeting she went and greeted Mrs. Caspersen; her elderly friend was all smiles. Ferdinand soon joined them, and all walked home together.

"Can I stay with you tonight?" Ingeborg asked Sister Caspersen, after dinner. "Sister Clearfield said I might visit a day or two with you, my head was so bad yesterday."

"Stay here?" the old lady exclaimed. "Why not stay here all the time? I think Ferdinand can support us all now, such wages as he makes."

Ferdinand gazed at Ingeborg. The latter blushed and avoided his glance, which he misinterpreted and grew sad in consequence thereof. However, they managed to spend a very pleasant day. Ferdinand went to Sacrament meeting, the ladies remained at home.

"I believe I shall go to conjoint session of the M. I. A. tonight," said Ferdinand. "The more I hear of

the English language the quickly I shall learn it. I am getting along real well with it since Brother Monsen works with me, as he is able to explain everything to my understanding. You ladies stay home tonight again, I presume?" he remarked to his mother and Ingeborg. His mother would not venture out at night, but Ingeborg said she felt better, and she would not mind going.

The young couple went to meeting, walked together, sat together. Nothing but commonplace remarks were made by either. As they returned and were entering the gate, the young man placed a detaining hand on the girl. "Ingeborg, O, Ingeborg! Here we are, so close together, and yet so far apart. The Lord opened my heart for the Gospel, led me to Zion to dwell with His people, and He has blessed me and been with me, and if it were not for my love for you, I certainly would be contented. You alone can make me entirely happy. Tell me now, why will you not love me?"

"You wanted to take me right away from Sister Clearfield," the girl pouted. "I've promised to stay until fall."

"Ingeborg, you know it is not that. Time is no consideration. I could wait ten years, if only you felt towards me as you used to do."

"I don't feel just as I used to, Ferdinand, for I never loved you so deeply as I now love you; but I feel I am unworthy of you."

In an instant the girl was tenderly clasped in the young man's embrace, and she attempted no resistance.

Next morning, about ten o'clock, Ingeborg ran into Sister Clearfield's kitchen. Sister Clearfield being alone, looked as though she was very busy. The girl kissed her tenderly and said: "Sister Clearfield, I was very naughty to leave you yesterday when you had so much to do. I want to help you now."

"I never felt better in my life," and the girl's looks verified her statement.

"Yes, dear!" said Sister Clearfield. "I am certainly glad you have come I have sent for Jane Field; but what does she know about things in the house. They all went driving a few minutes ago, and wanted to make some calls, too. Miss Washington is going home tomorrow, and the girls are planning to have a few of their friends here tonight. They were going by Ferdinand's to tell you all about it. They want you and Brother Caspersen as guests tonight, Henry thinks a lot of the young man, He says he has the right stuff in him. No, no use talking, my dear girl You're as nice as any of them. And you must dress up towards evening. I'll get along very well with Jane tonight."

Ingeborg was in a joyous excitement all day. She danced about occasionally with the doctor's bride. She sang with his sisters, and long before evening she had completed. her toilet, and was winding her way down to Sister Caspersen's to bring her lover back in time for supper, which was served long before the arrival of the other guests.

As the doctor solemnly asked the blessing Ingeborg had her reflections. But she was so happy. happy. She had wronged Ferdinand, and she wanted. to make amends. So as the doctor said "Amen" the impulsive girl jumped up, almost before she was aware what she was doing. "Beloved friends," she said, "I never can repay you for all your kindness, and my friend here feels the same. Now allow me to tell you that next to my heavenly Father I have Brother Caspersen to thank for being here; he taught me the Gospel, and I will now introduce him to you as my betrothed, my husband to be," and the girl blushingly took her seat be

side him. The scene as farther enacted is best left to the imagination. In the fall, Ingeborg and Ferdinand were married. Their cottage looks as

cosy as the doctor's, both planned and built by the same master hand, Ferdinand Caspersen's. Ingeborg had her questions all answered.

A FEW THINGS THE EMBROIDERER OF

FLOWERS SHOULD UNDERSTAND.

Embroidery is an art. Did you say there was nothing new in that assertion? Pardon, but I thought there was, judging from-well never mind. That is a white carnation you are working now, is it not? There, I have disturbed your selfsatisfaction, and you ask in a ruffled tone, "What is the matter with my work? Isn't a white carnation white. and a pink rose pink, and aren't green leaves green? If they aren't then what are they, I should like to know? And Mrs. told me always to work the light shades in the edges of the petals and use darker ones toward the center; and aren't these shades blended just lovely? Then everyone knows that leaves must be worked light at the tips and dark at the base, and that the midrib and veins are worked after with a very dark shade. And haven't I done just that?" And in an insinuating tone you add, "I guess Mrs. knows."

L

Now, if I were face to face with you I might declare myself effectually quenched; but seeing that I am where you can't talk back I am going to have my say.

And to begin with I shall reiterate, like the provoking person that I am, my first assertion, viz.: embroidery is an art.

Now, if you will kindly look in your dictionary for the meaning of that poor, abused word, you will find as one of the definitions-"A cunning and skillful imitation." This is not the broadest nor yet the

highest meaning of art, but never mind, it suffices our purpose, and is what is commonly understood by that term.

Now, can you skillfully imitate nature unless you observe and study her? But how many that embroider flowers ever think of looking at a natural one, or even a picture of the one they are essaying to portray, for guidance and inspiration? You would never expect anyone to paint a picture of a flower without a model, then why should you expect a good representation of one without it when you paint with colored silks? The aim and purpose are the same in either case. The laws to be observed are the same whenever you represent nature on a flat surface, whether your medium be paint, crayon, silken threads or anything else. The only difference lies in the mechanical manipulation of the material of which your skill must make the best possible servant. Farther than this (which in the subject of this article. means the even laying of the stitches) there is nothing mechanical about embroidery, and the only law unfalteringly to be obeyed is to study the appearance of nature and imitate what you see, as well as how best to apply it to your purpose. But, I surmise that I have puzzled rather than enlightened you. Well, perhaps we can aid you in "seeing."

The most logical way to become an artistic embroiderer is to take a course in drawing, and, if possible, supplement it with studies in watercolor. Don't interrupt me by saying that that is too much trouble, ex

cellence is never reached at a bound, and, believe me, this is indeed the shortest way to real excellence in embroidery. The reason for thisyou can work so much quicker with pencil and brush than with the needle, you can make a hundred studies of the former while you make one of the latter, so you see as a medium for study it comes highly recommended. We should advise every girl to make the best use of the opportunity given in the schools of making just such studies for this very purpose. Even if no other good accrued to her from them, she will be gratefully appreciative when she comes to decorate her home.

But I think I hear a voice afar, plaintive like unto a voice from the wilderness. "I have none to teach me drawing or painting, and for this must I ever be debarred from the pleasure of the work my more fortunate sisters love so well?" Now to you, my dear, who speak thus, is this article dedicated to aid you if possible in the observation of a few general principles that will cause your work to be-well, at least not an offense to the artistically trained

eve.

We will divide our subject under the subheads of drawing, local color, and background.

DRAWING.

"Oh," vou say, "I thought we had done with drawing." Yes, as far as your own design is concerned we have, but you are now dependent on drawings made by others, which reach you in the form of stamped material. You must judge of the naturalness and good arrangement of the drawings. Stamped linens flood the markets, and of these there are many that would give but poor compensation to the best of workers because the drawing is not "true."

A characteristic of most flowers is a delicate, undulating edge; sometimes, as in the pansy and poppy,

edges are very full, falling in flutes or folds, making an outline of irregular minute waves, throwing innumerable tiny shadows in the hollows of these flutes. The delicate appearance of the petal texture greatly depends on the correct rendering of this feature, therefore, if your drawing is hard in outline, looking as if it were made from a woodcarving rather than nature, take your pencil and correct it as shown in the illustration. (Illustration I.)

No. I.

LOCAL COLOR.

This means the actual color nature has given to the object, unchanged by light and shadow effects, and here your question "Isn't a white flower white and a pink one pink?" is a pertinent one. But even nature is not monotonous in her coloring. Look again, sever a petal from its calyx, perhaps you will discover that the outer edges are tinted with a much darker tone than the base which indeed is often white, but perhaps it may show in a reversed order a gradation from light to dark. Now turn it over, the under side may show a different tint, the color be slightly dulled. etc. Sometimes the inner petals of a double flower are darker, or lighter than the outer ones. The leaves and stems require equally careful study, take, for instance, a rose or honeysuckle leaf, note the rich green of the face, differing in shade even here. Now turn it over and seehow the warm tone is changed to a cold, light gray-green.

Look at the stem, perhaps a stain of red from the flower-a drop of