oncoming figure,
and "Jacob," said she, and quite gently fainted into the doctor's arms.

"No excitement, no fuss," commanded that authority. "She's all right,
coming round in a minute. Here, stand there. Speak naturally to her.
There, she's coming now."

"Why, Esther," said Jacob quietly in soft Hungarian, "I've been
wondering where you were."

The lady mit the from-gold hair laid her other hand on his, smiled a
little wearily, and instantly dropped asleep.

"You ain't asked her whose is that baby," his daughter whispered to
him. "You ain't asked her did she write letters on that Stork?"

"I guess it's our baby all right," her father answered. "You just carry
it down and put it in the bed that's been waiting for it. Tell Mrs.
Moriarty that your auntie was living here all the time."

"Mine auntie!" cried Esther. "Mine auntie! My, but Storks is smart!" she
gasped repentantly.

THE ETIQUETTE OF YETTA

"Stands a girl by our block," Eva Gonorowsky began, as she and her
friend Yetta Aaronsohn wended their homeward way through the crowded
purlieus of Gouverneur and Monroe Streets, "stands a girl by our block
what don't never goes on the school."

Yetta was obediently shocked. She had but recently been rescued from a
like benightment, but both she and her friend tactfully ignored this
fact.

"Don't the Truant Officer gets her?" the convert questioned, remembering
her own means to grace, and the long struggle she had made against it.
"Don't the Truant Officer comes on her house und says cheek on her
mamma, und brings her--by the hair, maybe--on the school?"

"He don't comes yet," Eva replied.

"Well, he's comin'," Yetta predicted. "He comes all times."

"I guess," commented Eva, "I guess Rosie Rashnowsky needs somebody shall
make somethings like that mit her. In all my world I ain't never see how
she makes. She don't know what is polite. She puts her on mit funny
clothes und 'fer-ladies-shoes.' She is awful fresh, und"--here Eva
dropped her voice to a tone proper to a climax--"she dances on organs
even."

Now Yetta Aaronsohn, in the days before the Truant Officer and the
Renaissance, would have run breathless blocks at the distant lure of a
street organ, and would have footed it merrily up and down the sidewalk
in all the apparently spontaneous intricacies which make this kind of
dancing so absorbing to the performer, and so charming to the audience.
Now, however, she shuddered under the shock of such