NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
Eva’s Easter Hat. 
By Margaret L. Rust. 
Eva St. Clare took another look at 
the beautiful hat she had received 
from the milliner the day before. It 
was certainly a beauty and tomorrow 
was Faster Sunday. Now for another 
peep at the sky. Yes, it looked like 
a fine day. 
Eva was a pretty girl, tall and 
graceful, with blue eyes and dark 
curly hair. This Easter Sunday she 
intended to look her best. “T’ll wear 
my blue dress and take my pretty 
sunshade.” The bells of Ringway 
church were pealing forth their East- 
er chimes. 
“Sister,” called a sweet little voice, 
“may I go with you to church? I'll 
be, Oh, so good.” What could Eva 
do? How could she refuse her little 
sister’s plea? They were already to 
start when clouds appeared in the sky. 
“Eva you must take your umbrella,” 
said Katie, “you know it may rain 
on your pretty hat.” 
Yes, it was going to rain, and in- 
stead of the pretty sunshade she must 
take her umbrella. The pastor was 
just giving out the hymn when they 
entered the church, and Bob Raingill 
was at the organ. Yes, and there was 
his sister Clara. Eva and Katie took 
their seats and the umbrella was 
placed at the end of the pew. 
The service was nearly over, when 
Katie whispered, “Where’s the um- 
brella?” “Hush,” said Eva, “keep 
quiet.” And in another whisper, 
“Where’s the umbrella?” “Hush, 
hush.” 
“Then,” said Katie in a loud voice, 
“where’s the umbrella, I say?” 
All heads were turned in the di- 
rection of the pew where Eva and 
Katie sat. It was certainly very em- 
barrassing, and it was a great relief 
to Eva when the service was over. It 
was raining hard, and they were 
walking along the road when Bob 
Raingill overtook them. “Good morn- 
ing, Miss St. Clare,—let me offer you 
my umbrella. The color is coming out 
of yours.” 
“Oh, how stupid of me. How did 
I make such a mistake? I took my 
dark red instead of my black um- 
brella.” 
“T know,” cried Katie, “you were 
thinking of Bob.” “Is that so, little 
one? Thinking of Bob, was she?” 
“Here we are at home. Good day 
Mr. Raingill. I hope next Sunday 
the sun will be shining, and Miss 
Katie will remain at home.” 
A few minutes later Eva St. Clare 
stood before her mirror, and oh what 
a sight. Her pretty Easter hat was 
ruined with the dye from the red um- 
brella. The Thursday following Eva 
sitting on the piazza saw someone 
coming down the road. “Hello, Eva 
here I am” and Clara Raingill waltzed 
around the piazza. “I have some- 
thing so funny to tell you that I just 
put on my hat and ran over here. I 
don’t know what’s come over Bob. 
He goes about whistling and singing 
all the day through, and he’s so polite 
to us all. “And,” said Clara, bursting 
out laughing, “I was arranging his 
books and papers in his den and what 
do you think I saw in the corner of 
the room? A mouse? Oh no, not a 
mouse. Well, I saw two mysterious 
boxes, my curiosity was aroused and I 
just took a peep. In one box there was 
a doll and in the other a lady’s hat. 
What can Bob want with a doll and 
a hat? Oh dear, I hope it isn’t brain 
fever he’s going to have.” 
Once more alone, Eva burst into 
tears. A doll and a hat in Bob’s 
den—what could it mean? She loved 
Bob and Katie had let her ‘secret 
out. 
“Oh, here you are, I’ve been look- 
ing for you everywhere. See what 
the parcel postman brought me, 
hugging a large doll. “This is the 
beautifulist dollie in all the world.” 
“Why, Katie, who sent you that?” 
“Don’t know, guess Santa Claus, 
Cherry # eller 
I make no doubt the tale is true— 
Of Georgie and his little hatchet, 
But I would shade it just a bit, 
To make the truth more nearly match it. 
George had a playfellow named Ike 
Who loved the blade 
snatch it. 
To him quoth George, ‘‘If you don’t leave 
My axe alone I bet you’ll catch it.’’ 
When father saw the mischief done, 
Unto his son he would attach it. 
Quoth George, ‘‘I cannot tell a lie, 
Ike did it with my little hatchet!’’ 
—Joseph A. Torrey. 
and he sent you one, come and see.” 
“Oh you dear old Bob, I had my 
cry for nothing.” 
A year later on the vine-covered 
piazza of a pretty country cottage, lit- 
tle Katie St. Clare was playing with 
her “beautifulist dollie.” And at the 
other end of the piazza Bob and Eva 
Raingill were laughing over the — 
Faster hat and the red umbrella. : 
CoLONIAL’ THEATRE 
While the progress in the develop- 
ment of motion pictures has been — 
tremendous during the last few years, 
and has had a decided jump by means 
of the Edison Talking Pictures, first 
presented in New York one week ago, 
it is doubtful if any more complete 
and elaborate picture play will ever — 
be shown than the one seen at) | 
the Colonial Theatre, Boston, for the | 
first time, Monday evening, Feb. 24. 
“The Miracle” is a picture play © 
running slightly over two hours. The 
pictures are colored. They were made ~ 
from acompany of eight hundred © 
actors and actresses who were taken 
to Austria for the express purpose. ~ 
Throughout the engagement at the 
Colonial Theatre—and the pictures 
will be there only two weeks—a_ 
chorus of one hundred trained voices 
and an orchestra of fifty musicians. 
will be used. At the Colonial there” — 
will be performances every evening 
including Sunday. Regular matinees. 
The Boston Post thinks the plans — 
for a new Harvard square, Cam- 
bridge, to be a mixture of “Spanish, 
Italian, Dutch and Mongrel architec-  ~ 
rire: : 
and oft would 
