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* ThG Rival Candidates *
Bg Alma Webster Powell, LL.D., B.H., n.H.
* =
THE late afternoon sun smiled in a dignified and approving manner upon the charming home-gathering, which reflected the golden rays from eyes expectant of a coming pleasure. The picture which animated the rose-decked veranda of the pleasant Ainslee home contained four figures of human interest, Mrs. Ainslee, her two little daughters and the crown prince Harold, the eleven-year old son. Health and happiness sparkled in the faces and radiated from the rounded forms of the children, and the cause of so much beauty and vigor was not difficult to trace when one gazed upon the contented aspect of the mother. This woman has always been loved, one would have said, feeling instantly the vital force which Nature ever casts out from the recesses of a healthy and noble character.
"Mother," said Harold, "father ought to be coming before this. I wonder what keeps him so late."
"He is often late since he has been mixing politics with the happiness of our lives," replied Mrs. Ainslee, a slight contraction of her fine brows momentarily varying the noble serenity of her expression.
"Politics ! what are politics ?" questioned the boy.
"Politics?" she answered, "why politics are prizes in a grab bag, most of them so dirty from polluted handling that one pulls out a disease with every prize."
"0, mother, couldn't we play politics if we wash the prizes?" cried little Gladys, her eight years already glowing with the femininity of her pretty mother.
"Wash the prizes?" said the mother, taking the child upon her lap. "In
deed we shall do that, dear, after we have taught the players to wash their hands." This did not mean much to the children, but the bright, determined look in Mrs. Ainslee's eyes disclosed an intention that meant something at least to her.
All at once the children ran down the neat gravel path, with loud cries of delight, and then, after a moment they returned, each small girl perched upon a broad shoulder of a tall, finely built man, the boy hanging in playful weightiness to a bent elbow. So heavily but blissfully laden, the father reached the veranda, when Mrs. Ainslee encircled them all in a tender but halfreaching embrace, after which they all entered the house, where the many pretty and even costly furnishings proclaimed easy circumstances, success and happiness. The evening was drawing to a close and Mr. Ainslee was about to finish his reading of the paper, when an article caught his eyes.
"Ah, ha ! So we are going to have another party in the political field this year !" said he, aloud.
"Some new prohibition scheme, I presume," said his wife.
"0, not half so important/5 replied Mr. Ainslee. sarcastically, "it's the Labor Party. Labor Party, indeed !" slapping the paper a smart rap, as tho a striking foreman were under hiresentful hand; "why, what can those ignorant machines think they are? Haven't they got higher wages than they ever had in the history of labor? Aren't business men looking after theninterests all the while?"
"Perhaps the laboring class wants a hand in the looking after' scheme, too," suggested his wife slyly.
"What for. in heaven's name!"
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