Screenland (Nov 1935-Apr 1936)

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Fairyfoot Is easy to oae, entirely harmless. Used on over two million feet since 1897. Write for FREE trial treatment. Fairyfoot Products Co., Chicago 1223 S.Wabash Ave.. Cent. 38 n FREE PROOF! cat them with a sweetish sort of port wine. "Oh yes, there's another special dish we're all fond of at holiday-time ! We serve it at ten o'clock supper Christmas Eve, or any night when we're having a party around that time. It's hot cooked rice with cinnamon and melted butter, and we serve it with hot coffee or wine. "I don't know how to cook, but I plan all my own meals because I always know what I want. "Last year at holiday-time was the first year we'd all been together for so long ! My sister Bonnie composes music, and sister Marion writes the words for her songs ; I play the piano and Mother the violin and we all sing — and so do all our guests — or else ! "When the George Murphys or the Paul Kellys are over, we usually wind up playing hearts — I've always loathed cards and wouldn't play bridge on a bet — but hearts are a lot of fun." Ann has a big play-room downstairs where her guests can frolic. Frolicking is one of those things that hold no interest for their hostess. "•My mother is the one in this family who loves to play," she commented. "She was born young and she gets younger every year. Marion and Bonnie and I are ever so much older. She's the eternal ingenue, with a perfectly grand sense of humor. You'd never believe how youthful she is, to look at her. She's a large, motherly-looking person with a broad sweet face, but she's a baby underneath. She won't associate with anyone of her own age. 'They are much too elderly for me !' she'll say, and she'll trot out with one of my sisters' boy friends. "Indeed, I'm not fooling! She goes out partying with my sisters and their friends, or if one of the girls can't keep a date, Mother keeps it for her. And the boys are delighted to take her because she always has such a marvelous time." The patio outside Ann's living room is her special pride and joy because she did it all herself. It has a brick floor. When Ann took the house, the bricks were an ordinary red. "That certainly won't do !" cried the girl who always knows what she wants, "I'll settle that!" She flew for a paint-brush. In no time the bricks were a cool, soft green. The table and chairs she painted white. The touch of color is frequently changed, for it consists of flowers. "I don't like the living room as it is," complained Ann, surveying it from the French doors that lead out to the patio. (There's a magenta rug on the floor, magenta drapes at the windows, gay chintz-covered chairs with twin chesterfields facing each other across the hearth, a low coffee table between. A staircase rises from one side of the room ; on its landing, some four steps up, an inviting bookcase.) "I'm gradually doing over the entire house, and I'll soon get to this," she nodded a purposeful head. "The first thing I shall do away with are the glass curtains, the somber drapes and this awful rug. Yes, and I don't like the lamps, either ! Probably there isn't anything I do like !" The rice holiday pudding mentioned above connotes a special blessing. "In earlier days, Danish families used to serve it in a very big dish, with a great lump of butter in the middle and cinnamon sprinkled over all," I was informed. "Then, in order to receive the blessing, each member of the family, or their friends present, took a spoon and ate from the dish together, taking a spoonful of rice, dipping it in the melting butter and eating it that way. Now, of course, separate portions are served, and I suppose few people think of the blessing. "In Denmark, and among Scandinavian people who have settled in villages here, the legend of the blessing in this dish still exists. If a woman is ill — no matter whether she has a broken leg, scarlet fever, or the mumps ! — she can be helped if a neighbor brings her the rice. The neighbor spends a whole morning cooking the rice in the finest cream, then she puts it on the best plate she owns and wraps it in her finest embroidered cloth and brings it to the sufferer. She sits by the bed while her patient eats the rice, and then departs satisfied that she has done her duty in offering health to the sick. It will do you good, they believe — and you eat it, no matter if the doctor has said you mustn't have starch !" Mrs. Lake also gave me the recipe for her famous holiday cakes. They are called "Kleiner" and are supposed to be eaten, as Ann told me, with a sweetish sort of port wine — -or coffee. Kleiner (Danish Christmas Cakes) 4 eggs, beaten well with a cup of sugar lb. nut margarine (Mrs. Lake always uses margarine for these delicacies because they are fried in deep fat and butter is not satisfactory.) 2 tablespoons cream 4 cups sifted flour A little cardamon Grated rind of y2 lemon Roll the batter out very thin, cut in 6 inch strips. In each strip make a hole in the middle and pull the ends through the middle, so that result is rather like a figure eight. Drop these figure eights into deep fat, very hot, and fry until they are light brown. Dry them on butcher paper and sprinkle with powdered sugar. Serve with coffee or wine. Freddie's New Adventures Continued from page 57 yet. So I try to think about him, in case of being too disappointed if he should turn into a dream. But when they first told me, I could hardly contain myself, and ran up to Cis in the dressingroom and cried : "I have a horse, I have a horse" — only it was slightly premature, but I didn't know it at the time. And then, strangely enough, I burst into tears. And Cis said : "But why are you crying?" And I didn't know, except that I was so happy, which is a queer reason for crying, when you come to think of it. Then Cis said : "But, Freddie, what can I do with a horse ? You'll be wanting me to take an elephant next." So I assured her that an elephant is the last animal I'd ask her to have, which seemed to relieve her. And I promised her my five cents a day — that's my allowance — to board him, and his name would be Thundercloud. But she still looked a little dubious — you see, she doesn't love horses quite as much as I do — in fact, she really doesn't know much about them, do you, Cis darling, except that they have four legs, and she doesn't like me to ride one unless he practically promises to amble along at about two miles an hour and bring me back with my bones